Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sometimes, Subaru has trouble holding it together.

Take right now, for example. This is her, a handful of seconds earlier: she's out for a late-night grocery run, and stops right beneath the lamppost to slip the ridged yen coin she found in a pocket of her hoodie. You know, for safekeeping. The spoils weight down her tote bag: three cups noodles, ramen; two energy drinks, peach and strawberry flavour; and one bag of marshmallows.

She blinks once, and bam. Now Natsuki Subaru stands beneath the afternoon sun in an overcrowded square.

The glare is blinding, and her surroundings blur through the tears. While she blinks away them away, shapes and colors begin to solidify into the impossible, and Subaru leaps back to avoid getting trampled to death by a 6-foot-tall lizardman.

It gotta be a hallucination, except if it is, it's in full HD. The creature trudges along slow enough to touch, dull dark scales shifting with every step, and as it blinks a yellow eye closed, Subaru sees a membrane slide over it. Her fingers twitch with the need to check if the creature's real.

And that's not all. Some of the people in the square would be right at home in a fantasy MMORPG, be it their clothing, or inhuman features.

As her lungs start to burn, she realizes she's been holding her breath the whole time. "Woah, woah, woah," She exhales, hand above her heart, willing it to slow down to a less painful beat, rather than keep up the post-marathon pace. "This is just like an RPG."

The outburst, though, brings the creature's attention to her, and it doesn't look like the guy's in a good mood. Just like her to fuck up on arrival.

"Ya got a problem, Miss?" It grunts.

"N-no," Subaru does not squeal, but still skitters back. When the back of her knees hits stone, her balance wavers and forces her to sit on the edge of the fountain. Unless she plans to take a dip in the fountain, that's it.

Her bag slips from her shoulder to the ground too, thanks to the balancing act, and the two cans fall out with a thud, then roll away. No such thing as a good impression for Subaru. Go figure. At least the lizardman dismisses her and walks away without any insults.

She crouches down to pick up her drinks. Has she really been isekaied? The pain in her cheek as she pinches it feels real enough, so it cannot be a dream. And probably a figment of her imagination wouldn't be so rude to her, or so she hopes.

Her family doesn't have a history of schizophrenia either, so she shouldn't have cracked under the stress. At least not that way. And schizophrenics see people and things, not a whole new landscape.

"Well, I sure wish a helpful NPC stuck around," Subaru shoves the energy drinks back in her bag and stands up. As far as tutorials go, this could really use some work. In light novels and video games, the protagonist either reincarnates in a family and has time to adapt, or God brings her in for an explanation.

Or someone- royalty, usually- gives a quest, a goal. But maybe that's boy-exclusive.

Here, Subaru's left by herself with no explanation. Guess she might as well try something.

"Check status." A pause. And, of course, it gets a weird look from a passerby. A passerby with cat ears. He shouldn't be in a position to judge. "Menu." Still, she softens her voice enough that nobody should notice her words, under the whirring of carriages and other's people conversations. "Skill?"

Yeah, nothing.

Unease prickles at her skin, so she hugs the bag to herself. Even if that doesn't work, she should do- something. Pick a direction, look around, find a compulsory event. Whatever.

Her feet push her deeper into town.

As far as Subaru can tell, this must be a market district of sorts. Stalls line up the street, and lots the flow of people rivals any modern city at the moment.

The scent of apples stops her in her tracks, so intense as to be cloying, and hunger makes itself known with a rumble. That's another point against the hallucination hypothesis, isn't it. Hallucinations recreate visuals and sounds, but it's a whole other thing for all the senses to be involved. Right? Right.

Speaking of. As her stomach graciously reminded her, Subaru never got to eat dinner at home.

Mom and Dad are probably still waiting for her.

"Ya buyin' or not?" If nothing else, the stall owner's words make for a welcome distraction, though his customer service skills need some work. "You're in the way. Buy an appa or scram."

"Sorry." Subaru places the apple back on the pile. Or appa, whichever. Yen probably won't be worth anything in a fantasy world. The hunger outweighs her doubts though, and, well, she gotta know for sure sometimes, it might as well be now. So after a moment of hesitation, Subaru retrieves her wallet. The obnoxious pumpkin design makes the seller raise his eyebrows, but that's nothing new. It happened in Tokyo too. Subaru still loves her wallet: Mom gave it to her.

"I haven't got much. Would these—?" She presents him with a handful of yens, and the guy's eyebrows climb to even greater heights. In her opinion, it's an improvement over the ugly scowl.

"Can't do. Never saw these before." The seller picks one up between thumb and forefinger, squinting. "Where did ya get them?"

"Not sure," Subaru shrugs. "Had them for a while."

"Lemme tell ya, girlie, you ain't gonna have a good time in the city if you're broke." The guy returns the coin and looks her up and down. Yeah, sportswear isn't very fantasy-like. "Where are ya from? Never saw clothes like yours before."

Subaru flushes apple red at the judgment implicit in the question, and zips up the hoodie higher over her sports bra. Hah, apple. She should have listened to Mom instead of throwing a zip hoodie over it and call it a night. Her record of bad impressions isn't over yet.

"Are ya from Vollachia?" The guy turns from examing her clothing to studying her features. Subaru shakes her head and looks down at her hands. And thinks. If she's going to fit in, she needs to have a proper backstory. At least until she knows what's up. The protagonist isn't always believed when telling people they're from a different world, unless summoning is common knowledge. The heroines who reincarnate in light novels sure never reveal it. Though, it's not that she wants to lie about it either. "Gusteko, then? Ya sure got the looks for it."

Subaru shrugs. "—does it look that obvious?" There. If she coasts by on assumption, it isn't lying. Shrugging is just giving it a nudge.

"Ya see any other black-haired kids around here?"

She replays her walk in her mind. She's been so taken by the bright, unnatural hair colors, by the animal ears, and by the lizards pulling the carriages that she didn't even notice, but no. As far as she remembers, nobody else had hair or eyes the same color as hers. "Oh."

The guy snorts, then his expression softens ever so slightly. "If ya ain't got a job lined up, ya better start lookin' now, girlie."

"Uhm, " Subaru wraps a lock of hair around her index finger and looks at her hands again. Her nail polish chipped away at the edges. Her question has real potential to be embarrassing. Or suspicious. "There's something I wanted to ask—"

"Then spit it out, I ain't got all day." The apple seller sighs. Well, alright then.

"I heard that everyone here can use spells. Is that true?" Subaru pushes her bangs back to mask how much she cringes at her own question, then peers at the guy. If this world doesn't have magic, she's gonna sound like a total basket case. But not so much magic even toddlers use it, because then no excuse is gonna hold water. Since she didn't see anyone using any for everyday tasks on the way, so it's fine. Probably. It's as vague as she can make it, too.

Except the guy looks at her with the most baffled expression ever seen, all pinched mouth and drawn-up eyebrows. Subaru tenses. But his expression clears, and he huffs.

"Ya gotta explain yourself better, ya know," He scratches his head in thought. "Gusteko relies on spirit users instead, that what you meant?"

Subaru cheers inside and nods. That absolutely isn't what she means, but good to know other places have different magic.

"Yeh, some use their own mana for spells, there aren't many spirit fellas over here. But if ya ask me, this stuff best left to them rich old nobles, in any case."

"I see." She doesn't, really, but some information is better than none. Her brows furrows. This makes it kinda like a tabletop game, with multiple magic systems. Or a strategy game.

"Enough chitchat, kid, I got a shop to run." The man crosses his arm and Subaru smiles sheepishly. All in all, for how gruff the guy is, he has been surprisingly patient. However.

"Right, sorry—" She joins her hands together in a sort of apology. Just one more question left.

"What now."

"I might have gotten turned around. Where are we exactly?"

"Really, kid? This—" He extends his arm to point outside, and encompasses the stalls in sight of his own with a sweeping gesture. "—is the market district, main street. Ya follow it that way and," He points to their right. "It stops ahead of Lugnica Castle," His hand moves toward the opposite direction, where Subaru walked from. "you go this way, you'll get to the city gates."

Subaru steps back with another smile, before his patience runs out for good. "Thanks. I'll be sure to swing by with money next time."

"Ya better, girlie."

As Subaru turns and walks outside, his voice reaches last time, just muffled by the sounds of the market. "And stir clear of the alleys, or you'll end up in the slums."

Subaru takes a deep breath, then squares up her shoulders. Okay then. At least now she has two directions to pick from. City gates or the castle. Up to now, there's been no sign she's been brought to this place for any particular reason, but a quest could easily happen outside the city walls as it could happen inside them.

Subaru frowns at the passersby, which gets the closest people to blink back with tired, weary gazes, but no solutions to her dilemma. Maybe she could let the decision to fate.

Her fingers close around the ridged ten yen coin in her pocket. The coin she didn't spend.

"Maybe you can be my lucky charm, no?" Subaru tosses it high into the air with a flick of her finger, to watch it glitter as the sunlight hits it.

"Heads, I'm heading in the direction of the castle," Subaru catches it, but doesn't check. Not yet. Throws it again. "Tails, I'm heading back and past the square, to the city gates." The second time she catches it, she plucks it out of the air with her thumb and forefinger. This maneuver has taken her a lot of tries to master.

"Ready. Now." As the third coin toss rises even higher in the air, Subaru holds her breath, unsure of why dread squeezes her heart. Of a sudden, it feels like the coin toss holds much more weight than a whim, like the moment it lands, something- she doesn't know what- will change irrevocably from what it should have been. Time slows to a crawl. The ridged yen coin spins and spins in the air.

Finally, the coin lands on the back of her hand. Subaru exhales the breath she's been holding and looks down. Heads.

Subaru turns right.

Her walk to the castle lasts no more than a couple of minutes before something catches her attention. A little girl cries crouched down with her back to the wall, as if she wants to disappear into it.

Subaru can tell that nobody wants to saddle themselves with the little girl, after a glance at their surroundings. It sends a pang through her heart. She must have been there a while, scared out of her mind. "That's not right."

She walks closer until her body shields the girl from the sight of the indifferent crowd, and smiles down at her.

"Hey there," Her hand hovers on the child's shoulder. "Are you hurt?"

The little girl shakes her head with a sob, and curls up on herself even more, so Subaru lets her fingers brush against her tunic. "Can I hold your hand? I'm lost and I'm very scared."

Her sobs cease the moment the child looks up at her in surprise, and her little head gives a hesitant nod. Subaru squeezes her hand gently. "Are you lost too?"

"My mommy—" Her voice cracks on the words as she holds back another sob. "I dunno where mommy is."

Subaru strikes a pose with a hand on her chin, as if in deep thought. "I see. Do you remember where she was before that?" She affects a grave nod. "As a fellow lost person, I think we should—"

A shout cuts her off, so she cranes her head to the side and squints. Off at a distance, some idiots skedaddle out of an alley on their hands and knees. That doesn't sound like good news, so Subaru hugs the child closer to her, until her nose is squashed against her collarbone. The poor kid is probably too tired to protest.

It's too far away to tell what's happening, and combined with the crowd that closes around the three figures, it's impossible to see more. Oh well. Subaru relaxes slightly. Whatever happens moves in the direction opposite to them, so it ain't her business anymore.

"I think we should stick together," She curls her lips into what's hopefully a reassuring smile in the eyes of a ten-year-old. Her eyes don't do her any favor with this sort of thing. "Lots of scary people around, huh? And if I were alone, I'd be so scared I'd get even more lost, and who knows what will happen then." She displays a mock shiver, then straightens herself up to offer a hand to the girl. "And we can find your mommy easier if we're together."

The little girl shuffles her feet. "Mommy says to not go with strangers."

"Your mommy is very smart," Subaru nods. That advice goes beyond worlds, apparently. It's good to see that kids actually follow it, at least in this one case. "I'm Subaru. What's your name?"

"I'm Plum."

"Now we're friends. Say, Plum," Subaru glances at their surroundings, but nobody even close to a public service figure appears out of thin air for her convenience. "If I find a guard to help us, would that be okay?"

"O-K-A-Y?" Plum spells in confusion.

"Oh. Uhm," She clicks her tongue. "Would that be good?"

Plum considers the question with all the gravitas her little ten years old body can muster. "Yes. Mommy'd say it's good."

Subaru sure hopes the city got some guards, because none exists within in sight, and they're on the main street. "Now, how to find—"

"My apologies if I'm mistaken, but do you need assistance?"

She stares at the newcomer. The guy smiles down at them in his elegant black clothes, and even though that looks neither like a uniform or armor which is what she hoped to see, the ornated sword at his side is sure worthy of an RPG protagonist. Subaru is officially impressed. He doesn't look like a guard. He looks like a prince, or a hero.

He also offers a hand to help Subaru on her feet, so she should get to that, and not stare at how the sleeve strains to against the muscle of his forearms.

"Wow," Subaru hears herself say, instead. "You look like you just stepped out of a fairytale."

The man blinks. Subaru slaps a hand on her mouth and blushes down to her neck, like the absolute idiot she is. "Sorry. Didn't mean to say that out loud."

"It's quite alright." By the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, she can tell he's amused by her outburst, even though he hides the smile behind a hand to spare her feelings.

"Anyway," Subaru clears her throat, accepts the offered hand, and frowns as Plum dashes close to clutch at her leg. She's struck mute, with eyes wide as saucers trained on the newcomer. Darn. And Subaru just managed to gain an itty-bitty sliver of trust. Plum's such a shy child.

"You don't happen to be guard, do you?" The sword says at least he knows combat, and nobody else in town carries swords, at least that she's seen. He'd have to be a soldier, or maybe a noble. That aside, he seems nice enough.

"Patrolling is part of my tasks, though I'm off duty today. I'm a knight in service of the kingdom." He answers, with a wide-eyed look that rivals Plum's, and tilts his head in confusion while he examines her. Subaru tilts her back. Everyone's weird here. Then he bows, hand to his chest. "Reinhard van Astrea."

"I'm Natsuki Subaru." She offers, and bites her lower lip as the silence that follows. He expects some sort of reaction from her, that much she can tell by the way he doesn't add anything and his examination of her face challenges the depth of an ultrasound. Eh. Whatever. It's not like she can read minds, and Plum still stares at the guy without saying anything. She better do something to reassure her.

"This is Plum," Subaru says brightly, as she brings her hands together. "She's looking for her mom." Reinhard nods gravely at this. "Will you help us?"

"Of course. I shall escort you for a time."

Subaru claps her hands and beams at him. "Cool," She places a hand next to her mouth for a stage whisper. "Plum is very brave," Subaru stands on her tiptoes and leans closer to Reinhard. He's pretty tall. "I'm lost too and when I told her how scared I was, Plum agreed to protect me. I'm helping her out as thanks."

Plum lets out an adorable giggle from behind her fingers, and even Reinhard fails to restrain a wider smile. Victory!

"Do you have any ideas as where to look?" Reinhard asks.

Subaru shakes her head. "I tried to ask if she remembers from which direction she came, but I think she got confused with all the excitement."

Reinhard taps his chin. "We could—" He trails off, eyes unfocused in thought for a moment. "Do you know where is your home?"

"Good idea—"

"I live with Mommy and Daddy." Plum puffs out her chest with a smile. Then she realizes what she's done, and hides behind Subaru's legs again.

"Well, that doesn't narrow it down. Oh!" Subaru places a hand on Plum's head. "Reinhard," Again, his features reset to a bewildered expression, for whatever reason. Subaru has spoken exactly one word. "Listen, you patrol around here sometimes, right?"

"My rounds bring me to the area quite often, yes."

Eh, good enough. "Plum, what is your house like?"

"It has pretty red flowers on the windows, and we always have all the yummy fruit." Plum murmurs into her leg, as Subaru hand cards through her hair.

"Yummy fruit?" Subaru frowns. Could it be—

"I understand. I think I know where it is. " Reinhard turns to the direction that will bring them back to the market district. "I suggest we head in that direction. If we don't find her on the way there, I shall spread the word at the garrison so they keep an eye out for the mother."

"That works." Subaru grabs Plum's hand and lines up beside Reinhard. Neither he nor Plum seem to want to follow through with the most logical action, but maybe they need a little nudge. "Plum, don't you want to hold Reinhard's hand? Just in case."

Plum steps back and shakes her head. "Nuh-uh."

"That's very rude, just so you know." Subaru waggles a finger at her. "Reinhard is very kind to help us."

"Mister is scary." Plum displays more of her ten years old bluntness without any care for said guy's feelings, and Subaru giggles.

"Scary?" She turns to look at Reinhard, all polite smiles and soft-spoken demeanor, while he waits for them to be ready with a hand on the hilt of his sword and the other behind his back. She giggles. "How is this guy scary?"

"It's quite fine, Miss." Reinhard shakes his head, and turns his head to the side with a pleased smile.

The constant feeling of missing something begins to be annoying, though there's nothing she can do about that. Reinhard is definitely holding something back, but all she can do is hope it is not a huge social faux pas, since he doesn't seem forthcoming about it. Subaru already has tripped on enough social awkwardness back home.

"Miss Natsuki, you—" Reinhard seems to struggle with words, but regains his footing before Subaru can pose a question of her own. "Your clothing is very distinctive, and I have never seen anything like it. Are you not from Lugnica?"

She shakes her head. "Nope. Just got here today, with only these clothes on my back too." It looks like the crowd from before left the street. She'd have sworn there were many more people in the streets before, and it's just the middle of the afternoon. That's very odd.

"Then, are you from Gusteko?"

"Someone I talked to today guessed it too." She deflects the question and turns to look at Reinhard, touching the end of her hair self-consciously. It's weird to be branded as a foreigner as first thing, after living all her life in Japan. Plum hums as she skips along, all fear forgotten." Is it such an easy guess?"

"I suppose it is," Reinhard's thumb strokes the hilt of his sword as he talks, keeping a couple of steps behind them. It really does feel like having an official escort. "Though I admit you're otherwise quite peculiar."

Subaru grins. "Wow, rude."

"Ah, I meant no offense."

Subaru waves her free hand flippantly. She glances back. "Chill, I'm just teasing you."

At that, Reinhard's features light up. His smile widens, turning less practiced and unrestrained, so much that it's like staring at a lightbulb for too long. Subaru fears she might be blinded. This guy's everything is really unfair. "I had to exclude Vollachia," He explains. "Since the borders are sealed at the current moment."

Subaru hums. "I don't really know much about current events." Or anything at all, to be honest.

Reinhard tilts his head, hand still on his sword, and seems to consider that for a moment. As silence descends between them, Subaru realizes that is it not just there are fewer people around. On their walk back they didn't have to wave through the afternoon crowd once, even in traits where the afternoon crowd was still going about its business. Almost like they parted for them. She blinks. A quick look around reveals more to that line of thought— so she begins being conscious of the weight of their stares on her back, and the sound of conversations seems to carry less. As if lowered to whispers. "Uhm. Reinhard?"

"Yes, Miss?" Reinhard acts like he doesn't notice at all. Subaru tries very hard to not learn closer to him, stomach in knots, and settles for squeezing Plum's hand a little instead. "Is it just me, or are people staring?" Subaru doesn't like being stared at. At all.

Just as Reinhard opens his mouth to answer her, Plum interrupts with an excited little noise, like a baby bird taking flight for the first time. "Daddy!" She detangles from Subaru's hold with surprising strength for a child, and takes off towards the fruit stall. Above the store, on the first floor, red flowers peek out of a flowerbox.

"I should have guessed it." Subaru sighs. "It was the fruit seller."

Reinhard chuckles from beside her. "I only remembered the flowers. I am familiar with them, as we also have them in the estate gardens." His features relax in a more somber expression as he looks upward. "Do you like flowers, Miss Natsuki?"

Subaru fidgets. "Where I live, you can't really grow them." She frowns and tries to put it into words. Her bedroom doesn't really get enough sunlight to allow for much variety outside of a few succulents, so her decor inevitably turned to other stuff. "For a time I used to make paper flowers as decoration." Her voice becomes softer. "I wish I could have grown the real deal, before..." She trails off. Before she has come to this new world.

They stand side to side for a few moments, before laughter pushes its way out of Subaru's throat. Reinhard turns his face toward her, a question in his eyes.

"Sorry," Subaru shakes her head to clear it and twirls a lock of hair around her palm. "That sounded way too serious, didn't it? Kinda embarrassing."

"I don't understand," Reinhard admits.

"It's nothing." Subaru looks over to Plum as she waves them closer, while her dad studies them warily, arms crossed and a big frown, in stark contrast to his daughter. Guy sure loves posing as a grump. "We should go and explain."

Reinhard shakes his head, seemingly mulling over something. "It's past time I head back, but I'm glad I was of assistance."

"Oh." Subaru tucks her arms around herself. "Thank you, Reinhard. You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"I," her brain scrambles to stretch out the moment. "I hope to see you around."

His smile turns wistful, and his reply appears completely sincere. "I hope so as well." He bows his head and places a hand on his chest in a formal farewell. Subaru cannot help but feel the disappointment swell in her chest. She thought she might have found a friend.

"Wait, I have an idea," She calls out, and her hand closes around the hem of his sleeve before she even notices she's done it. Heat spreads to her cheeks, but no way she's gonna back down now. "Let's make it a promise," Subaru holds out her other hand, curled in a fist aside for her pinky. "Come on, gimme your hand."

Reinhard reciprocates the gesture in a slow, hesitant movement, so Subaru closes the distance herself and grabs his pinky with her own. "There. Let's promise to be friends, and meet up again soon."

"Is there a reason for the gesture?" Genuine curiosity fills Reinhard's tone.

"Just a tradition of my hometown." Her blush intensifies, but not so much to be noticeable, or for the next question might get her to admit that it's for childhood promises, or talk about the red string of fate. Embarrassment would hit right then and kill her.

"Understood. Then, I promise so." Reinhard's solemn wording makes it even clearer that no such thing as a pinky promise exists in this new world. It almost makes Subaru sad. It might or might not be one of her favorite tropes.

"And me as well."

Then, in unison, they step back from one another, in the awkward silence of people who both didn't think things through. Or so Subaru wants to believe.

In the end, Reinhard coughs in his fist to break the moment. "Farewell, Miss Natsuki. I'll make sure to give word that we found her."

"It's Subaru—" She calls out, when he turns away. Subaru watches Reinhard leave, then makes her to the stall.

Subaru rocks on the ball of her feet and sighs. Maybe she should have insisted more, and at the very least try harder to get Reinhard to stay a few minutes to talk to Plum's dad.

But the truth is, she didn't like the wistful tone of his goodbye. She should— no, she wants to meet up again, as they promised. Subaru nods to herself. Yes, tomorrow she will find him again. Or the day after, maybe. She's not gonna act like a clingy girlfriend.

"Hey, Missy," The fruit seller scratches his head awkwardly as he calls out to her. "Plum just told me about what happened."

Subaru hums, distracted. "Never thought you'd be married, let alone have a kid, when we talked earlier."

"Oi, can it, girlie."

Subaru frowns as something occurs to her, and completely ignores his grumbles. "What about your wife though?" Now that they found Plum's home, they should get someone to tell her they found her daughter. Reinhard will spread the word, but it isn't guaranteed it will reach Plum's mom before some time passes. "If you know where she is, I can go find her and tell her Plum's here now."

The guy shakes his head. "I'd be surprised if nobody told her by now."

"—If you're sure." A thug on her jacket makes Subaru looks down. She finds Plum clutching to her jacket with a worried expression on her little face. So cute. "What's up?"

"Do we need to find Mommy?" Plum's lower lip wobbles.

They both shake their heads. "Nah, it's all good. She's gonna be back soon. Hey, what was up earlier with --" Her question about people's weird behavior is put to rest midway through, as a woman runs up to them panting with the exertion.

"You're already here. Don't let go of my hand next time, please." The woman presses a hand against her throat, eyes wet. Turns out that Miss Fruit Seller is a very pretty lady.

"Sorry, Mommy."

"This broke girlie over here brought her back a few minutes ago." The fruit seller interjects.

"Thank you, Miss."

"No worries," Subaru grins. "Couldn't leave such an adorable little girl there all alone, could I?"

Plum's mother just giggle breathlessly, still recovering from the impromptu jog. "Dear, have you thanked her yet?"

"Er." He looks away.

"Don't be stingy, come on." The woman grabs a basket from the side and fills it with apples, so many that soon Subaru fears that a simple step forward could cause them to fall off and roll away. Far too many for her to finish in a reasonable time, actually, with no way to store them anywhere."Here."

"Wow, this is a lot. Thank you." Subaru inhales the scent of apples, and thanks the heavens when her stomach doesn't rumble. If it wasn't so rude, she'd start eating right away.

"Don't be silly," The woman shuts her down right away with a wave of her hand. "It's the least we could do." Her husband, if the cough Subaru hears is any indication, doesn't quite agree with the sentiment.

"Thanks." Subaru decides that surrendering is the best course of action. And, well, she is hungry. And Plum comes closer while beaming up at her, something in her tiny upturned fist, so she cannot ignore her, can she.

"This is for Miss too." Her fingers splay wide to reveal a cute flower hairpin, the one Plum has been wearing.

"But I cannot take that." A smile tugs at the corner of her lips.

"Please accept, it will make Plum very happy."

Winning arguments doesn't seem to be in Subaru's near future. "Fine." She bows solemnly. "Then I shall treasure it always." Plum collapses into giggles, much to her delight.

"Hey, do you mind if I sit over there? I won't get in the way, I promise." She eyes a wooden box. Subaru doesn't want to bother them more, really, but she hasn't been able to catch a break in hours and still doesn't know what she's supposed to do. Where she's going to sleep. How she's gonna buy food. You know, all the small stuff.

Without a summoning, without family, or a goal— Subaru hugs her knees and presses her face them. Exhaustion crashes on her, suddenly, and with that tears escape from the corner of her eyes. All that means she's just stranded alone in a country that happens to be stuck in the fantasy middle ages. Nothing magical about that.

The sunlight wraps everything in a warm, soft glow as sunset draws near, and shadows grow deeper inside the alleys and close to the buildings. It's been a whole afternoon, then, and Subaru still has no money to pay for a place to sleep. Though at least she got some apples, she guesses. Subaru lifts her gaze to the sky. Though it's gonna be still some time before nighttime, with such clear skies Venus is already visible. That would never have been possible back in Tokyo.

Not until the sun is gone away completely.

Her body breaks into shivers. Looks like this world got a sharp temperature drop, and getting emotional doesn't help her out. Subaru hunches on herself for warmth, and hides her face away between her arms, but it's useless. The ice-cold wind stings her nose and eyes until they burn, and suddenly it feels like January again. A few steps away, Plum holds her arms out to be picked up, and cuddles with her Mom once she fulfills her request.

Onto the street the crowd hurries away, many tucking themselves into their coats and looking at the sky as the weather turns freezing. Subaru still doesn't know where she will sleep. Without shelter, if the temperatures reach sub-zero is gonna be real bad. Hypothermia bad.

It gets so bad that her teeth start chattering, and her whole body shakes. Snowflakes land on the ground without melting, one after the other. Wait. That doesn't sound right. It was warm out, earlier. It was-- Her thoughts trail off.

A few moments later, the spasms begin. A breathless gasp to scream, and she falls onto the ground face first, as her legs won't respond to her. Subaru cannot feel them at all. In the corner of her vision, something splits apart and falls. What—

Plum mother's legs and hips stand upright, close to the wall, her whole midsection exposed. The precise, clean break displays the pink of her intestines, the layers of muscle and fat, while her torso lies on the ground in three pieces. A multitude of smaller, crimson shards spread all around her. Subaru stares.

The last thing she sees is a huge white figure looming over the rooftops, and the shining gaze of feline eyes.

Subaru doesn't feel herself fade, but darkness still follows.

Just like the time Subaru is transported to this world, reality lurches to the side as her eyes close. Except this time she immediately finds herself with her eyes wide open, looking at the apple in her hand. A voice demands her attention, but the words are muffled by the ringing in her ears. What filters through doesn't connect to any meaning in her blank mind for long, long seconds.

"Ya hear me? You gonna buy that appa or not?"

"I-I'm sorry." Subaru isn't sure herself to whom she is apologizing to. If to the merchant, for blocking off the entryway without buying anything, or to the memory burned behind her eyelids, the family shattered into ice crystals without any reaction from her. To what's left of Plum, spread on the paved street.

Her feet take the decision without any conscious input, and Subaru finds herself outside the stall without any memory of moving.

A few passersby jostle her in the street, her body too sluggish to duck out of the way. Any comments they make at her slow reaction come as fragments, interrupted by the tinnitus, but it isn't enough to help. Plum died. Plum's mother died. Plum's father died. Except they didn't, because Subaru has talked to the man just now, and nothing makes sense.

Nausea rises up as bile in her mouth and tears sting her eyes. She needs to go away. She needs to be alone. Subaru looks around. There's an inn on her right. And a few feet from the entrance, a staircase. There. Nobody at the top that she can see. Every step is unsteady and vertigo makes her stomach drop to her shoes, so she ends up leaning on the wall to reach the top, but after an eternity she makes it.

That's when all energy leaves her. Her knees buckle under her but Subaru doesn't fight it, just leans her forehead against the cool stone of the railings. It's okay. Nobody's there.

With her mind empty, Subaru lets the minutes pass while staring at the horizon. Sensation comes back to her an indeterminate number of minutes later, but enough of a wait that the shadows have lengthened across the steps.

Movement across the rooftops jolts her out of the haze. A girl speeding off with far more grace than the unstable, uneven footing offered by the tiles should allow. "What—" She murmurs weakly. She jumps down a two-story building, lands unharmed on the ground like it's nothing, and looks around. Then she launches into the crowd and disappears from view.

That could be the magic mentioned by the fruit stall owner. Subaru frowns. Someone chases after the girl, but nothing more than a flash of silver catches her eye before it turns the corner and the flow of people swallows them.

Subaru takes a deep breath.

She died. Has seen everyone in the main street die. And now she's back here, alive and breathing, hours before the fact. Subaru doesn't understand. It could be game mechanics, like a savepoint, but nothing else similar to this has worked- no menus, no skills, no magic.

"Status." She forces herself to speak slowly. "Skills." Nothing. "Menu." Exactly like earlier on the first try, none of them work. Nothing makes a lick of a difference. Nothing shows her a screen. Then again, it wouldn't. When walking around, nobody tried anything similar, or she'd definitely have noticed.

At least here alone she won't seem insane. Subaru doesn't try again.

But if that isn't it, Subaru doesn't know what else it could be. As far as she can guess, it could be one out of three possibilities. A video game save point, precognition, or time-travel.

If it is a video game, with video game rules, she'd probably have woken up back home after death, like nothing ever happened. Home. Subaru bites down hard on her lower lip, lets the pain blank out her mind. Blood trickles down her chin. Thinking about home won't help. She cannot lose it right now.

If it wasn't a weird dream, there must be a way to test it.

A shadow falls over her. She's been so lost in thought, she hasn't noticed someone else -three someones- took the stairs and is now within spitting distance.

Subaru lifts her head off the railings. Yeah, she doesn't like their faces. In a RPG, they'd be the annoying, incompetent NPCs who keep following the main character just to fail to sabotage him every time. As if to prove her right, one of the guys brandishes a knife against her, while the other two line up to him shoulder to shoulder.

"Give us your money," The guy snarls as he points the knife in her direction. "Or else."

One look behind her tells her she just had the misfortune of picking a dead end. She is Natsuki Subaru. Of course it would be a dead end she picked. To top it off, sitting has her a disadvantage too- no way she could be fast enough to avoid three guys who are already prepared to jump her.

"Listen," Subaru lifts her hands in surrender. "I'm broke, I can't—"

"Bet ya don't even know what mess you're in, don't you." Short Stooge leers at her in a display of utter unoriginality. She got it, alright, and if Subaru had any money, giving it up would be the fastest way to get rid of them.

But the only valuable on her is her phone, and even then it might be completely useless in this world. Even assumed it were valuable, she doesn't want to lose the photos in storage, at least not before the battery dies. Once the pictures are gone, she won't have anything to remember her parents with.

The inevitability of it makes Subaru flinch back harder than the sight of the knife close to her eye.

"No back talk," Creepy Stooge scowls at her words. "And no lying. Yer a noble, aren't ya?"

"What?" The surprise is so great that Subaru lowers her hands.

"Don't play dumb." Ugly Stooge interjects. "We have eyes. We knew the moment we saw that fancy coat of yours—"

Subaru looks down at her four thousand yen hoodie jacket. She got it on clearance three years earlier. Things got really bad. No way she can meet whatever expectation of making bank these guys have. She can either comply and try to see if they get mad, or try to make a dash down the stairs and hope they're all slower than they look.

A hard decision to make.

"If I give it to you," Subaru tenses, fingers splayed behind her for an added push. Only one shot at this. "Will you—" The Stooges lower their guards, and the knife lowers pointing at the ground. Subaru jumps to her feet.

Creepy Stooge confuses it for an attack and reacts with a stab. It takes a few seconds to realize, but the knife isn't in his hands anymore. It's lodged into her midsection, down to the handle. Then the pain begins.

Fire spreads from that point over all of her body. Subaru whimpers.

"Shit, shit, shit—" Short Stooge takes a step back. "Man, what the fuck, why did you do that? We're gonna get the rope, man."

The other guy retreats too, observing her warily. "I wasn't gonna, but she moved damn fast."

Subaru clings to the rail and grips the knife with her other hand. Huh. Pain's dulled now. And everything is distant, and makes it hard to keep her eyes open. Shock from the wound, maybe. She probably shouldn't take it out.

"Get the knife and let's go." Ugly Stooge urges. The other two look at him like he just grew two heads.

"Ya get the fucking knife!"

As they bicker, Subaru leans to the side and looks at her hand, coated in red. That isn't good, it's a lot of blood. When she opens her mouth to speak, even more fills her mouth, and spills down her chin. Fuck.

"F-fuck all of you." It takes all Subaru has and another mouthful of blood to utter the words. Short Stooge eeps and flinches back.

"Okay, okay, stay calm." Creepy Stooge eyes her nervously. "Let's just wait a minute, she's gonna die anytime. Blood's bright red, see." He gestures around her, and then Subaru looks too.

Even without pulling out the knife, the jostling caused a small puddle of blood to drip from her belly, like in a bad horror flick. The stab must have nicked an artery. Her vision swims in and out. Subaru feels sleepy. "—see, not long now, she can't—" The words cut off again.

Subaru feels very sleepy.

"—so, you gonna buy the damn appa? I'm talking to you!"

Subaru isn't sure how she doesn't scream, but she places the apple down instead and calmly presses her hand against her belly. None of sticky warmth of blood that she expects coats her fingers, her body is intact. Right. She returned again. Didn't she.

"Hey? You good?" Some apprehension colors the guy's voice now. Subaru smiles blankly. Whatever he sees in her expression makes him take a step back.

"I'm good." Subaru forces the happy expression to stay on her face, and steps outside the store. Once outside, her smile almost slips off her face, so she just plasters it back on and bites the inside of her cheek. Okay, right. She must do something. Must find out what's happening, must look for a way to go home. Mom is still waiting for her to come back from the store.

Subaru shakes the thought away and touches her stomach again. Almost giggles. At least she can exclude the otome game option for good, there's no way any game would prompt her into a bad end so soon.

Maybe her brain simply broke for good. Maybe this is what hell is like.

Subaru walks faster to escape the gazes of the passersby. When shivers wrack her body, she hugs herself tightly but doesn't stop. It wasn't enough to be a loser back home, have everyone wondering why wasn't she like her parents there. She had to end up in a hellhole where everyone sees her as a crazy homeless fuck-up, too.

Subaru grits her teeth and turns into an alley, away from the crowd. As soon as she enters it, the noise from the main street dampens to a mild nuisance. Much better. It makes breathing easier. Subaru curls on a wooden box and hugs her bag to herself, ignoring the way the soda cans dig into her stomach.

By this point, precognition is out. Her first death has been painless and so it didn't sink in then. But the second, the stabbing— the weakness from blood loss, the burning pain, those aren't a vision of the future. They were real, she's sure now. Besides, it made much sense to foresee two completely different futures that way. And only one of them with major significance. Subaru has died. Twice.

Still, there must be a reason this happens. Something she needs to do. Though the second death has been a freak accident, probably. Her first was different. Even in a fantasy world, every single person in the main street turning to ice at once couldn't be a common occurrence.

On the matter of the save point vs time travel, well. No real way to test comes to mind, but she hasn't seen any other video game mechanic.

"This place sucks." Subaru informs the empty air. "I want a swap."

"What're you blabbering about?" Short Stooge, Ugly Stooge, and Creepy Stooge stand at the mouth of the alley. Subaru blinks. Impossible. This place is tucked out of the way, and at some distance from the stairway where they met. "You've been following me."

So that feeling of being stared at hasn't been only a freakout on her part, then. And she hasn't met them the first time around because she's always kept to the main street, to the fruit stall, or close to Reinhard.

Reinhard.

Their promise of friendship hasn't happened at all, if Subaru's right about the groundhog day bullshit. A wave of sadness washes over her, and her heart constricts. "I'm broke as hell, just so you know." Not that telling them has done much, earlier.

"Don't fuck with us." Creepy Stooge snaps. Those guys need some new and original lines of dialogue, and possibly better character design too. Subaru glances around for an exit. Her choice of an alley has been less than inspired, considering what happened before it. "Give us your purse and we won't 'urt ya."

Subaru studies him warily. Her purse and some junk food aren't worth dying again, but she'd still hate losing her phone, no matter that without a connection the most it can do is die on her in a few days. She lifts her bag off her shoulder and sighs. Creepy Stooge's eyes light up. "Just how much do you think it's worth, to go through all this trouble?"

"Are ya mocking us?" He narrows his eyes at her and his hand goes to the knife. Subaru hesitates. It's just a phone. The battery would be dead in ten days or so anyway, she tells herself again. But if she gives it up, it will mean that the photos will be lost to her right away. She won't look at her parents even one last time. Tears start to prickle at her eyes.

"Stupid slut, get a move—" Creepy Stooge lunges for the bag, and Subaru sidesteps him on instinct. Before any of them can react further, a voice breaks the moment.

"Out of the—" Something crashes into Subaru with the force of a freight train and sends her crashing into the wall. The bag slips from her hand and all three energy drinks, and her phone fly out.

"Motherfucking— " A blond girl holds her own ankle and swears with the inventiveness and experience of, well, teenagers everywhere, no matter the world, apparently. "You stupid, fat land dragon."

"You're the cow," Subaru wheezes and tries unsuccessfully to untangle herself from the newcomer. "You cracked my ribs."

"What the fuck is a cow."

"Stop there, evildoers," The grandiose warning for sure doesn't come from any of the three stooges, even though the dialogue also needs work. For starters, it's a girl's voice. "You won't get away with it."

The girl's delicate, ethereal features harden as she takes in the people currently in the alley, and she straightens her shoulders. "Did you think to intimidate me with numbers? I guess I have no choice, then."

She lifts a hand above her head, and just like that, a multitude of shards comes into being around her. Sharp, and as big as Subaru's head. Glittering like crystal. Glittering like ice. Everyone stares, mesmerized by the sight. It's beautiful. But Subaru feels the cold in her memories seep into her bones and shivers violently. Recoils.

Her hand closes around the blond girl's shoulders and tugs.

"Go, go, go—" Her cry breaks the daze, and everyone jumps to their feet. In no time at all, all five of them dash away for the relative safety of putting distance between them and the mage. Blondie leans on Subaru, the other three jumping ahead. Subaru grabs her bag as she passes by it.

The witch girl seems taken aback by their reactions, and stares at them with a baffled look in her eyes. No time to linger on that, though. The girl half runs, half hops alongside her. All well and good until they reach a very literal wall.

"Oh, come on—" The blond girl scoffs, and looks down with a grimace. Subaru considers the wall height— it's not that hard to climb, though her busted ankle might be an issue. It started to swell, but it's still easy enough to work around the problem. "Well, there goes nothing," Subaru kneels and joins her hand to make a step for the teen. "Come on, she's right behind us." Blondie blinks, but accepts it. She pushes herself up with her good foot. Her hands get a hold of the wall without trouble, and she hoists herself on top of the wall.

A sharp cry catches both their attention: Stooge Trio threw their shortest member up the wall like a fairly small sack of potatoes. "Guess that'd do it." She comments absentmindedly, as they prepare to climb up as well, and then she's left last on the ground. Being left as a decoy for an angry witch seem very in theme with the day up to now.

A faceful of scarf interrupts her musings. "Ya better get a move on," Blondie makes the impromptu rope wiggle. "Else I'm leavin' ya here."

Footsteps resound from the other end of the alley. Subaru grabs the scarf and scrambles for a foothold to push herself up— she should have tried out those parkour videos in real life instead of holing herself in her bedroom with just calisthenics and yoga. "Move." Blondie hisses above her with the fury of a very angry small cat.

"I'm trying!" The sole of her sneakers finally wedges between the bricks and Subaru throws herself upward, scraping along the top of the wall with her torso and hugging the other side.

She turns for a last glance behind her. Witch Girl steps out of the corner and isn't alone anymore: a weird cat-like mascot hovers above her shoulder, and Subaru could swear it narrows its eyes at her. This gives her a very bad feeling. If there's something anime taught her, it's not to trust magical kitty-like familiars.

She and Blondie jump down at the same time.

"Shit, ouch—" Blondie rolls on the ground instead of putting pressure on her ankle, but Subaru still grimaces. That's sucks, it already swelled before. So she offers her back to the teen. "Hop on," It's lucky the witch girl's reaction times aren't the best, but something tells her to not wait too long all the same. She's gonna turn up again, as antagonists always do. "I don't think that wall is gonna stop her for long."

"Eh." As she puts it, yeah, it sucks that Subaru's right, and they gotta move. Blondie grabs fistfuls of her jacket and pulls her onto her back. Her arms end up around her neck a bit too tight while Subaru secures her by holding the back of her thighs. She winces. Blondie makes a very boney backpack.

"Onwards, ho." Her tone is decidedly smug, and her sudden stillness can't fool Subaru. Her leg just tensed around her torso, so Subaru has a suspicion about what Blondie is preparing herself for. "If you kick me like a horse, I'm throwing you off like a horse." Subaru warns.

"Why'd I kick a horse?" Her smugness vanished without a trace, leaving a scowl in her voice. "And I ain't doing anything."

Subaru hums, disbelieving. "So where to? And give me directions," She hoists Blondie up more securely to take the first steps and pick up the pace. "Directions, I repeat. No kicking."

"I already said I ain't doing it!" The grip on her neck tightens in revenge. "And turn right at the next alley."

They both lapse into silence. The buildings crowd closer together the farther they get from the main street, and becomes harder to tell how much time has passed, as the tall buildings block off the sunlight. More than once, Subaru could swear she hears the sound of a shutter being slammed shut, above their heads. It makes her unease grow, this feeling of eyes on the back of her head while the alley is empty. It feels more oppressive than even being stared at like a madwoman.

"Say," Subaru jerks away from that line of thought before paranoia swallows her whole. With the Stooge Trio gone, nobody will kill her in the short term, and the other thing- well, that's out of her hands for now, and it will be a while before it happens. If it happens at all. How many times would she have to experience it, if she really comes back after every death? The thought doesn't help the tremors in her hands to subside. She just hopes Blondie doesn't pay attention to it. "You haven't told me your name."

"Ye, so?" Talk about tsundere. Subaru scoffs. It's far less cute when you actually have to interact with one. "Well, I'm giving you a piggyback ride," Subaru would strike a pose, but alas her hands are full. "Consider it my payment."

"Yer touched in the head, Sis." Felt grumbles into the back of her neck. "Name's Felt." Unseen by her, Subaru beams. "By the way, you gotta turn left now. What's yours?"

"Natsuki Subaru."

Felt sounds put off. "Are ya some kind of noble?"

"What? No. I'm completely broke." Subaru cheerfully informs her. "What's up with you people thinking that?"

"Ya got a surname, and these fancy clothes. Merchant, then? Ya look weird."

"What, people don't have surnames around here?" Subaru frowns. Maybe she should have used a fake name, if it draws a little less attention. Everyone uses western names, too, so her social media handle would have worked. She hasn't been lucky with people's attention, aside for Reinhard's. She wonders where he is now. "I'm from far away. But I'm not rich. Or special." As people take care to remind her all the time, she isn't even half as talented as her parents are.

"Why in hell'd you come here to be broke?"

"Didn't exactly plan it. It just happened."

Felt huffs. "Turn left again. We're almost there."

"Okie dokie." Subaru nods.

"And stop talking weird, it creeps me out." Felt tugs on a lock of her hair without much force.

"Rude. Now what?" They arrived in the first open space Subaru noticed since entering the slums. She likes it even less than the alleys. Having a wall where her blindspot wasn't so bad, though she really needs to learn a way not to get ambushed. Being broke hasn't done shit.

"Now circle around that house and knock on the door back there." Felt releases her neck, which sorta improves her airflow, and points at a house. Though it's more of a shack, and calling it a house is like saying a horsecart is a Porsche.

"Isn't it weird how the girl didn't try to follow us?" Subaru stops in front of said door. This is too easy. Not that she can complain, after all that happened, but with their snail's pace they shouldn't have been hard to track.

"Eh, she probably followed the three morons." Felt pinches Subaru's shoulder. "She's kinda dumb."

"This was too easy," Subaru decides. "We're gonna get shanked at the last second just in a horror flick, probably by some weirdo we've overlooked but has been following us for hours." Well, some weirdo aside from the Stooge Trio.

Felt pinches her again. Harder.

"Stop that." Subaru swats at her shin.

"Then stop sayin' weird shit. I only got half of what ya said and it was nothing good."

Subaru huffs and knocks on the door. Some people are never happy.

"Who's there? " A man's voice calls out.

"Felt's here. Prices were too high, I went for a stroll."

"Your password is corny." Subaru informs her, as they wait for all the locks to be disengaged.

"Shut it. You can let me down when we're inside."

She hums and squints. Hard to tell what's inside the room, even with the door open, with how dark it is. "You know, I'm not sure I'm comfortable with being led inside a shack in a shady part of town." She realizes, without moving an inch even as Felt slaps her shoulder to make her move. "That's how you end up on a meathook and become the next meal for a family of human moles."

Felt stills. "Sis, what the fuck."

Subaru smiles and shrugs, or tries to, since Felt is still on her back. Both her and the old man behind the doorway stare at her as she has just grown a second head.

The old man is the first to recover. "Get your ass in there, both of you." He hushers them inside and puts the deadbolt back in place, with a wary look at the outside. Okay then. "Now, who's this girl and what the fuck happened."

"This is Big Sis Natsuki." Felt presses her chin to Subaru shoulders as they walk past the door. It takes her a second to notice how she used her surname instead of her name. Naming conventions. Right. "I hurt my ankle and she helped me get away from that girl, the one from the job I told ya about." Felt arms shoot out to show off a badge in her palm. "Take a good look at our ticket out."

The Old Man chuckles.

"So that's why she was after you." The sudden suspicious Subaru should have stayed out of it makes its appearance. But who's she's kidding. No way she could have done that, even if she has realized it. That magic attack would have turned Felt into ground meat. Subaru just couldn't ignore that.

"Right." The silence that follows has a contemplative edge to it. Felt snorts. "Ya pretty dumb too, Sis. How did ya make it out here?"

Subaru shrugs and doesn't dispute it. She knows she isn't the sharpest tool in the shed. And in all fairness, it was game over two times in a row. Her next smile is plastered on with great prejudice, and she has to pretend not to notice the look Felt sends her way.

Better not to think about that at all. The next death might loom just a couple of hours away, or even less. Her hand returns to her stomach again.

"Anyway, good job," The Old Man nods his approval. "Ya can call me Old Man Rom, kid."

Subaru nods. "Thanks for having me." She says, as she steps deeper into the shack. She zeroes onto a chair as soon as she spots one, as Felt got surprisingly heavy after carrying her around for the better part of an hour. Subaru unloads her cargo with a grateful sigh and rolls her shoulders. Her arms tingle from numbness. "Finally. You're pretty heavy for being so tiny, Felt."

"Yer one to talk." Felt leans back into the chair and kicks lightly one of the legs, but there's no heat in her words. They stare at each other. Now that Felt is safe, she should probably go. She glances at the door, but Rom seems to intercept it.

"Sit your ass down. Ya better not be thinking about going out there, it's almost sunset."

"Yes, sir." Subaru sits her ass down, clutching her bag.

"Sis is broke as fuck," Felt reveals, the snitch. "Ya gonna let her sleep here?"

"Sure," Rom shrugs and points at Felt. "And you, lemme take a look at that ankle."

Felt pouts, but obediently raises her leg so that Rom can hold her foot between his huge hands and examine the swollen ankle. He presses down gently here and then, seemingly getting a feel for the muscle condition. "It ain't too bad, right? Don't wanna waste the job money on a healer."

"Ya only angered it, I think," Rom says, to Subaru is relief and Felt grins. "You did good at not forcing it." Good. For a moment, Subaru has been afraid Felt broke it, back there in the alley. "But we're gonna need a poultice for the swelling."

The rest of the tension leaves Felt's body in an instant. Subaru hasn't even noticed how on edge she was until then, Felt must have been a better actress than she has given her credit for. Pretty impressive.

"That ain't so bad." Felt sighs.

They sit looking at nothing for a couple of minutes, before Rom decides to shake them out of the reverie. "Felt's client is gonna be here soon. Want to have a bite while we wait?"

Felt chortles. "What, we having high tea or something?"

Rom just rolls his eyes while Subaru cannot help but giggle.

"Oh, right." She got some cup noodles and candies in her bag. She should probably share them as thank you for the hospitality. While she can. She rummages in the bag. "Do you have a kettle?"

Rom arches his impressive, bushy eyebrows and gestures to the stove in the corner. Thankfully some embers are still lit, because Subaru wouldn't have the faintest idea as to how to turn on a wood stove for tea. She smiles sheepishly. Once at the stove, she places the noodles to the side while swishing the kettle around. Plenty enough hot water for the cup noodles. She glances back just to meet the puzzled expression of both Rom and Felt. "Bet you never had cup noodles before."

"I don't even know what that is." Felt looks at the three cups dubiously, but Subaru isn't fooled: her impatient tapping against the chair leg doesn't lie. Felt cannot wait to try them out. That's what Subaru decides to believe.

Then, she blinks. She almost forgot something important. Almost. "You said you're going to sell the stolen badge thing to someone, right? Do you also work as a pawn shop?"

Badge thing, Felt mouths back at her. Subaru just sticks out her tongue in lieu of answering. Rom, she notices, is surprisingly good at making kindly grandfatherly expressions, considering he towers over them both by a good three heads and is built like a brick house.

"Yeah, I take some things here and here." The man nods.

Subaru grabs the cup noodles, one for each hand with the third balanced between her chest and forearm, and gets to the table without spilling a drop. "We got no cutlery, though—"

Felt ignores her, and grabs a noodle between thumb and forefinger, making Subaru wince. That water was close to boiling. Her eyes light up as soon as she inhales the food. "This is so good." She throws back a whole mouthful of broth, completely indifferent to the temperature. Rom sips his at a more sedate pace. "Where did ya get this?"

"Staple of my hometown." She's gonna have to drink all of the broth first and eat the noodles last, Subaru realizes mournfully. Her last cup of noodles, and she can't even eat it in the best way. She sighs.

Well, back to business. "So, I have this—" Her hand slips into her bag and searches the side pockets to no avail. Right, why not. "Shit. I dropped it in the alley, didn't I." She doesn't want to sell her phone, at least not until the battery is gone, but it would have been good to get an estimate for it. She bites the inside of her cheek. She needs to go back to the alley and check, if nothing happens. "Nevermind. Maybe you'd take the bag instead?"

She asks hopefully. It's cheap back home, but an unknown material like eco-leather might be worth something.

Rom snorts. "Sorry, kid, haven't got clients interested in that sort of item."

Subaru's shoulders drop. If the bag is no good, marshmallows are even worse. She might as well eat everything and forget about it.

"If ya sell your stuff money's just gonna last days at most, anyways, " Felt slurps another noodle and adds, all gleeful, without chewing or swallowing. "I know. After I get paid ya should just come work for me." Her grin turns mischievous, and Subaru got a bad feeling about it. "Got a few cons I wanna try, but Old Man Rom's face ain't no good for 'em. Too scary. If it's two girls like us, though—"

Three knocks that come from the door interrupt whatever she wanted to say.

"Guess your client's here already." Rom stands and walks over to open it. "Password." A muffled voice answers him from behind the door, and whatever is said must be correct, because Rom nods to himself and lifts the deadbolt. He pulls the door open, nods. "Miss Elsa."

Felt's client stands in the doorway, and Subaru cannot help but bite her knuckles to not burst out in hysterical laughter. Never mind the city freezing to death, this is it. She isn't sure why, but she just knows it.

Felt and Rom must be dumber than her, which is surprising, and she couldn't have predicted that at all. Subaru isn't impressed.

The woman who steps inside showcases the creepiest smile Subaru has ever seen on someone from this world. Really. It's a femme fatale wielding an odd blade, with pale and waxen skin, maybe even more so than Subaru's own.

That's a villain, Subaru doesn't say. Her body is clad in a black, audacious dress that she associates with the character design of assassins and midlevel bosses. She doesn't know what expression is on her own face, but whatever it is, Elsa catches it and tilts her head. "Something's the matter?"

Subaru hears herself say the dumbest thing she's said in days. "Your dress is very pretty." She cringes at herself.

Elsa's smile widens in a way that should be impossible, with how ear-to-ear it already is. It turns out, smiling back in the face of death is the easiest thing in the world. The real challenge is not breaking down in hysterics.

"My, aren't you kind." She turns to Felt. "Do you have it?"

"Yeah." Felt puffs out her chest and grins, without the barest hint of unease in her warm, childish eyes. Subaru should- do something. "We're ready to finish the deal."

Grab her by the shoulders and shake her until some common sense falls out, maybe.

Three consecutive knocks shake the door.

Elsa's wide smirk doesn't dim one bit. On the contrary, it becomes impossibly delighted by the turn of events.

Rom pursues his lips. " We weren't waiting for anyone else, were we."

Felt shakes her head with a frown. And Elsa— while Rom and Felt's attention is caught by the door, licks her lips in excitement.

For a single, hopeful moment Subaru lets herself hope that it might be the guards who found them. Of course, reality is nowhere that nice to her. Without giving time for anybody to respond, a thin layer of frost creeps around the doorknob and runs along the hinges. A hit shakes the door. The deadbolt holds.

But then the frost spreads to it too, with only a few seconds' delay. The second hit sends shards flying everywhere, and the door lands on the floor with a crash.

"There, Lia. That's the girl who stole it, isn't it?"

Of course it'd be the witch girl to find them. Subaru doesn't know why she hoped otherwise, every loop becomes progressively worse, and for all she knows, it might never stop.

Lia looks at them, hands on her hips. "I've found you, now give me back what you stole—"

Elsa giggles behind a gloved hand. "I admit, I expect a bit more professionalism for the amount we agreed on—"

"—or else I won't give it back either!"

Felt looks at her up and down. Confusion colors her voice. "You won't give it back?"

Lia's hand disappears into her pocket, and when it makes a reappearance, holds up Subaru's phone.

"My phone—?" Yeah, it'd check out that the witch girl would be the one to find it and hold it as a bargaining chip.

"Puck says turnabout is fair play," The tiny creature mentioned smiles and gives a little tail swish, while Lia frowns at Subaru. "This metia is important to you, isn't it? Now, if you—"

"As amusing as this little scene is, my employer will be disappointed if I don't report tonight." Elsa stands to her feet, hand resting casually on the weapon at her side. Subaru stills. This is the moment it happens, isn't it. "However, I'm truly happy to see such a nice reunion."

She unsheaths her blade. "Two little girls, an old man, an half-elf, and even a spirit." A casual flick of her wrist later, a diagonal swing almost costs Felt an arm. The girl barely makes it away with a gust of wind.

"Oh, a blessing of the wind. How lucky you are." Elsa appears all but inconvenienced by the turn of events. That lifeless smile still persists on her face.

Subaru retreats until her back hits her wall, so that Felt is close enough to touch. She hates being right. She hates this stupid Dark Soul crapsack world.

Nothing close by even resembles a weapon or a deterrent, even if she were fast enough to keep up with the slashes of an assassin who she cannot properly track with her eyes either.

A barrage of icicles shoots toward the woman, but they're all sidestepped with ease. Elsa dashes to close the distance, probably identifying Lia as the one threat out of everyone in the room.

Another icicle appears, and this time, the small distance works in Lia's favor. It connects with the flesh of Elsa's arm, cutting it off at the elbow and leaving bone and muscle exposed. Rom lurches forward at the opportunity, a club in his hands. The weapon traces an arc as he lifts it above his head for a skull-crushing hit.

Subaru's heart swells with relief. A hit with that much strength behind it would definitely stop anyone. But when her gaze falls to Elsa's face, the relief evaporates. The woman smiles like the pain of mutilation isn't even worth registering. With a smooth, practiced movement her remaining hand retrieves something from under her dress. A second weapon.

Elsa turns around, teeth showing. As she executes her next hit, the light catches on the edge of the blade in a cold, dull glint. It is, Subaru thinks, for an instant, extraordinarily beautiful. Then she hears a scream— it's her own voice.

Rom's neck splits with a spray of blood. Some of it even ends up in her mouth, and Subaru coughs with tears in her eyes.

Lia steps back, but a low swing of the blade cuts her across her front, and her body collapses. She presses a hand to the wound, white as a ghost.

"You're all in high spirits," Elsa remarks, casually. "That's good, killing you unaware would have been tedious."

Felt is still, eyes fixed on Rom's knelt body, lips parted in silent shock, while Rom's hands grapple at his own throat, trying to stem the blood flow. The spurts still shoot out from between his fingers.

Elsa tilts her head and makes her way to Felt.

This jolts her from her daze. That woman cut Rom's throat like it was nothing, and Felt— Felt is just a child. They might have not talked for long, but Subaru can tell she's a good kid. Thief or not. She only wants to go somewhere else. Subaru has wanted it too, for the longest time.

Fat lot of good it did to them both. Subaru chokes back a sob and lunges.

Her arms catch Felt just in time to drag her out of range. The next hit misses with a low hiss, and Elsa just hums as she regards them. "Don't worry, I do not mind if you want to die together."

This close, Subaru hears Felt's teeth chattering. Her body hangs limp in her arms, save for her shivers. She cannot avoid a second attack while holding her.

But then, Felt stiffens, and before Subaru can say anything, throws her head back.

Pain explodes behind Subaru's eyes.

"Lemme go—" Felt's voice breaks as she scrambles out of Subaru's arms. "If ya weren't here, if that bitch didn't find us—"

Subaru doesn't understand.

Felt staggers to her feet and screams. Tears tracks stain her face. When she throws herself at Elsa, it isn't even her weapon to rip through her. It's claws. A jerk of her hand later, and Felt lands on the floor in a puddle of Rom's blood.

Subaru doesn't understand.

Elsa crouches down next to her. "Just you and me, now. I'm going to take my time with you— I'm sure you have wonderful guts." A thumb strokes Subaru's beneath the eye, fake comfort. "Though your eyes do leave something to be desired," Elsa cut across Subaru's belly with a practiced motion. For the second time that day, fire spreads from a cut on her belly to the rest of her body. "I'll be careful to not pierce any blood vessel."

Elsa's left-hand plunges deep into the wound. Subaru throws her head back and howls.

"That's more like it." After the blade clatters to the floor, Elsa pets her head, even turns a lock of Subaru's hair between her fingers. "Your hair looks like mine, but it's so soft."

Somewhere in her mind, Subaru notices she's panting like a dog, and Elsa's words for her are lost in the haze of pain. Everything narrows down to the sensation of fingers inside her body.

Elsa's next sigh is out of bliss. "You're so warm. But I still wish your companions were awake as well," Her hand twists something, and Subaru finds her mouth filled with blood. With some difficulty, she lifts her head to look at the murderer. "Isn't there perhaps something you want to tell me? It'd make for boring conversation otherwise."

Subaru does the only thing she's capable of at that moment. She spits a mouthful of blood in Elsa's face, missing her eye by a hairbreadth. Blood and spit drip to her chin and on her dress.

Subaru's face stings from the cold now. She knows what this means, from last time. Not long now, with the shock and blood loss kicking in. Soon she's gonna be dead. Again.

Subaru coughs as her eyes slip closed. "I'll see you again soon, bitch." The promise takes all of the energy she had left, and her body slumps onto Elsa's thighs against her will.

But she isn't looking at her. Not exactly. Her attention is focused on the steam rising from the cut in her midsection. "Are you still alive, after all?"

Elsa twists her torso to look at Lia's corpse. The girl is prone on the floor, lifeless, but her small familiar hovers above her form. Right now, there's nothing cute about the creature. Its cold stare is fixed on Elsa and Subaru.

"Lia is dead." It says.

Without warning, it stretches his paws. And keeps stretching them. And stretching them. It's not a tiny cat at all, Subaru realizes. Its head presses against the ceiling of the shack now, and the world explodes in debris with a loud, shattering boom.

When the air clears, the sky is filled with snowflakes.

Subaru glances at Elsa. Her body has turned into a shining crystal from the waist down. Ice spreads to her own legs too, and then to her midsection. There, once the blood flow congeals, it stops.

Subaru understands. Her mouth opens and closes wordlessly.

"No, no..."

"You killed her." The white beast sits on its haunches and looks down on them. It focuses on Elsa's mute form for a long moment, while the frost seeps farther into her freezes her features into the ones of a statue. Then its giant paw lifts up. When it descends from above and grinds down, the woman shatters into innumerable microscopic crystals.

The impact on the ground creates dozens of hairline cracks throughout Subaru's legs.

"And you," It lowers his head until a giant, yellow eye is at a level with Subaru. "You lured her here. Before I end this world, I shall end you."

Laughter bubbles up from her chest, but her vocal cords don't work anymore. A section of her leg, from the knees downwards, falls into the snow. It doesn't hurt at all.

The Great Beast moves its head from side to side, still looking at her. Waiting, considering. Another piece of Subaru cracks and drops to the ground: her arm, she thinks. But now she cannot even move her face to look.

Abruptly, its head rises to hover above Subaru, right in her line of sight, and opens its jaws. The Beast's teeth are very, very white against the red of its mouth. Darkness swallows her as it closes his jaws around her torso.

The moment it bites down, Subaru knows no more.

Subaru returns.

"—appa. Hey, you listening?" The apple seller squints, then recoils and takes a step back. With a jolt, she realizes the question is addressed to her. "You good, girlie?"

A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, so wide it hurts. "Everything," Subaru chirps, as the stall owner takes yet another step away from her, and puts the counter between him and herself. "is perfectly fine." She puts the apple back with the others and nods. " I need to go now. Bye."

Outside the stall, it's a painfully normal sunny afternoon. The people out in the street proceed with their day, as usual, no hint that anyone suspects a calamity is about to hit them. Anyone, aside from herself.

At the edge of her vision, snowflakes glitter, suspended in the air, and so her heart starts hammering in her throat. Subaru lifts a hand to her mouth and bites down on the knuckles, eyes closed. When she opens them again, it's gone. There. Much better.

Now that she stopped smiling, her face stopped hurting too. What's left to do is to take all she learned and think. The first death gave her a hint, even though she hasn't known that Lia, the witch girl, was involved at the time. Or that Subaru could take action to accelerate a bad end. That loop, before the Beast appeared, hasn't been so bad. She made a friend, met Reinhard. Reinhard.

Subaru next breath catches in her throat. Did he die like the others, those times the Beast froze the city?

She's going to find him again. Warn him to get out of the city, and maybe— maybe ask for advice. As far as she can tell from the second and third deaths, she's way under-leveled to take on anything at all in this world. No magic, no skills. Let alone a chance at stopping a level-end boss.

Reinhard is a knight, though, and lives in the city, or so she thinks. He might know how to request help from the guards, or at least would make a more convincing case than a foreigner, if he believes her. Though he shouldn't go near that shack.

An image of the bodies on the floor of that place flashes in her mind, and Subaru shivers. She doesn't want that to happen to Reinhard too. So.

Elsa and the Beast are connected, a two-fold problem. Elsa kills Lia. When Lia dies, the Beast appears. Its appearance turns the city into a frozen wasteland. Hence, the Beast is a dead man switch. If Subaru finds a way to get rid of Elsa, defeating the Beast can be postponed to a time when her chances improve. Besides, Elsa should be easier to take care of.

Yes. That might work. The plan is: to retrace her steps from the first loop, then improve on it. Everything learned throughout the others needs to be put to use, so that she can achieve the perfect end. Subaru should at least attempt to be as normal and unremarkable as possible, to win over the help she needs.

The crowd pushes her along the main street, and Subaru lets the flow take her where she needs to be. A familiar little figure crouches by the wall. Subaru crosses over and sidesteps people until she reaches her. Then goes down on one knee and holds out her hand. Smiles. Plum looks up at her. "Hey, there. I'm Schwartz. Are you lost?"

Subaru talks, and waits, and talks some more.

"My apologies if I'm mistaken, but are you in need of assistance?"

Her conversation with Reinhard sticks very close to the first, down to the promise they make to each other.

Aside that, of course, Subaru stopped him from leaving and gives him a different name. Schwartz, her handle for social media, fits this world much more than her Japanese name, and after using it a whole year, it doesn't feel like a lie at all. To all of her friends online, she is Schwartz. For all his resolve the first time, Reinhard's turned to be quite happy when the refusal to let him go stands firmer.

What changes, though, is the behavior of the people around them. Plum mother's reaction changes a whole lot from the first loop.

Her enthusiasm from back then vanished. Instead, she offers a nod, and a cool gaze full of wariness, directed at her and Reinhard both. "Thank you so much for finding her," Her smile's small, and doesn't reach her eyes. "I hope it wasn't too much of a bother."

Reinhard shakes his head. "We're glad to be of help."

Subaru glances at his face. For someone who just helped a child find her parents again, his expression is shadowed and forlorn. Though it might be understandable, given the unpleasant reception.

Subaru hasn't changed her behavior from the first loop, and Reinhard's so visibly softhearted and earnest that it wouldn't surprise her to discover he helps grannies cross the road on his days off. Subaru doesn't get the change.

Another, smaller thing: no basket of apples to go together with the couple's thanks. As selfish as this is, the disappointment stings far more than she'd have thought. Subaru has been looking forward to sharing it with Reinhard.

She wraps her hair around two fingers and tries to ignore the empty feeling in her chest. As she does, Plum skips to a stop in front of her and holds out her hand. The familiar flower hairpin sits in her palm. "For you." A bright grin lights up her face, and Plum adds, a bit softer. "You look sad."

Well, at least some things stay the same.

Plum's mother bows her head. "Please accept it. Plum really wants to thank you."

"Then I shall treasure it." The words, repeated by rote, become ash in her mouth, but Subaru shrugs it off. Plum giggles in delight exactly as the first time.

Subaru and Reinhard watch the family retreat in the stall. Still some time left before calamity strikes.

"Say, Reinhard," When he turns to watch her, he shrugs off the somber mood and displays a close-lipped smile instead. Subaru feels relieved. "You said you work with the guards, right?"

Reinhard nods.

"Where should I go if I wanted to request help? Like, officially."

His back straightens up, and his eyes widen in genuine alarm. "Schwartz, are you in danger?"

Subaru plays with the zip of her jacket. "I'm scared." She states, and stops for a moment. "I think a girl fell in with the wrong person, and something very bad will happen." She tugs the zipper up and then down again. "A mean-looking black-haired woman." Belatedly she realizes it could describe herself too. "Who carries two blades. Her name is Elsa."

A flash of recognition sparks in Reinhard's eyes. "And you know where to find her?"

"She should show up at a shack in the slums, around sunset," Subaru closes her eyes and tries to picture the way there. She cannot forget the alley where she met Felt earlier, but remembering the right way to reach the place takes some effort. "I should be able to find it--"

"If you can direct me to the right place, I'd be glad to solve the matter." Reinhard places his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"But-- she's very dangerous. Shouldn't you take some backup?" Subaru grabs the hem of his sleeve.

For a moment, Reinhard holds silent, as if words fail him at her worry. The puzzled expression that appears more and more often on his face the longer they talk returns, too. "I come from a line of master swordsmen. I assure you I won't be in any danger."

Subaru frowns. "Is your family very important?"

After the words leave her mouth, a fear that she might have offended him grips her.

But his smile just becomes more melancholic. "I suppose you could say that. The expectations my family comes with, if nothing else, sometimes weigh heavy on me." Abruptly, his hand leaves the sword. "Have you truly never heard the van Astrea name?"

"I don't know much of anything, really," A passerby almost jostles her, but Subaru barely notices. Her ignorance needs a better explanation. Not everything can be explained away by being a foreigner. On the other hand, she doesn't really want to lie to Reinhard. Her head drops down. "I, didn't really go outside much. Or talk to people. Before."

It's not related to his question, not really. She knows that. And it might not be lying, but she isn't being truthful either. Her fingers squeeze the hem of her jacket. Subaru feels like scum.

"I see," Reinhard says, simply.

She smiles a little. She can tell he really doesn't, but that's okay.

"You sure it'd be fine if we go find her now?"

"It is," Reinhard nods, so sure, so unafraid, that Subaru stops being as scared herself. "Show me."

She grabs the hem of his sleeve again, and he doesn't protest. Just lets himself be guided. Subaru retraces her with Reinhard just a step behind her. The alleys look all alike, so she doesn't find the right turn on the first try, but after that her memory is nudged into remembering the correct way. They're both silent.

Subaru needs to bring up the Great Beast too, though that's harder to explain than a murderer. At least, going on the assumption its existence isn't common knowledge. Then again, if it were, someone would have done something. Probably.

And Lia looks important. Her clothes were much more elegant than anything she's seen common people wearing on the streets, so she might be a noble, perhaps even royalty. Lia looks just like what Subaru expects a fantasy apocalypse maiden to be, with her silver hair and ethereal beauty. So, how to address the issue—

"Listen," She begins, as they walk past the shadows of the alley they're in. "Do you know of any silver-haired girl with a cat familiar?"

"That'd be lady Emilia, and I imagine the... familiar... you speak of might be her contracted spirit. From what I've been told, lady Emilia is a spirit user." Well, that's fast. His answers come without hesitation, likely he doesn't need to think about who could it be at all. Lia's important after all.

Subaru stops in her tracks and turns, while Reinhard just waits patiently for her to continue. "When I saw the spirit, I had a terrible feeling." That was an understatement. When Subaru saw the spirit for the first time, it loomed over the city. She's never been so afraid. "How dangerous is it?"

Reinhard hums. "It is difficult to evaluate, without seeing Lady Emilia in combat."

Subaru frowns, kicking a rock in her path. At least that confirms that whatever abilities it has, they are not public knowledge, and there's a chance someone will help her if informed.

"I think it's very dangerous," She whispers after a while, after they resume walking, as the buildings along close together than it feels like they might fall inward and onto the alley. '"I think you should get out of the city, after this."

"Schwartz?"

She shakes her head, and points at the shack, now within reach but for a few dozen feet. They have very few minutes to spare before sunset. "That's the place."

Reinhard seems to share her worries. "We should wait inside, out of sight."

They approach the back door together.

In the end, the battle isn't much of a battle at all.

Reinhard obliterates the assassin without trouble, and makes any third-party intervention, Emilia's magic included, pointless.

"Now, please give me back my insignia," Emilia steps over a beam from the ceiling, fallen to the ground after Reinhard's blow destroyed the shack, and holds out her hand to Felt. "It's very important."

Subaru hugs a very pale, shell-shocked Felt tighter to her chest, and ignores the blood that drips on her jacket, while Reinhard squeezes her arm with the barest touch. His hold on her didn't let go since he defeated Elsa, and Subaru can make a fair guess as to why. Her words outside the shack must sound very suspicious, especially after her first tip proved right. Subaru understands. It could be a good thing, even.

Felt's face gained a couple of cuts the moment everything collapsed. But that doesn't matter. Everyone is alive. The sky above isn't grey or dotted with snowflakes. No Beast looms on the horizon, and the day might finally reach its end. She might be free, now.

"Fine. It's not like— " Felt's hand pushes against Subaru's sternum. "—I can get paid for it now. Sis, get off me." Subaru relents but throws a wary look first at Emilia, then at the creature next to her. The insignia that Felt retrieves from her pocket and holds off to Emilia gives off a bright shine. Perhaps, like everything seem to be in this place, it is magical in nature. That'd explain why Emilia wants it back so badly.

Reinhard, who stands beside her with a hand closed around her elbow, goes rigid. His fingers twitch. "Wait."

It turns that being the object of his unrelating focus is a bit uncomfortable, at least from how Subaru watches Felt squirm under the attention. Reinhard's face didn't hold this much emotion even in the middle of combat, but her face must mean something to him. In the end, something settles in his expression.

"How old are you, Miss Felt?"

Felt jolts to attention and blinks up at him. "Fifteen, I think, why--"

"Where are your parents? Do you have a surname?"

"Don't have any, and no, why you—"

"Understood." Reinhard holds a hand in front of her face. "Forgive me, please."

"Forgive what—" Her words cut off with a yawn, and Felt sinks to her knees with a bewildered face. "You son of, of--" Her eyes drop closed, even as she shakes her head like a dog, trying to clear it. "Son of a bitch—"

Then, Felt drops forward unconscious. Reinhard catches her with an arm around her shoulders, while the Beast shows off his teeth in a feline yawn, indifferent to the happenings. Both Emilia and Subaru stare at Reinhard, instead.

"My apologies, but it was necessary. Believe me, I wouldn't do it without cause." After securing Felt in a fireman carry, his attention moves to Subaru for a long, strained moment. The contemplative look from before comes back. It ends when he glances at Emilia's spirit.

His decision becomes clear.

His hand lifts again, this time in front of Subaru's face. Oh.

"I'm sorry, Schwartz." His voice drops lower, as if to calm a spooked animal.

"Sir Reinhard, what—" Emilia frowns.

Subaru yawns as the conversation slips through her focus. She thinks Reinhard might have added something else, but the exhaustion that crashed into her cancels out everything but the need to sleep. As she sways in place, an arm slips around her waist. She blinks. Her head leans against Reinhard's shoulder.

On instinct, her fingers clutch at his shirt.

Subaru surrenders to sleep.

Chapter Text

Subaru wakes up naked in an unfamiliar bedroom and fails to freak out as any reasonable person would in her place. It’s not that she doesn’t know why this should worry her. Somewhere in her hind-brain alarm flashes its warning, too, that this situation is bad news.

It’s just that, well, the four-poster king-size bed is the comfiest piece of furniture she’s ever laid on, and the satin quilt Subaru wrapped around herself as a cocoon is so, so warm. Her face sinks deeper into the pillow. If she could, she’d stay like this forever, and forget about the bitter cold that seeped into her bones and doesn’t leave.

Subaru falls back asleep with a sigh.

When her eyes blink open again, the light changed into a soft, honey-like glow, dimmed by the linen curtains on the windows. Slivers of sunlight spear through the gaps and deepen the golden inlays on the walls to the color of fire. Sunset, then. If so, Subaru slept at least one whole day away, and the loop is well and truly over.

She rubs the sleep away from her eyes, then stretches her arms high above her head with a yawn; the satin quilt pools around her waist. With a jolt, her brain's slow, valiant attempt at a reboot finally succeeds. Where— Right. Reinhard knocked her out, so this has to be the estate he mentioned. If nothing else, it looks nothing like jail: it puts to shame even the most lavish of western regency movies.

A vanity with a huge mirror, etched with flowers on the top, stands to the side of the bed, toiletries included— and with Plum’s hairpin placed next to a basin; mahogany drawers line up to opposite wall; Subaru even spots a sitting area close to the windows, with two armchairs, a coffee table, and most important to her, the water left on top of it.

She crawls off the bed -it’s so big she doesn’t want to think how many people could fit on there- and lets her bare feet sink into the plush carpet for a moment. She never wants to leave this room again, a little bit. Then, she gets a move on with a sigh and pads to her prize. Even as lukewarm as it is, that first glass of water is the best thing she’s ever tasted.

The relief from her parched throat clears her head some. She realizes it then. Anyone could enter and get flashed, because she’s right there in the middle of the room like a moron. Time to check around for clothes. The drawers are her best bet, so, as per her luck, she finds nothing save for an endless supply of bed linens in there.

Another glance around the room doesn’t prompt any change of clothes into appearing.

The big question is, of course, why leave her without anything to change in.

Subaru gets hold of the feeling of betrayal and squashes it. No, Reinhard doesn’t want to hurt her, she refuses to believe it. Reinhard solved the loop for her, believed her when she warned him about Elsa; Reinhard never hurt her in any way, in any loop. He defeated that creepy, awful woman and protected her and Felt from her attacks. Without him, the city would be buried under a layer of snow and ice, again and again. She refuses to doubt Reinhard.

Besides, it doesn’t make sense. They’ve been alone for a long stretch before the shack, he had any chance to hurt her -with no witnesses- if he wanted to, but never did. No, it’s what happened at the shack that changed things. That jeweled badge, and the Great Beast. Felt, too. Felt— Subaru bites her lower lip, and hopes she isn’t in trouble for stealing. Though this still doesn’t answer why Reinhard left her with no clothes.

But something else might.

Subaru walks back to the bed to pick up the quilt. Hesitates. It’s a beautiful, careful work, with an applique rose pattern in red, gold, and white. Sewing taught her just how hard it is, to put together something like this by hand. However, for lack of an alternative, it has to do. She wraps it around herself and steels her heart when the ends drag across the floor as she walks to the door.

Subaru grips the doorknob, turns it. Locked, yeah. With no clothes and a locked door, she cannot leave the room, not until someone comes for her. Not much to do until then. She retraces her steps and sits in front of the vanity. Might as well do something with her time, like fix the bird-nest reflected in the mirror. The longer the hair, the more knots. Plus, it might help calm her down.

Like everything else in the bedroom, the silver hairbrush is so beautiful Subaru’s afraid to touch it. But she picks it up, and in the end, the hypnotic, repetitive motions force her emotions to fade into the background, so much that she loses track of time, and startles when three knocks come from the door.

“Miss Schwartz, are you awake?” An elderly, feminine voice asks, muffled.

After a beat, Subaru remembers. She is Schwartz.

“Yes?” Schwartz cringes. That sounded too much like a question.

A key turns into the lock one, two times, and an old lady steps inside the room, holding a bundle of clothes in her arms.

Schwartz smiles in relief. “Good— evening?” She hazards, hairbrush pressed to her chest. “Who are you?”

The woman chuckles and approaches to leave the clothes on the bed. “Good evening indeed, Miss. I’m Carol. My apologies, we couldn’t have clothes made for you in time, so,” Her old, bony hand pats the wrinkles down. “I had to freshen up what was available.”

“It’s fine,” Schwartz searches Carol’s face for any ill will, but her mild, polite facade gives nothing away. “Is this Reinhard’s home?”

“Correct. This is Astrea Mansion, Miss,” With smooth, practiced movements Carol unfolds each item of clothing and sets them side by side on the mattress: a blue silk jacket; a white chemise; black thighs, and a set of undergarments. “I hope these old things will be sufficient.”

Schwartz joins Carol, blanket secured as not to fall, and reaches out to brush her fingers against the blue silk. It’s so smooth and glossy that even her mother’s evening dresses cannot compare. “They’re wonderful. Thank you.”

Carol’s bland smile takes a far more pleased curl.

“Carol, is Felt, the blond girl—“

“Lady Felt awakened yesterday night, Miss. Right now, she’s waiting in the dining room for you and Young Master.”

Relief swells up in Schwartz’s heart. “So she isn’t in trouble?”

Carol just chuckles, breaking the mask. “Not that I’m aware.” She looks at Schwartz, up and down, with a tiny cough. A subtle nod points to her current state. “Young Master would like to talk to you before supper since you’re awake. Might I tell him he may join you shortly?”

Schwartz’s whole face burns. “Sure, I’ll get dressed right away.”

“One other thing, Miss,” Her tone turns apologetic. “I’m going to lock the door again. Please don’t be frightened, Young Master shall be here soon.”

Schwartz expected as much, and brings a hand to her chest as she nods. Distrust hurts. But she is a mysterious foreigner who showed up from nothing with inexplicable information, so it’s natural that Reinhard would take precautions— he did say he is part of the city guard. Or something to that effect, anyway. She just needs to prove she wants to help. “It’s fine. I’ll be quick.”

Carol blinks after a beat of silence, as though she didn’t hear her correctly, but recovers just before Schwartz can ask if she’s alright. “Then I shall leave you to it, Miss.”

With that, Carol leaves the room.

The outfit Carol put together is very stylish, very tight in the chest, and comes with a very faint smell of mothballs. Subaru still loves it to pieces. An adventurer -or a swordswoman, she guesses- would wear clothes like this to go on a grand quest. She smooths out a few inexistent wrinkles and reaches for Plum’s hairpin. There. Just as she hazards a smile at her reflection, she hears a knock, and jumps away from the mirror. “Come in.”

The door unlocks again, and Reinhard greets her with a hand on his chest, head bowed. “My apologies for detaining you like this.”

Schwartz shakes her head. “No, I— I understand, I think.”

Reinhard still won’t meet her eyes, but his smile is so relieved that even her worry lessens a bit. He must have been worried, in his own way. Back when they made the promise together, his reaction has been genuine, and he might have been concerned about the backlash from his actions. That said, Schwartz has no doubt he’s regretful.

He gestures to the sitting area in a silent invitation, and so she sits, Reinhard joining her right after. His armchair faces hers. “Normally, I wouldn’t have recurred to such crude methods, nor talked with you in such an inappropriate setting.” His hand rests on his knees as he leans forward, just slightly. Serious stuff, then. “However, events at loothouse gave rise to a sensitive development.”

“I understand,” Schwartz repeats, as a line forms between his eyebrows. He dips his head in thought. Whatever happened with Felt’s badge thing must be real complicated, or at least that’s the one thing she can conclude. Nothing fazed Reinhard, not even the fight with Elsa could do that much, but the shine from the badge—

“I’m going to ask you a few questions so I may complete my report to Captain Marcos.” Reinhard’s gaze fixes on hers, and Schwartz of a sudden finds herself looking away, embarrassment building up as heat in her cheeks. It happens a lot lately. “I do believe that you’re intentions are earnest, but this is truly a necessary precaution. Please do not lie. It would complicate things immensely.”

“I don’t mind,” Schwartz shows her empty, upturned palms. “And I won’t.”

This would be the perfect moment to come clean, she knows. It might not even be so terrible; perhaps this world has some magic to explain away her knowledge and what, time travel? Return— after death? Return by Death. Unbidden, a shiver follows the words in her head.

“You’re my friend, right? I promised. So I will do whatever it takes if it helps you.” Schwartz lifts her chin with a huff. “Friendship is about making up for whatever the other person cannot do.”

Reinhard’s smile is nothing more than the slightest upturn of lips, but it’s far too warm to be a reaction to a few words from a near stranger. Schwartz wants to live up to it at all costs. “I’m glad.”

Schwartz squashes the impulse to reach for his hand like a weirdo, and hopes the chronic reddening of her cheek doesn’t spread to her collarbone. She coughs in the crook of her elbow. “Reinhard, before we start, I wanted to say—” She stutters, but he encourages her with a nod. “I can—”

—Return by Death. In a heartbeat, time freezes around her, and the words never leave her throat. She cannot see anymore. It’s dark, darker than ink, darker than the moonless sky. The dark writhes with hands. They writhe all around her, and inside of her too. They come with the darkness to caress her throat and close around it so that she cannot breathe or talk. They linger to cup the heart inside her ribcage with gentle fingers so that they can make it stop. They clutch her limbs in a loving embrace so that she cannot run.

Schwartz fears the hands. Schwartz loves the hands.

“—I cannot help but worry about Felt,” Her voice doesn’t waver, she doesn’t think, even as her heart flutters like made in her throat. “Is she alright?”

Reinhard didn’t see. Reinhard hides his mouth behind a closed fist, like the darkness never happened for him, and his eyes crinkle at the corners in amusement. “Lady Felt is fine, though quite short-tempered of late.”

Schwartz thinks about her first meeting with Felt, the true first meeting, and frowns. Nothing about her bad temper could be interpreted as a just-of-late development. Her heartbeat drums up so frantic it’s up in her throat. She ignores it. She must ignore it.

“You shall see for yourself when we finish here and have supper with her.” He reassures her.

Schwartz touches her neck where the phantom touch of hands still lingers. “She’s the type to throw food at people, isn’t she?”

Reinhard just chuckles. “I’m certain Lady Felt just needs some guidance.”

Schwartz hums, distant. Fat chance of that. She needs— needs to help, to prove to him that she’s truly his friend. That she is trustworthy. But she cannot tell what she wants to say. “Why do you call her Lady Felt?”

What do the hands mean?

Reinhard leans back, and taps his fingers against his thigh. “I shall get to that later. Schwartz, how long have you known Felt for?”

She needs to tell him whatever truth she can.

“I only saw her once before. No—” A flash of a girl running across the rooftops flickers in her mind. “Twice, sorry.”

“Yet you decided to help her. Why?”

“Elsa— I knew something bad would happen, with Elsa involved.” Like slitting everyone’s bellies open.

Reinhard nods. “So were you aware that she’s the Bowelhunter?”

“Never heard that… title, before, but I knew she had an obsession with guts.” Like from first-hand experience. Her fingers twitch in her lap, but Schwartz doesn’t let herself move, doesn’t want to answer why she’d trace an inexistent wound across her belly.

“Did you recognize Lady Felt from somewhere?”

“I didn’t.”

“Did anyone tell you to approach Lady Felt?”

Schwartz shakes her head but then realizes he probably needs her to speak. “No.”

“Did you otherwise act on someone else’s behalf?

“No.” She frowns.

“How do you know Lady Emilia?”

“I don’t know her at all.”

Reinhard blinks in confusion. “But you asked me about her, and knew about her spirit.”

“Yes, but I don’t know her. It’s just—” Schwartz shrugs. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Is it her resemblance to the Witch of Envy that frightened you, then?”

“It’s not that at all.” Schwartz shelves the information for later.

“How did you know that Lady Emilia is a spirit user?”

There it is, the hard question. Schwartz lowers her head and clasps her hands together until her nails imprint into half-moons on her skin. She could try telling him again about Return by Death, but— the touch on her heart still lingers. She cannot tell if it’s her imagination or a new warning.

Tell the truth without telling it.

“I saw a huge White Beast,” She takes a deep breath. Relief floods her when the hands don’t come back. “And E— Lady Emilia’s corpse. Before we went to the loothouse together.”

Reinhard looks at her for a long, strained moment. His eyelashes, Schwartz notices, are the longest she’s seen on a boy. “Lady Emilia is alive.”

“Yes,” Schwartz confirms. A moth hits the window with a dry, hollow thud.

Reinhard speaks again. “Did you see anything else?”

Schwartz swallows. “The city buried under the snow, and everyone, everyone—” Plum, shattered into a thousand blood crystals. Her mother, one half on the ground and one half frozen on the spot. Distantly, she realizes her breathing sped up.

“Is that why you recommended that I leave the city, outside the loothouse?”

Schwartz nods. “Yes.”

“Was it a dream?”

Schwartz reels for the right words. “It felt like a nightmare, but no, I don’t think so. I was wide awake.”

“Why do you think it was Lady Emilia’s spirit? Your description differs greatly by the spirit we saw with her.”

“It didn’t look like that at first. It just— grew.”

“Do you believe what you saw was real?”

“I know it was.” Her hands clench back into fists, to the point of the knuckles turning white. “Please.” Schwartz isn’t sure what she begs for. For Reinhard to believe her, for Reinhard to kill it. If he thinks her insane, she doesn’t know what she’d do. She’s told him as much as she dares, even though this world made her a liar. Maybe not literally, but by the spirit of matters she is deceiving him. Guilt eats away at her, hot and painful. Her whole body leans toward Reinhard’s now, she realizes, so Schwartz has to wrestle against her impulses so as to not grab his onto him.

She inhales once, then twice, with a shudder.

“I believe that you are earnest in your concern, and that, combined with Lady Emilia’s reputation, means the issue needs to be investigated.” Reinhard settles on in the end.

Schwartz exhales and slumps against the armchair, exhaustion crashing into her all at once. That’s more than she’d have expected, but the disappointment still stings. Then again, something like this would have her committed to long-term psychiatric care, back in Japan. Hopefully nobody in this world discovered how to perform lobotomies yet.

“However, I have to request that you keep this to yourself and do not act in a rash manner. I promise to make inquiries. Will you promise me to wait, and not tell anyone?”

Schwartz can accept that. Not like she could do anything else with how things are now. “I promise.”

“The situation with Lady Emilia is— delicate. Her sponsor, Lord Mathers, is a loyal subject and holds the title of court mage. Offending him without a proved due cause is ill-advised, and dishonorable, in light of the services he performed for the kingdom.”

“I— understand, I think.” Schwartz hesitates. “Why a sponsor?”

Reinhard leans back and picks something out of his pocket. “Do you remember this insignia?” An insignia pretty much alike to the one that caused him alarm rests in his palm.

Of course, Schwartz remembers it. She nods. “Felt touched it and it lit up.”

Reinhard smiles. “The insignia responds only to the five dragon maidens candidates of the Royal Selection. Each of them received one.”

Schwartz freezes midway a second nod, as her brain replays the explanation. “Royal? Felt?”

“I understand your doubts, but the wisdom of the Divine Dragon cannot be wrong, and—” His words trail off. Somewhere outside, above the trees, and owl cries out. “Thanks to you, my task of finding the fifth candidate was successful. I deeply apologize for repaying you so poorly.”

“But you had to make sure, for security reasons.” It shouldn’t make her feel lighter, but knowing that Reinhard’s questioning was at least in part due to protocol takes away some of her fear. “I don’t know if it helps, but I would never hurt Felt. I swear.”

Reinhard nods. “I need you to promise one more thing. It’s about Lady Felt. I’m going to let her onto the Royal Selection details at a gradual pace, so I’d like for you to not mention anything to her.”

“I won’t.”

“Thank you. We should join her for supper, now.” Reinhard helps her to her feet -another thing that seems to happen a lot- and they leave the room.

Their walk to the dining is silent, punctuated only by the sounds of their footsteps on the polished floors. Quiet enough to think. The conversation taught Schwartz a number of things. One: Emilia is a noble of some sort, and has a reputation that somewhat justifies her suspicions of her. Two: someone powerful protects her. Someone other than the spirit. Three: Emilia has a claim to the throne. Four: Reinhard’s words confirm that the existence of the spirit is known, but not the extent of its powers. Fifth: there is someone named Witch of Envy, who is frightening.

Schwartz frowns at the light fixtures, but alas they cannot help find an answer. This is too complicated. Including court intrigue to the difficulty level is simply unfair.

“We’ve arrived.” Reinhard stops, and like the gallant knight he is, gestures for her to go first.

“Thank you,” Even with nicer clothes, Schwartz feels awkward in front of all this wealth, out of place. Before registering what she’s doing, she almost ends up bowing at Reinhard in Japanese fashion. Her tactical retreat from the embarrassment after the blunder is, it goes without saying, quick. Once inside the dining room, as soon as her mind registers what her eyes see, she freezes. Felt doesn’t wear her normal clothes anymore, but a yellow dress fit for a Disney princess. Schwartz has never seen someone broadcast so much discomfort in her life.

“Finally—!” The clank of cutlery against the plate tells her that no, even Reinhard -and Carol?- are powerless against Felt’s lack of manners, princess dress or not. “I’ve been waitin’ forever.”

“My apologies, Lady Felt,” Reinhard bows, back straight, all grace and good manners that Felt lacks. The difference between them couldn’t be bigger. Schwartz bites the inside of her cheek to stop her laughter. “It won’t happen again.”

Felt ignores him and narrows her eyes at her instead. “Whatcha laughin’ at?”

“Nothing,” But Schwartz has always been too weak to resist poking the bear. “Lady Felt.”

Felt flushes an ugly lobster red and points a fork at her. It’s not very effective. Carol, bless her patience, tuts from behind Felt’s chair. “Lady Felt, do not point cutlery at the guests, it’s unbecoming. Young Master, Miss, please take a seat.”

“But Granny—” As Carol looks at her, Felt’s mouth clicks shut.

Reinhard takes a seat, as docile as a puppy, while Schwartz hurries to pick the seat next to his. With some luck, Felt will be too distracted -and too off-side- to take revenge. From experience, Schwartz knows she doesn’t pull her punches, and if anything can keep her shins out of kicking range, she’ll take it.

A man enters the dining room, pushing a trolley loaded with serving dishes. As soon as Schwartz registers in his field of vision his steps stutter, and she could swear the reason is that he does a double take. Carol chuckles as he swirls his head around, a question clear in his eyes. Weird.

“Miss Schwartz, this is Grimm, my husband. He doesn’t talk.” Carol says.

Grimm touches his throat with his index finger and Schwartz sees it. The thin white line that extends side to side across his neck. Her hands shake in her lap as the memory of Rom comes back to her, blood bubbling through his fingers and shock in his eyes. She plasters a smile on her face. If anyone notices how fake it is, they don’t mention it. She’s just the odd, insane girl Reinhard picked up in town, nothing to worry about.

Grimm places the dishes on the dining table. Despite how hungry she should be, and how delicious everything looks, any desire to eat left her. She’s gonna have to fake it.

“What took ya so long, anyway?” Felt stabs a slice of roast with enough force to make the plate rattles, and pretends not to notice when Carol fixates her with a frown. Good attempt, but the sheer animal fear radiating from her frame ruins any effect it might have.

“Reinhard filled me in on what happened while I was asleep.” Because having him explain how he questioned her would be awkward.

“Oh,” Felt scrunches her nose. “Ya do sleep a lot. Haven’t seen ya in forever.”

Much in the way Felt avoided Carol’s cold glare, though with much less fear, Schwartz pretends not to notice how Reinhard’s eyes linger on her.

“But he didn’t explain how he got you to wear a dress.”

Felt’s whole face lits up with the incensed glower of the unjustly mistreated, and Schwartz laughs. Score. Any further question into the matter is now forever shelved away.

“The knight bastard and Granny won’t give me anything else to wear.” She whines. “How do I even walk in this?”

“But Lady Felt,” Interjects Reinhard, with the recklessness of a man who wouldn’t know self-preservation if it landed in his lap. “The dress is much more appropriate than the clothes you had before.”

Felt’s next glare promises thunder and hailstorm, so much that Carol's whole demeanor turns bleak, as she can tell that peace and quiet are a thing of bygone days. Grimm doesn’t seem affected, but Schwartz got the distinct suspicion that he grins on the inside. Her dubious glance, when he refills her glass with water, isn’t returned.

Something -Felt’s foot, most likely- hits Reinhard’s chair, hidden from view. What follows at the miss is three other thuds in quick succession. Since Felt’s face twists in a wince, and Reinhard’s doesn’t react, it’s safe to say that every single kick missed.

“Please don’t hurt yourself, Lady Felt,” Reinhard says. Schwartz grimaces, while Carol and Grimm resort to avoiding eye contact with Reinhard, Felt, and even each other. “As your knight, it troubles me to see that happen.”

Ouch. Schwartz hopes Felt doesn’t hide any antisocial tendencies, or Reinhard could get stabbed in his sleep sooner rather than later. Knife wounds hurt, a lot. She’d know.

“I’ll show ya trouble, ya son of a—“

Carol coughs as a warning. Felt’s grip on her fork tightens, but she does restrain herself midway through. That’s kinda impressive. But just a little push, and Felt could explode again— The dress looks great on you, Schwartz bites back. This time.

The vice at the pit of her stomach relents, just a bit.

Felts channels her anger into skewering her next bite of food and swallows without chewing.

“Please, eat your dinner in a civilized manner.” By contrast, every gesture Reinhard makes appears choreographed, lifting a fork to his mouth included.

“If I can do it, so can you,” Schwartz says, as if her every single movement during dinner hasn’t been because she mimicked Reinhard’s use of any ridiculous piece of cutlery.

“Now, now, Lady Felt,” Carol takes pity on their efforts, because she’s actually an angel. “I’ve prepared a blueberry tart for dessert, but I cannot give you any if you don’t behave.”

Their three-way pincer maneuver succeeds, and the perspective of sugar vanquishes Felt with ease.

The tart brought to the table looks even better than what Schwartz imagined. It’s a pudding pie with a blueberry filling, with fresh blueberries and flakey pastry leaves arranged along the edges. Felts points it as soon as it’s placed on the dining table, dessert fork lifted, like a hunting dog with a bird.

All three of them wait for a slice in anticipation-laden silence.

Hers is so pretty that it’s sacrilegious to eat it, but Reinhard and Felt don’t seem to feel the same way. They’re already at it, with total disregard for the aesthetic of their portions. Okay then.

“Schwartz, I’ve been remiss in mentioning this,” Reinhard places his fork onto the empty plate and turns on her with a slight frown more suited to battle than dinner conversation. “As it is thanks to you that I found Felt, you should receive a reward commensurate to the deed.”

Schwartz coughs and tries not to choke on a puff pastry leaf. “Reward?”

“Please, let me know if you have a need for anything.”

She doesn’t need any gifts or gold, and to bring financial gain into her friendship with Reinhard wouldn’t be right. Schwartz chews her lower lip.

“Then, if I can ask for something—” At her words, Reinhard straightens at full attention. “Let me work here. As a maid, or anything, really.” Schwartz trails off, as the clatter of the fork against ceramic stops, and four pairs of eyes make a good attempt at burning a hole through her. Her hands move to her chest, but do nothing to shield her from the attention. “—It is not too much, is it?”

“No, it isn’t,” Reinhard says, softly. “It’s not much at all.”

“If I may, I believe you should consider it, Young Master,” Carol intervenes like a true messenger of heaven. “With more people in the mansion, I could use new help, since Flam and Grassis aren’t ready to take on full duties yet.”

“Then I’d be glad if you stayed, Schwartz.” Reinhard beams at her, too bright to be good for her health, and Schwartz steels herself against the critical hit.

It doesn’t work. Her chest swells with warmth, and she resists a grand total of two seconds before throwing her arms around his neck. The position is uncomfortable. The back of the chair digs into her side; Reinhard faces the dining table and thus isn’t in a good position for a hug. But as her ear presses against his neck, Schwartz feels his pulse thrum under the skin. Reinhard’s warm, alive, and solid body is the most real thing she’d felt since coming to this place, even as he tenses like a wooden soldier under her touch. “Thank you.”

When Schwartz releases her hold, one last judgmental stare prickles at her nape.

Felt watches her from between her fingers, hands on her eyes.

“I’m so ashamed of ya, Sis.” She says, with pudding smeared on her cheek. “You could ‘ave asked for so much money.”

Carol gets started with her right the day after, bright and early.

“Schwartz, these are my nieces, Flam and Grassis.”

Two adorable twelve years old blink up at her, and Schwartz waves at them with her fingers. Their solemn, identical faces are intimidating, which seems wrong for two little girls.

“You will train alongside them to work in the house.”

“Yes, Miss Carol.” Carol insists a lot on the correct forms of address, Schwartz discovered earlier. It would be more appropriate to refer to me as Miss Carol, from now on, Carol explained. Fair enough. She doesn’t imagine that she’d be familiar with a superior back in Japan either.

With mild alarm, Schwartz realizes the twins disappeared from their position behind Carol. Tiny fingers slip into each of her hands, and without a word, Flam and Grassis secure their hold on her. Coupled with their calculating gazes, it doesn’t feel cute at all. It’s quite scary, actually.

“Hello.” One of them -Flam?- says.

Carol nods in approval. “Good, Grassis. Now, Schwartz is new to the mansion and needs a tour. I’d like for you two to do your best to explain things to her.”

“Yes, Grandmother.” Flam and Grassis drag her down the hallway, and after a few steps Schwartz makes another distressing discovery: the two little girls are strong enough to force her forward, even if she digs her heels in the carpet, and all this without effort. Now, Schwartz worked out every day back home, with a fair mix of cardio and body weight, though her routine could have improved with some endurance training. So how—

“Wait, wait—“

“Is something the matter?” Carol asks.

Flam and Grassis refuse to let go of her, and their presence updates to menacing.

“Will I wear a uniform like theirs, for work?” Both twins wear a miniature version of a stereotypical maid uniform: a black dress and a white apron. “Is that why you took my measurements earlier?”

“Of course. If you’d like, you could also add to the order a couple of casual outfits to go to the market in town.”

That gotta be the third most embarrassing thing to ever happen to her.

As Schwartz surrenders to the superior strength of Flam and Grassis, the tour resumes.

“Meanwhile, I might also explain to you the general situation,” Carol begins, as they climb up the service staircase in the back of the mansion, to the first floor. “The permanent staff is comprised of myself and my husband, and soon you and my nieces. Since Young Master lives here alone most of the time, the west wing is closed. We employ outside staff to clean it once every three months, more often for other miscellaneous tasks.” She clicks her tongue, perhaps in mild annoyance. “For the rest, I do most of the cooking and cleaning, while Grimm acts as a butler. On our days off, we might have you handle some of our work. The gardeners come by once a week. Your duties will normally include cleaning the bedrooms, serving tea and refreshments, greeting the masters of the house at the door, assisting me with laundry, cleaning and tidying up the parlor and the Young Master’s study— though some areas you may not enter without explicit permission. Such as Lord Astrea’s study.”

That’s— a lot. Schwartz blinks. “Lord Astrea?”

“Sir Reinhard’s father,” An ugly line mars Carol’s forehead before she shakes her head. “He rarely visits, but should he be here, avoid him unless he requests refreshments or such.”

“I understand.” Her brain wraps around all the instructions with only partial success.

“Do you have any household skills?”

Well, the less is said about her cooking, the better, though she did master a few sauces. “I can sew pretty well, and do embroidery.”

Carol hums. “There are always repairs and adjustments to be made. I shall add them to your duties.”

Flam squeezes her hand a little. “That’s good. Me and Sis aren’t very good at sewing yet.”

Schwartz performs a little victory dance inside her head. She got praised by a fearsome twelve years old.

All four of them stop in front of a door.

“This is sir Reinhard’s bedroom,” Grassis points at the door. “At Astrea Mansion, all of the master bedrooms have an adjoined bathroom.”

“And Lord Astrea’s bedroom is on the other end of the hallway—”

“—while most rooms between here and there are unused.”

“Not this one though—“ Flam skips ahead four doors and lays her hand on a door identical to any other door on that floor.

“—But we cannot go in there.” Grassis finishes.

“Very good,” Carols smiles at the two. “However, Schwartz will join me and Grimm for everyday cleaning.” She retrieves a ring of keys from her apron’s pocket. “Otherwise, this is a room you only enter under explicit permission of me or the Young Master. Is that clear?”

Schwartz strikes a pose and salutes. “Yes, ma’am.”

Carol turns the key in the lock and pushes the door open. At first, Schwartz sees nothing. With the curtains closed, not a sliver of light enters the room, and Carol doesn’t bother turning on any. Might be they don’t even work. As her eyes adjust, Schwartz makes out a few faint outlines: a sofa; drawers upon drawers along the walls; one bed, just like the one in the guest bedroom.

On the bed, someone lies asleep. Her blond hair catches the light from the hallway, and it is barely enough to glimpse the suggestion of shoulders under the covers.

“This is Lady Louanna,” Carol walks to the windows and draws open the curtains. “Sir Reinhard’s mother.”

For a second, her voice sounds so, so sad, but the polite mask returns without pause. Schwartz can see the woman’s features in Reinhard. Same nose, same mouth. Something in their eyes shape. But— “She’s so young, how is it possible?”

“Lady Louanna was struck with Sleeping Beauty Syndrome seventeen years ago,” Carol brushes a lock of hair behind Louanna’s ear. “Victims of this sickness do not age, nor do they ever wake up.” She turns to Schwartz. “You might as well know, since you’re now part of the staff. But you must not mention what’s in this room to outsiders. Doing so is ground for being fired.”

Carol herds them outside.

“Upstairs there’s our room, and yours too,” Flam reveals, unbothered.

“You will show Schwartz your room later. Let us go downstairs now, and show her the work areas first.”

This time, they pass through the main staircase to move between floors. Felt overtakes them without warning halfway down the steps. She dashes away like the whole Hyakki Yagyo is after her. For all her complaints, the dress doesn’t seem to hinder her at all. In no more than the time it takes Schwartz to blink, Felt barrels straight for the entrance. Her wind magic, or whatever it is, doesn’t make a difference to the outcome.

Reinhard walks out from his study and catches her by the scruff with a sigh. Her hiss completes the image of a small feral cat scolded by its owner.

“Good morning,” He calls out, as if what he did wouldn’t get him reported for harassment in Schwartz’s world. “I forgot to warn you too, Schwartz. Lady Felt isn’t allowed to go outside for the time being.”

“Like hell I’m not—!”

“Good… morning, Reinhard.” Her brain stutters while searching for a way to process the scene before her— a very angry Felt goes for a kick, only for him to block it without effort and without a single glance, hand around her foot. Felt doesn’t acknowledge her, too busy gnashing her teeth.

Carol hums. “The proper way to address your employer is sir Reinhard, Schwartz, or Young Master.”

Yeah, no way she could call Reinhard anything like the latter, not unless she plans to self-combust and bring the whole mansion down with her in an inferno of flames and ashes. “Sir Reinhard.” Her attempt to please Carol works, though. Carol curls up her lips in satisfaction.

“It’s quite alright,” Reinhard shifts Felt to a princess carry and gets punched in the sternum. It’s as effective as stabbing someone with a feather. Felt growls like a feral dog out of frustration. “My apologies, but I need to ensure Lady Felt’s continued presence to the etiquette lesson.”

With that, he drags Felt into her personal hell. The door shuts behind them with a foreboding click.

Right after, Grassis and Flam grab her hands again, and it’s Schwartz’s turn to play hostage.

“Come, we’re going to show you the parlor now—“

“—And the study—“

“But not Lord Astrea’s.”

Schwartz drops rose n. 5 -an apricot pink blossom as big as an apple- into the basket and rolls her shoulders with a huff. Her body aches in places she didn’t know were there, and Carol sent her outside to pick flowers after a single look. We need new flowers for the parlor and Young Master’s study, she said, and handed her basket and shears.

It’s day three at Astrea Mansion.

A few feet behind her, Flam and Grassis take turns with a skipping rope, on a break from their chores.

Schwartz picks a new flower, sister to the previous rose, and strips it of all the thorns. It’s nice to be alone with her thoughts. Flam and Grassis never stray far from her, but today at least they decided to keep to themselves. They’ve been attached to her hip since the mansion tour. For a bit, Schwartz even feared they’d ask to have a sleepover with her.

The Great Beast from the city still looms over her thoughts.

It’s great that the loop ended, don’t get her wrong, but while that monster is still out there, Schwartz could be watching the exact same thing happen again tomorrow. That gray sky swelled up with clouds, harbinger of snow; the tendrils of magic that creep through muscle and bone, turning them into lifeless, cold crystal; the first crack through a body about to shatter into pieces. The feeling of helplessness, being unable to do anything. Her cheeks burn with shame. She’s useless, unless she finds a way to kill that monster.

Emilia’s violet eyes flash in her mind, followed by the glint of a dozen ice shards. Stop there, evildoers.

Schwartz’s fingers tighten around a stem, and she bares her teeth at the memory.

Schwartz needs fire.

With a start, the rose in her hand falls to the ground, and she notices the blood that swells up from her punctured fingers. Her fault for not paying attention. Before she can wipe the blood away, a glowing creature barely bigger than a firefly float to her hand. The core swirls with white, blue, and red, the colors of flame. “What are you?”

The firefly creature is silent. Schwartz puts the shears away in her pocket, and brings together her hands, moving them underneath the glow. The little light doesn’t even mind the blood -it better not be what it eats- and lands on her palm.

It pulses with the weakened, frantic flutter of a dying sparrow.

As the glow falters every few beats, her heart constricts. It feels so fragile.

“It’s okay, it’s okay—” Schwartz brings it closer to her breast, shielding it from the breeze as if it were a candle light. “How can I help?”

It doesn’t have eyes, but if it did, Schwartz’s pretty sure it’d stare up at her. A faint pressure bumps against her mind. It’s the oddest sensation she’s ever felt. And probably not a good thing, but— it’s so small, and can’t even struggle against her hold. Not sure how to let it talk to her though.

A bird trills from overhead.

Schwartz lifts the creature to eye level. She wants to help. She wants to let it through.

Ripples of emotion pass onto her.

Confusion. Curiosity, eagerness, sharp and heated. Recognition. A slow, careful appraisal of her very being. And a tendril of thought, worming into her memories.

Confusion, again. Dismay.

And wrath— wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath, righteous and bright and scorching.

Schwartz gasps with the strain. Like a pack of cards, her memories shuffle behind her eyelids. The little light lingers over one memory. Emilia and her spirit in the shack.

wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath wrath

“You’re angry too, aren’t you, buddy?” She spits out with effort. In answer, it sends another formless pulse of emotion to her mind.

UNITY.

“With me? Will that help you?”

UNITY.

“Well, I sure hope it won’t kill me.”

Negation. A nudge, relentless and impatient.

“I— accept?” Schwartz looks down at her hands. Warmth spreads through her whole body once the glow sinks into her, and a wave of sleepiness follows— then vanishes. Exhaustion from the little creature, maybe. “Hello?”

No reaction.

Schwartz retrieves the shears and cuts another flower. The sunlight is warm on her skin, the wind overflows with the scent of roses and cut grass. She doesn’t feel faint, or ill, or weak. At a distance, the rope Flam and Grassis play with slaps the ground, their feet hitting the gravel again and again. Everything, as far as she can tell, is fine.

Then, right on time, the entrance to the mansion slams open.

Felt climbs down two steps at once with too short legs, balances herself, and before she can move forward again, a hand catches her by the back of the dress.

“I’m impressed,” Reinhard lays moves his hand to her shoulder and smiles: polite, genuine, and absolutely clueless. “You even managed to step outside this time, Lady Felt.”

“Shut the fuck up—!” Felt snarls, and swipes at his face like a furious but somewhat clumsy cat. Reinhard, luckily for his eyes, ducks away with ease. Felt’s nails are sharp, Schwartz can guarantee that.

“Would it cheer you up if we stop to chat with Schwartz for a while?”

Schwartz has a bad feeling about this.

“You.” Felt looks in her direction. She points at herself -who, me- then turns around. Flam and Grassis vanished without a trace, the little sneaks.

“You’re my Sis, arent’cha? Ya gotta help me.” Four days in and Felt already resorts to calling for help. Must be pretty bad then. “Come on—!”

Schwartz plasters a fake, apologetic smile on her face and holds up the basket as a shield. “I’m working.”

“Yer just picking flowers—”

“I understand. We should postpone it, then.” Reinhard kneels and wraps his arm around Felt’s knees, and in a heartbeat the girl finds herself sitting on his shoulder like a toddler. Not even the time to cuss her out for the refusal to help. Schwartz shivers with secondhand humiliation. “You will see Schwartz at lunch, Lady Felt.”

“I didn’t ask to see her at all!”

In a sight become familiar from the last few days, the two disappear behind a door once Felt is defeated. Yeah, Schwartz should probably have a talk with him about the manhandling. Probably.

With that, her focus switches back to the flowers.

Schwartz jolts awake, because a pillow is chucked at her face in the middle of the night. “W-what—”

“Scoot over, Sis, ya owe me.” Felt pokes her cheek with the tenderness of a rhinoceros. Ouch. Not a dream, then, even though someone managed to shove her into a ridiculous pink nightgown with a sailor’s ribbon sewn on the front.

Schwartz props herself on her elbow. “Did you have a nightmare?”

“Do ya think I’m a little kid?” Felt reaches out and shoves her back so that Schwartz ends up falling on the far side of the bed. As she wastes no time to slip under the blanket with her, so Schwartz surrenders to the inevitable. “Couldn’t sleep ‘cus the bed downstairs is too fucking soft.”

“How cozy,” Or at least it would be if Felt stopped wiggling to find a good position. “I’ve never done a sleepover.”

“What’s a sleepover?”

“Well, it’s—” Schwartz yawns into her hand, so of course Felt uses the distraction to tug the pillow to her side like the thief she is. Schwartz’s arm shoots out and she grabs it at the hem. “You little— that one’s mine, you even brought yours!”

“Mine’s too soft. Gimme.”

Schwartz wouldn’t even mind the pillow, but it’s the principle of the thing. “No way.”

“I’m yer boss, so ya have to.”

Schwartz scoffs. “Reinhard and Carol are my bosses.”

“The knight bastard says he serves me,” Felt straddles her thigh and reaches out— her palm digs into her ribcage as all her weight rests on her arm. Her other hand pries open Schwartz’s hold on the hem, so that the pillow slips from her grasp. “That makes me his boss. And yer boss too.”

“That’s not how it works.” Felt is strong enough to succeed in making her let go of the pillow -why is everyone in this stupid fantasy world so much stronger than her?- so she changes strategy, and pokes the boss on the nose just to watch her get cross-eyed.

One shoulder check later and Felt stumbles onto the mattress. Finally. Schwartz rolls her over until Felt’s head rests on her chest, and Schwartz herself is again the only owner of the pillow. Felt makes a noise halfway between a wheeze and a yelp, affronted.

“Stop that, it tickles.”

Felt stares at her breasts like their existence represents a personal offense.

Without clocks, the only sound in the room is their combined breathing. Outside the window, a waning moon rests on a bed of rain clouds.

Schwartz’s hand comes to rest between Felt’s shoulder blades.

“So, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Felt doesn’t lift her head, and the silence grows leaden.

Schwartz starts to rub circles into her back, as the wind picks up outside and rattles the skylight above.

“Reinhard says he can’t find Old Man Rom,” Comes the delayed reply, muffled against her collarbone.

Schwartz hums, and lays her other arm across her waist. “And you’re worried.”

Felt, too, has been thrown into a foreign world different than the one she’s known all her life, into a place operating under different rules. Maybe not literally, sure. But that doesn’t really matter, because unlike Schwartz, it isn’t her decision to stay in the mansion. And the person who was her only home -her dad- disappeared without a trace.

The irony that out of everyone Felt finds Schwartz the most familiar, when she’s the real odd one out, doesn’t feel funny at all.

Subaru wonders if her parents are still waiting for her to turn up, too.

“Rom looks tough, no way something happened to him,” Her fingers trace along her spine, up the stiff line of her back. “How long did he live in the slums? He’s probably dealt with stuff we can’t even imagine.”

“Old Man Rom’s pretty cool.” Felt sounds very young, and very small.

“You betcha he is.” Schwartz shifts closer, and Felt hums, then sighs against her nightgown. The warm puff of breath tickles, just a bit, but Schwartz doesn’t remark on it again. Instead, she cups the back of Felt’s head with gentle fingers. After a beat, Felt’s arms circle around her waist and squeeze so tight it knocks the air out of her.

“He promised we’d get outta that shithole together.” Her voice doesn’t break, but the ragged, irregular breathing tells Schwartz it’s a close thing. She rubs Felt’s hair between thumb and forefinger: it’s soft and thin like a toddler’s.

“Rom is your dad, isn’t he? No way he’d leave you.”

“Shut up,” Her fingers clench into fists against her back, and Felt chokes. “Ya don’t know shit.”

But Schwartz does. She knows that Rom loves Felt enough that he’d end up with a slit throat, rather than run away. That he wouldn’t have gotten any last word, but still would turn to Felt with a look of terror -terror for her safety- before falling to his knees and slumping on the floor in a puddle of his own blood. The man that Elsa never killed in the loothouse would never forget about Felt.

Schwartz cannot say any of it.

“I do, I promise,” She cradles her skull against her breasts. “It’s going to be alright. You’ll see him again.”

“It’s not— that knight bastard won’t lemme go look for him, and I’m, I” Felt breaks. “I’m too slow to run.”

It’s probably not the right moment to talk about what sort of trouble Reinhard’s intervention spared her, with her home shattered to pieces.

“Listen. Rom doesn’t trust guards, right? So there’s no way he’d let Reinhard close in, if he can help it. But that also means he wouldn’t trust one to take care of you. If you stay put and wait where he can find you,” Schwartz extricates her hands and cradles Felt’s face, pressing her forehead against hers. “He will. Even if you ran, there’s no guarantee it’d make it easier for you to find him. But he probably at least suspects that it was Reinhard who took you away.”

Felt nods, lower lip trembling. Her eyes shine even in the poor lighting, and this close, Schwartz sees the reddened sclera. “Fine.”

Schwartz tucks Felt’s head under her chin. “Try to sleep now. Everything’s better in the morning, anyway.”

Felt doesn’t answer, just huddles closer. Soon, her breathing evens out into the rhythm of deep sleep. Schwartz begins to count. One firefly, two fireflies, three—

A creak heaves Schwartz into a state of half-consciousness. Her throat makes a tiny noise of protest— again? It feels like she just fell back asleep. She snuggles closer to Felt, and presses her face into her hair, with eyes half-lidded.

Reinhard leans against the door's frame with his arms crossed, his shadow falling over the bed. “I’m sorry for bothering you. Everything is fine.” His whisper barely carries through the room. Reinhard crouches down and retrieves the pillow abandoned on the floor next to the bed, and places it on Schwartz’s desk. “You can sleep, Schwartz.”

After a beat, the door shuts again. The sound of his footsteps retreats into the hallway, then fades away. But Schwartz won’t remember it in the morning.

The sprung bell chimes right as Schwartz slips the thread in the eye of the needle, so she startles and almost stings herself. She puts the white sock aside. There’s so many to mend. Schwartz remembers Reinhard telling her that patrolling the city is his duty. Yeah, she can tell now. Schwartz has never even imagined there could be so many socks with holes to mend.

But back at the matters at hand. Schwartz peeks at the wall in front of her, where a set of bells hangs— each bell labeled with a different room. The one labeled Parlor made the noise in question, so Schwartz blinks. Carol is out at the market this afternoon, and took with her Flam and Grassis. Grimm is across the hallway, but he doesn’t do this stuff. That means the chore is for her to do. Alone.

Schwartz panics and speed-walks out of the sewing room.

Once at the parlor door, she takes a deep breath and knocks three times, waits. Only then enters the room. Two strangers sit in front of Reinhard and Felt. One is a tall man, clad in the same uniform Reinhard wears on duty. The other is a cat girl in a pretty blue outfit. Okay.

Four pairs of eyes flicker to her.

Two strangers. It could have been much worse. Then it hits her: she’s going to act as a maid, in front of said strangers. The whimper never makes it past her throat, but it’s there. Schwartz bows and telepathically signals the floor to swallow her whole.

“Schwartz, it is sudden but,” Reinhard begins. “Would you mind preparing refreshments for four people?”

“I’ll be back soon.” Schwartz banishes herself in an even greater panic.

The way to the kitchen is a blur that Schwartz uses to remember all of the instructions Carol ever gave her about guests. So then, the kettle first. Schwartz puts some water to boil on the stove; retrieves teacups and saucers, places them on a tray; arranges the servings of food— biscuits and butter, fruit, cake, jellies and chocolates. By the time it’s all done, her hands shake. She swears under her breath.

Her walk back is twice as slow as her normal pace, and the closed door when Schwartz’s there turns into a dangerous obstacle. The tray rests on one arm while she turns the doorknob -please, don’t let it fall now- but she reaches her destination without accidents.

“—we’re reaching out to people in light of an operation Lady Crusch is planning,” Cat Girl swishes her tail side to side in excitement. “So the logistics are keeping Sir Wilhelm busy.”

“Thank you, Felix. I’m glad to know he’s doing well.” Reinhard dips his head down, looking at his hands.

“I admit I am curious as to what are you planning; might it be of interested to Lady Anastasia too?” The other stranger interjects.

“I’m sure Lady Crusch will accept a joint effort if Lady Anastasia reaches out to her, Julius—” Felix hums and leans her cheek on one hand.

While the conversation goes on around her, Schwartz sets out the refreshments, and ignores the stares, even as her fingers shake a bit. From the corner of her eyes, she can tell that both guests are studying her every movement. That doesn’t help her one bit in calming down.

Felt’s arm reaches out and she swipes a jelly off the plate, right as Schwartz places them on the table.

“Please, be patient, Lady Felt.” Reinhard sounds unbothered by her antics as always, while Julius lifts an eyebrow in amusement.

“I’m hungry, and this is taking forever.” Trust Felt to catch people’s attention instead.

Though Felix still watches her with a slight mocking curl of her lips. It makes her hackles rise right away.

Schwartz steps away from the table and bows. Please let her vanish back to the silence and contemplation of the sewing room. “If you don’t have any request—”

Felt’s eyes widen with the same panic that Schwartz is feeling. “No, don’t ya—”

“Actually, would you mind staying a while longer, Schwartz?” Reinhard cuts in and alarm sirens blare in Schwartz’s head. “I’d prefer if you served the tea this time around.”

Fair enough. Felt is as likely to throw scalding water in someone’s face as she is to pour it in a teacup, and that would happen no matter how many etiquette lessons she takes.

“I’d be happy to.” Schwartz grinds out in an even voice after a beat. No, she’d be happy to hide, that’s what she means, actually.

Felt grins.

“We have heard that you came under Reinhard’s employment under some unusual circumstances,” Felix drawls.

“I guess you could say that,” Schwartz furrows her brow, and admits. “R- Sir Reinhard helped me.”

“He kidnapped us off the street.” Felt munches on another candy.

Both of the guests freeze with a confectionery in hand, as Schwartz arranges the cake servings in front of them.

“It’s all good,” She reassures them. “We were gonna be homeless.”

Felix smirks. “I didn’t know you had it in nyah, Reinhard.”

Julius pinches the bridge of his nose, not reassured at all. “Reinhard.”

Reinhard looks back at him, doe-eyed and confused. “ It is my duty as a knight to stop an assassin who puts the lives of Lugnican citizens in danger. I also had to ensure Lady Felt’s safety.”

“Didn’t you say you were off-duty?” Schwartz wonders.

Julius takes a deep breath. “I’d like to talk to you at a later point, when our schedules allow it.”

Schwartz places the four teacups in front of each person at the table.

“In any case, I am disheartened to hear that such a thing happened in the capital. For you especially, Miss, it must have been quite the experience, to travel so far from Gusteko and find one of its most infamous assassins here.” Julius leans against the chair, back straight and hands on his knees.

“It’s always the hair, isn’t it?” Schwartz brushes her fingers through her black hair, her one defense against unwanted questions. “Travel wasn’t a problem,” Because an eight hundred feet walk to the konbini usually isn’t. “Meeting that woman, though—” Schwartz grimaces.

“I apologize for making you revive such an unpleasant happening.”

Buddy, you have no idea. Schwartz finishes arranging the fruit, and puts on her best impression of a customer service smile. On the inside, her brain reels one mile a minute. She knows nothing about western tea traditions, unless one counts tea pouring ASMR videos as that. “Would you like me to serve your tea, now?”

“If you please.” Julius nods, while Felt shoves her teacup towards her.

Schwartz watched a lot of videos on Japanese tea ceremony, though. Too bad nothing of the sort is anywhere on the table and she has to improvise. Well then. Her fingers close around the teapot handle, while the other hand rests on the lid.

Then she tilts the teapot, and waters pour out. The one thing she knows is that in some videos, the pour always starts low, but one lifts it in the air right after, so Schwartz does exactly that. Julius' gaze flickers to her hands, for some reason, instead of the stream of water.

The smokey aroma of tea rises from the cup. Schwartz repeats the process for all the other three.

“Show off.” Felt huffs in her tea, and kicks her own chair legs. Schwartz grits her teeth at the jeer. She knows she’s awkward, no need to rub it in. If Felt kicks her now at this moment—

“Would you like some cream or sugar?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Julius says, and Reinhard shakes his head.

“Cream for me, please.” Felix declares. Hah.

Schwartz holds the saucer with a hand beneath and the other on the side, as one would hold a cup in a tea ceremony. Felix lays a hand on her arm, closes her fingers around the elbow. Her fingers are surprisingly cool. “Thank you so much—”

Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes, and Schwartz is struck dumb for a good ten seconds. Felix examines her from the top down. Her gaze traces along her features as if examining them one by one. Even as it ends up looking into her eyes, it’s not as much as an exchange of glances as if Felix takes note of her eyes color and eye shape.

“Uhm. Miss? May I have my arm back?”

“Weirdo.” Felt snorts.

“Lady Felt, be polite. Felix is a dear friend of mine.”

Julius just chuckles and takes pity on her. “Felix is a man, and a fellow knight.”

“Oh.” Because that isn’t weird at all. Schwartz wonders if knights have some sort of HR she can lodge a complaint to.

“Nyah, sorry—” Felix’s tail swishes in an exaggerated motion while his ears flatten against his head. It’s the exact same attitude that Schwartz by any classroom alpha bitch that Schwartz has ever met, just with cat ears tacked on. It’s fine. Schwartz forces her lips into a facsimile of a smile. Or not. She isn’t cut for this.

“I have to admit I’m curious about Gusteko, Miss,” Julius lifts the teacup to his lips. “But there isn’t much information to find about it. Specifically, their Spirit Order—”

“Julius is the Spirit Knight of Lugnica.” Felix says, and nibbles at a cookie.

Schwartz tilts her head in genuine curiosity. She needs to learn more about spirits. Any information could get her one step closer to defeating Emilia’s.

Julius preens under the attention, and flicks his hair back from his face with a finger. “It might not be as unusual for you, Miss, however—” His lips curl into a pleased, faintly smug smile, and with that, six tiny lights come into being around him, each with a different colored glow. “These are my blossoms.”

Schwartz’s eyes widen. They’re the same as the little light from the other day.

They twirl lazily around her, brushing against her hair and clothes. “You have six of them.”

Julius watches her with half-lidded eyes. “I suppose that even in Gusteko that might not be as common as I feared.”

Schwartz beams at him. The spirits look very, very pretty. But something’s more important she needs to do, now that she knows what the little light was.

“Re- Sir Reinhard?”

Reinhard blinks at her, about to pop a chocolate truffle in his mouth.

“It passed my mind, but the other day I found a spirit and, well. It stuck to me, kinda—” Her words trail off.

“Kua perceives a contract on you.”

So that’s what it actually did. Huh. “I’m sorry— it felt so weakened, so frail, that I just..accepted it, I guess.”

“That’s very kindhearted of you—”

“Ya mean that’s stupid of you.” Felt snorts in her tea.

“But what do you mean, that it was weakened?” Julius reaches out with an upturned palm, and all the spirits gather around it.

“It flickered off at times, and felt like a pulse about to fade. I… really can’t explain it better.”

“And you formed a contract with it?” Reinhard asks.

Well, so it would seem. What it asked sure could be interpreted as a contract. “I hoped maybe it could help, somehow.”

“I understand,” Reinhard smiles at her reassuringly. “Thank you for telling me, Schwartz.”

“You must be gifted with great spirit affinity, to form a contract so easily.” Julius hums, as he sips his tea. “And to perceive its condition accurately.”

Schwartz shrugs. “It’s not something I’d ever tried before, so I wouldn’t know.”

“Even though it would have brought you greater prestige, back home?”

“It doesn’t matter how talented you are, or aren’t, if you don’t go outside.”

Felix and Julius both raise an eyebrow at that.

“Wow, Sis.” Felt scratches her nose as if the thought alone gives her hives. “That’s sad.”

“Please try to be more tactful, Lady Felt. It’s an important skill to develop.”

“Well, nyah—“ Felix interrupts of a sudden. “It’s been a fun chat and all, but me and Julius should go right about now.”

“A pity we couldn’t stay longer, but we do have duties tomorrow we cannot postpone.”

“Right, and that’s why we should be home by night.”

“Let me accompany you to the door,” Reinhard stands up. “Would like to come too, Schwartz? You can come back later to tidy up. Lady Felt—“

Felt stuffs her mouth with one last biscuit before jumping to her feet.

Schwartz nods and trails after them to the entrance.

A carriage with one of those lizard creatures from the city waits there. It curled on itself in a patch of sunlight, like a cat, and every snore ends in a tiny whistling sound. Schwartz squeals on the inside. She squeals on the outside, too. She can’t help but want to get closer. That’s so cute.

Reinhard smiles. “Yes, I suppose ground dragons aren’t as common in Gusteko.”

“Do you think I could pet it?”

Felt pales. “Sis, don’t do that.”

“—I don’t see why not. But let’s try not to startle it.”

“Are ya two crazy? ”

Schwartz lets her hand hover next to the dragon’s maw, Reinhard next to her. After another snore, the dragon’s nose quivers, and it awakens. It studies her with one big yellow eye for a moment, blinks, then takes another good sniff. As it does, a warm jet of air brushes against her face.

A few feet away, Felix halts mid-word in his conversation with the carriage driver, but Schwartz is too busy to look at what’s wrong.

The dragon’s tongue darts out to taste the air around Schwartz’s hand. She holds her breath. With a croon deep enough to make her teeth rattles, it nudges her hand with a head as long as Schwartz’s torso. The force behind the movement would have sent her stumbling back, has Reinhard not held her by the shoulders.

“It likes me.” Schwartz breathes, then giggles as she scratches the dragon’s on the snout. The dragon sneaks its tail between her and Reinhard, and wraps it around her leg with rumble.

“That was dangerous, nyah. She can be pretty feisty.” Felix stops a few steps from the dragon, next to Julius, who stands alert, a hand on the sword’s hilt.

“But she’s such a good girl.” Schwartz rubs her cheek against the smooth, dark scales of the dragon’s head. They’re still warm from the sun. At that, Reinhard chuckles. Schwartz loves him, so much— he’s the only one not being a killjoy.

“Glad to see you’re having a moment, but we truly must go now.”

“Sorry.” Schwartz untangles herself with a disappointed sigh, and turns. Everyone is staring at her, again. Why does this always happen.

“Farewell Julius, Felix.” Reinhard wears the same smile as usual, but somewhat, in the afternoon light, it dims, buried behind a mask of politeness. Schwartz’s heart squeezes in sympathy. Perhaps Reinhard hoped they’d stay longer. He must have been alone for a long time, in that huge empty mansion. Carol and Grimm have been with him, sure, but that’s not the same as being with friends, she knows that much herself.

“Farewell, Reinhard. We shall see each other next month.”

Felix just waves with his whole arm from the carriage’s door, then both of he and Julius disappear inside. The wheels make a grinding sound as it picks up the speed to move away, farther and farther along the main path.

“Are you alright, Reinhard?” Carol wouldn’t be happy to hear this way of address return or the familiarity, but Carol isn’t there, so Schwartz lets her fingers brush against his elbow. The faraway, lost look in his eyes isn’t something she’s seen before, but she doesn’t think she ever wants to see it again.

Reinhard blinks as if he forgot she is there. “I am now. Thank you.”

It worries her.

Schwartz’s precious dinner break lasts no more than twelve minutes, because of course it does. Felt barges into the kitchen and points to the grilled chicken sandwich she’s about to bite into. Schwartz knows how this goes.

“What’s that?” Felt follows her question with an attempt to grab the sandwich right off her hands. Schwartz slaps her wrist in a practiced motion— actual practice, since this happens every time Felt and food are in proximity. She’s starting to think that Reinhard might not be too far off about her origins. That sheer entitlement has to be genetic.

“I served your dinner only—” Schwartz glances out of the window. “—fifty minutes ago. Hands off.”

“Still ‘ungry.”

Schwartz pretends not to hear that.

“I’d share my food with ya if I had some.”

That’s a blatant lie. Schwartz doesn’t think that whatever Felt is learning is good for other people. The moment she will discover how to deploy the puppy eyes, Reinhard will fold like a wet tissue to her every demand. Schwartz grimaces.

A light breeze carries the scent of cut grass from the open window.

“How about you make yourself one?” She points out. All the ingredients still lay on the counter.

Felt scrunches her nose. “Nah.”

Schwartz doesn’t remember being the mother to a fifteen years old in a rebellious phase. She holds her arm in front of her eyes to affect a distressed pose. It’s not as impressive as it could, since she still holds the sandwich. “It’s so hard to raise children right.”

“What.”

Schwartz sighs and takes another bite of the sandwich. Ignores it.

“So,” Felt says.

“Still no.” The next bite is too big for her mouth, so Schwartz chokes. Felt watches her cough, unmoved by the tears that well up at the corner of her eyes.

“So,” She repeats, unimpressed. “Do ya know what that was all about, earlier?”

Schwartz does know what that was about. Well, suspects, anyway. It’s not like Reinhard is that subtle.

“Eh,” She says, eloquently. “You know, stuff.”

Felt plucks a piece of chicken from the cutting board to shove it in her mouth. She doesn’t bother with the salt. “I’mma ask the knight bastard.”

Reinhard pushes open the door and pokes his head inside.

“Really?” Felt makes a face while Schwartz licks the tartar sauce off her fingers. If it isn’t for the lack of technology, she’d think about a tracker. Then again, tracking spells are a thing, maybe.

As Reinhard takes in the situation, a line appears between his eyebrows. The pantry door connects to the kitchen, and makes a perfect escape route for Felt, since it’s one of the few doors that have to be open due to its use. Deliveries with fresh ingredients stop by every morning, and with the kitchen being in use most of the day, it’s just not worth it to lock it every time. Especially with Carol ready to stop Felt.

Reinhard blinks, then breaks into a smile that would melt steel, but doesn’t even chip away at Felt’s heart. “Lady Felt—”

“What.” Felt’s curls her lips in mild disgust. “Don’t be lookin’ at me like that, it’s creepy. And don’t get used to it. Just didn’t feel like it.”

“Alright.” Rebuffing really does nothing to the guy. He just steps inside, brimming with happiness.

“Reinhard, want me to make you a sandwich too?”

He brightens even more. “Please.”

Reinhard might be a royal knight, but he eats exactly as much as any other nineteen years old. Which is roughly three times what Schwartz can stomach.

“Hey—!” Felt puffs up like a cat, but Schwartz already turned back to the cutting board. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t notice how Felt primes herself into the best position to steal the ingredients as Schwartz slices them— behind her and off to the side.

All is useless though, because Reinhard picks her up by the waist and drops her onto a stool. Right. The manhandling. Schwartz hasn’t gotten around to it yet. “Please, don’t startle Schwartz while she’s using a knife, Lady Felt. She could get hurt.”

Reinhard sits on the stool beside her, and rests his head on his hands.

Schwartz spreads the sauce onto both slices of bread and tops them with a generous pile of chicken, lettuce, and tomatoes. Slapping Felt’s hand away is instinct by now. “Done.”

She hands the sandwich to Reinhard, and now she and Felt can watch in fascination as none of the sauce dares to drip onto his pristine gloves. Schwartz wishes she knew how he does it. It’s lucky that not much fazes him, because Schwartz herself couldn’t swallow a bite with others staring.

“Why do ya act all annoyin’ when I stub my toe, but always let Schwartz hit me?” Felt picks a lettuce leaf on the verge of dropping, weighted down by the sauce, and puts it into her mouth.

He pauses before a bite. “Schwartz does not possess the strength to actually hurt you.”

“Hah—!” Felt collapses onto the counter in a fit of giggles, head between her arms.

“Well, rub it in, I guess.”

Reinhard tilts his head like a confused puppy. “My apologies, I did not mean to offend you.”

Schwartz’s the one to fold like wet tissue. It’s impossible to get angry at this guy. “It’s fine.”

A cough prompts them to turn toward the door in unison. From the entryway, Carol surveys the scene with a fond smile, so Schwartz cannot help but answer with one of her own.

“Young Master, I was going to bring these to your study, but—” Carol hands the three letters to him. Much like his gloves, none of the grease from the food transfers to them. Huh. Magic is amazing. Reinhard’s eyebrows raise at the sight of the letter on top.

“What’s that?” Schwartz cannot read the script of this world, but has no problem when it comes to picking out people’s reactions.

“It’s a letter by Lord Mathers.” He breaks the wax seal.

Ah. Schwartz frowns. “You don’t get letters from him often, do you?”

Chapter Text

“Thank you, sir Reinhard. I am gladdened by your report, and I’m certain that Lady Felt will flourish under your guidance.”

On the other side of the conversing mirror, Minister Miklotov leans back against the armchair, while Captain Marcus stands next to him, hands clasped behind his back. Reinhard dips his head in acknowledgment. “Do you have anything to add?”

He does. Although his new duties to Lady Felt are now his utmost priority, it’s another matter that monopolizes his thoughts at the moment— Schwartz’s appearance has been as serendipitous as it is puzzling. As a knight, Reinhard needs to report her presence and actions to his superiors. At the same time, his honor requires that he keeps his promise to her. 

“In truth, I have a request,” He joins his hands together, elbows on the desk. It is relieving, to be able to fulfill the promise he made too, and not only for Schwartz’s sake. As the kingdom’s sword, confirming the presence -or lack thereof- of such a threat will put his heart to rest. “I would like permission to look into Lady Emilia’s circumstances, as well as information on her contracted spirit.”

“That’s an unexpected request if I heard one.” Captain Marcos unclasps his hands and steps forward, while Minister Miklotov straightens: a subtle change in posture, hiding a coiled energy that nonetheless carries an echo of the man Miklotov has been in his prime. 

“What brought this on, sir Reinhard?” 

His intuition flares, thanks to his Divine Blessings, and certainty settles within him. Minister Miklotov knows something. 

“It’s about the woman who tipped me off to the Bowelhunter’s location, Schwartz,” Reinhard studies his features, the sudden stillness that falls upon the man. “She claims to have received a vision. A great white beast bringing ruin to the capital.”

Minister Miklotov’s mouth parts, though his eyes shine with a famished glint, rather than dismay. “A Divine Blessing of Foresight is something that hasn’t been heard of in hundreds of years.”

His knowledge of such things is unparalleled, Reinhard knows, and this confirms his suspicions. As Minister Miklotov doesn’t show any surprise on his face, nor asks for any clarification about what the connection between the two is, it’s safe for him to assume that Schwartz’s suspicions aren’t unfounded.

“I take that it is true then, sir. That’s her spirit’s true form.” 

“Have your Divine Blessings not confirmed her powers?”

“I could find no lie in any of her statements, during questioning.” Though he still guesses she might be holding back on some things. That, by itself, isn’t particularly worrying. From his experience, people always have something they’d prefer not to disclose; most times it isn’t related to the issue at hand in any useful way. As for Schwartz, he already ensured that she has no intention of hurting Lady Felt, and that she is pure of character. Looking further into her origins can be done as she stays on the estate. 

“However,” Reinhard flexes his fingers, the leather creaking. “While I can confirm she does have some sort of power, even my Divine Blessing of Judgment could not read it.”

What he detected is nothing as simple as another Divine Blessing. To be truthful, Reinhard never experienced anything like that before. It took him some time to pinpoint it, faint as the traces of it are, but a presence wraps around Schwartz in a way that he cannot claim to understand. It unfurls around her like perfume any time she enters a room, but Reinhard can only catch a hint of it in the back of his throat: the tang of fresh blood; soil damp after heavy rains; the encompassing, cloying scent of dry roses.

The smell of a grave. 

In complete dissonance with Captain Marcos, who frowns in apprehension, the information captivates Minister Miklotov.  

“How interesting,” He strokes his beard, eyes far away in thought. “It is indeed in times of major upheaval that marvels can happen. If the Divine Blessing of the Lion King would make a reappearance, too—” 

But Captain Marcos is far more brusque about the issue. “That woman, Schwartz. Is she a danger to the kingdom?”

Reinhard pauses. For all of Schwartz’s oddities, the thought never occurred to him. As disquieting as her aura is, Reinhard knows she is earnest of character: even if on occasion his Divine Blessing of Wind Indication can be fooled, in combination with the Blessing of Empathy it paints a far more precise picture. None of the time it activated did it perceive any ill will from her. Quite the opposite.

Schwartz’s reactions are bizarre in a way that is far from dangerous, unless perhaps the danger is to herself. Her acceptance of the situation came fast- too much so, even, compared to Lady Felt’s, without any trace of resentment at all. On the occasions she touched him, all his Blessing picked up from her has been gratitude, or unexplainable bouts of affection and worry for his wellbeing. Surely an enemy wouldn’t react to him like that. 

Such affection is different from what he’s used to experiencing, too. 

Carol and Grimm, who have been with his family for years, hold an affection overshadowed by memories of his grandmother and mother, tinged with regret; Felix, for all his coy mask and teasing, dislikes others touching him, and thus Reinhard rarely experiences his emotions. The few times it happens, his affection has been a wary, aloof thing, ready to flinch back; Julius holds his dignity as a shield between them. A well-hidden sense of inferiority caused by the manner of birth warps their camaraderie, at times. 

Schwartz’s emotions, in contrast, wash over him carefree, in warm waves. Her unrestrained, childlike affection is— pleasing, somewhat.  

Reinhard cannot help but like Schwartz. 

But those are not observations he can report to his superiors, he thinks, so he shakes his head and chooses his words carefully. “Unlikely, sir. Her terror over the visions is genuine, and so is her concern for the citizens’ wellbeing. And her skills, other than the visions, aren’t developed at all. She has no combat training, and none in the magic arts either. Her spirit affinity seems to be outstanding, but mostly unused.” 

Captain Marcos grunts. “Be as it may, keep her close at all times— do you still have her in custody?”

“Schwartz isn’t in custody anymore, as I have now employed her as a maid on the Astrea estate.” Reinhard glances at him. “She traveled to Lugnica from Gusteko and has nowhere to go.”

“Good, good,” Minister Miklotov nods to himself. “Like Captain Marcos said, keep a close eye on her, sir Reinhard.”

“There is one issue at the current moment, however. Lord Mathers requested her presence to thank her for her help in retrieving Lady Emilia’s insignia. She left early this morning, and won’t be back for three days. I couldn’t refuse him.”

“Lord Mathers.” Captain Marcos repeats, with a pinched expression. 

“If Lord Mathers shows interest in the girl—” Minister Miklotov taps his fingers on the desk in front of him, a frown on his wizened face. “Don’t let it happen again, and go retrieve her if necessary. Should you see anything of note, send a report to me and Captain Marcos right away.”

“What about Lady Emilia’s spirit?”

“Ah. This is classified, mind that. I wish for this to not reach outsiders’ ears until the moment is right.” Minister Miklotov raises a finger to command attention. Both Reinhard and Captain Marco nod. “Lady’s Emilia contracted spirit is the Beast of the End.”

Reinhard tenses and his hand searches for his sword by instinct, even though he left it out of arms reach, behind him. If that’s the case, the threat to the kingdom perceived by Schwartz is even greater than he imagined. 

“Lord Mathers assured me that the girl has complete control over the spirit, and in fact, this information was to be kept hidden until the Royal Selection ceremony— her power is part of her bid for the throne, you see.” Miklotov rests his hands in his lap, eyes lowered in thought. “But if that’s not the case—” He trails off. “Did the girl say anything more, sir Reinhard?”

“She mentioned Lady Emilia’s death.” Death for Lady Emilia’s, and death unto the capital. enveloped in a blanket of snow and ice. Perhaps it is not so odd, for the dead presence to cling to Schwartz. How unfair of Fate to curse her with the terror of such visions. 

“Perhaps— perhaps it is a future that will not come to pass, then, until the conditions are met. We shall be vigilant, and reflect more on these matters meanwhile.” Minister Miklotov stands.  “A thoughtless action might bring that future closer, instead of farther from us. We shall contact Lord Mathers as well, and call upon you if the situation requires it.”

A dismissal. Reinhard stands up as well, and bows. “Minister Miklotov, Captain.”

The conversing mirror goes dark. 

Just a few seconds after, three knocks hit the door. 

Carol enters the study and sets a tray on the desk. The scent of tea and freshly baked biscuits fills Reinhard’s nostrils. “Thank you.”

She hums as she pours the tea for him. Reinhard lets the sounds and scents wash over him, as the droplets of rain strike a rhythm on the window’s pane. The tongs Carol uses for the sugar cubes hit the porcelain with a clink; a reassuring and familiar background noise.

“What’s troubling you, Young Master?” Carol turns a gentle smile on him, and Reinhard for a moment is a child again, chided for taking one too many sweets off the kitchens. 

“I’m not troubled, but—” He glances outside the window as the thunder rumbles in the distance. Fitting weather for the somber mood of the day, Reinhard supposes. “What do you think of Schwartz?”

"Schwartz—” Carol places the tongs back on the tray and clicks her tongue. “She’s a nice young woman, but naive— or better yet, trusting to a worrisome degree.”

“Trusting?” Reinhard tilts his head. 

“Never mind that, just an old lady’s thoughts.” Carol ducks the question with aplomb.

“I’d appreciate hearing more of what you think.”

“A lady shouldn’t react docile to such a degree, when locked in a room without clothes,” Carol says, bluntly. Reinhard ducks his head in shame, his ears burning. He hasn’t thought about it at the time, but Lady Felt set him straight soon after. He won’t be so inconsiderate again. 

On the roof outside, wings flutter, frantic to avoid the storm. “Some things she said—” His words trail off. After the report to his superiors, his curiosity about her origins reawakened. Her mention of lacking any outside contact has been worrisome, back when they first met, and so is her utter lack of knowledge of the kingdom. “Schwartz didn’t know who I was, on our first meeting. Even after I introduced myself by name.”

Carol’s disbelief is as plain on her features, so much that even Reinhard, with his lack of social nuance, doesn’t need his Blessing of Empathy to catch on to it. “And she wasn’t lying?”

Reinhard shakes his head. “My Blessing of Wind Indication was active. She told the truth.”

“I suppose there were a couple more things,” Carol admits. “Her reaction when she woke up was remarkable with how calm she was. I thought her upbringing must have been very sheltered, even for a wealthy merchant family, at the time. Except—” Carol strokes her cheek, a frown in her eyes. “Schwartz cannot read nor write.”

Reinhard blinks. “Truly?”

Carol nods. 

“Another thing I noticed during chores is that she lacks strength to a considerable degree.” 

“I realized that also.” Her grip strength is overwhelmingly weak, so her teasing of Lady Felt results in nothing to worry himself over, unless it is for Schwartz herself. 

“Would you say it’s underdeveloped from illness, Young Master?”

“I don’t think that’s it.” It would make no sense. Schwartz doesn’t look like someone malnourished, or otherwise in poor physical condition. Her hair shines, whereas people with insufficient resources tend to have dull, frail hair. Her teeth are in good condition as well. And even when they met, her hands have been manicured, with nice, clean nails. Lastly, her musculature too is above the average for her age and her presumed social class. A thought occurs to him. “There are slave collars that drain mana or interfere with in other ways.”

That could in theory affect the body development, or so he heard.

 Another person that to his knowledge weak is Felix, after living a childhood confined to a basement. Without ever talking to anyone. Without ever going outside. Reinhard frowns. Is Schwartz like Felix? Her character bears none of Felix’s wariness towards strangers -as masked as it is by jokes- but she is docile to an alarming degree, according to Carol. It could be a familiar trauma taken to a different form. 

Schwartz, who cannot read or write, as Felix couldn’t at first. Schwartz, who is so frail. 

It’s very possible, Reinhard realizes. Demi-human features aren’t the only reason for a family to hide one of their members. Perhaps her power scared them. It wouldn’t be the first time that a Divine Blessing is misunderstood. Perhaps it was love, grown sick with fear. People have been known to lock their children and spouses away out of love, too.  Worst case scenario… Reinhard doesn’t really want to think about that. It makes him sick. Debt slavery isn’t kind to nobody, but to a young woman—

The pitter-patter of rain on the window combines into a slow, formless drizzle.

“Young Master, if I may. Do not confront Schwartz yet with your doubts, unless necessary.”

At supper, Lady Felt bores through his head with her gaze, which is an unexpected development, since her usual preference alternates from pretending Reinhard isn’t there to try to kick him under the table. So he smiles at her, head tilted. Things on this front, he feels, are improving. “Is something bothering you, Lady Felt?”

“Yer face does,” Felt brandishes her knife at him, a scowl on her face. “Don’t ya smile at me.”

“Now, now, young lady, we have explained this,” Carol chuckles as she pours wine into Reinhard’s glass. “Proper table manners are an asset to a lady such as yourself.”

“But Granny, this—” Her speech trajectory changes with a visible halt. Lady Felt’s teeth click shut, then she reworks the words in her mouth with a furrowed brow and thinned lips, before taking a deep breath. Thanks to Carol’s help, some decorum is finally taking root within her. “This guy deserves it.” 

“What has Young Master done? I believe he’s been busy with work for most of the day.”

“Big Sis Schwartz’s gone away for three whole days.” Lady Felt spears through a cherry tomato with a frown and teeth clenched.

“I am sorry that you couldn’t go with her, but as I explained, we cannot allow you out of the mansion for the time being. Moreover, Lord Mathers requested Schwartz specifically, ” From Reinhard’s memory surfaces words by Julius, who once aided him with the recruits’ training. We ought to reward their efforts, not just drill the form into them, Julius said back then. “Although, if you do well on your lessons, I’d be glad to allow a trip of leisure, if under my supervision.”

Lady Felt regards him with an unimpressed look. “Sis didn’t want to go. Ya should have sent someone with ‘er.”

That isn’t what he expected her to say. Reinhard blinks, as doubt creeps in him, familiar in its sting. He remembers Schwartz’s dark eyes at the news, shadowed with unnamed emotions. His voice wavers, uncertain even to his ears. “Lord Mathers is required by honor to uphold Schwartz’s safety and wellbeing.”

“That guy ain’t a knight, and even I know he’s a fucking weirdo. He has it for demi-human women only, ya know. He keeps ‘em all locked up in that big mansion in the woods— everyone in the slums talks about it.”

 "Lady Felt.” Carol’s voice rings sharp and commands silence. Reinhard doesn’t remember hearing this tone but once as a child, when Grandfather last visited the estate years and years ago; back then, her voice carries even through closed doors and up the stairs, harsh and quivering with anger. Reinhard recalls that he was sitting through his history lesson at the time, but what Carol’s words have faded with time. “Lord Mathers is the grandchild of a dear friend of mine. I won’t have such lurid gossip repeated in this house.”

Lady Felt stills with her mouth parted. She’s never heard Carol’s anger before. “I’m sorry, Granny.”

Carol inhales deeply once, eyes closed, as if in pain. “Just don’t do it again. Please.” Her whole demeanor softens and a close-lipped smile opens up her features; an offer of peace in the face of her lost temper. “This old woman’s heart can’t take it.”

Lady Felt hunches over and folds her legs sideways on her seat, her lower lip caught between her teeth so hard they leave a pale imprint. Reinhard cannot find it in himself to scold her, this time. “I’m still worried for Sis.”

“You have my word, Lady Felt,” Reinhard places a hand on his heart and dips his head. His eyes harden. Even if his superiors didn’t order it, he would have sworn on it all the same. Schwartz promised him friendship on the very first day they met, he won’t repay her so poorly as to leave her alone. “If Schwartz isn’t back by the end of the third day, I will head to the Mathers estate to retrieve her.”

"We’re in Arlam now.”

The trip to the Mathers estate is awful, with only the green ocean of pines outside the window as a saving grace. Drawn-out, silent, so boring it almost drives Schwartz to tears, so much that at one point, Schwartz even tries to summon the little spirit for company. It doesn't work. Even though his condition stabilized, he’s still too weak to manifest for long stretches of time.

 Ram -Mathers’ maid- refuses to engage in conversation unless it’s to mock her. 

Now that they’re close to the destination, Schwartz would pay a million holy coins to not step outside. It’s safe in the carriage. Her fingers tighten on the door frame. 

“Please cease your slothful display, Ram has business to attend to.”

Schwartz releases her hold on the door and does not bare her teeth at the other maid like a wild animal. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’ve wanted to stretch my legs since forever.” She lies, with one last longing look at the carriage interior. Well, no point in dragging her feet too much. With a sigh, she jumps down the carriage step and smooths over the wrinkles on her blue jacket. Carol lent her the outfit again, for the trip.  

Ram doesn’t acknowledge her words at all. “We’ll meet here again in an hour. Don’t be late.”

“Do you need any help?” 

“Hah. As if Ram could need help from one such as you.”

Ram twirls around without one single thanks and walks away. You’re welcome. 

The village sprawls across the edge of the woodland without ever dipping into it, but is otherwise identical to any other settlement they passed on the way there. The wind blows colder too, as if it descends from the mountains in the distance. Goosebumps spread across Schwartz’s arms. Pretty sure she saw a movie start like this once. 

On the street bisecting the place, some movement. People. Someone to talk to!

“—why hasn’t this been delivered in the morning, you—”

“—word to the estate, couldn’t make it after the mabeasts—“

But Ram and the merchant’s conversation doesn’t sound fun, so Schwartz leaves them be. 

Instead, she approaches the general store and walks inside. It must be the only store in the village: while outside the display showcases fresh produce in wooden crates, it’s clear that it isn’t the only product the store specializes in. The shelves behind the counter show line upon line of identical glazed clay jars, and Schwartz’s nose picks a medicinal smell— sort of like the cough syrup her Mom always made her take in winter. 

The elderly man behind the counter lifts his head; he probably sensed her arrival. He looks like he’d do well with a little less tobacco, teeth all stained with use. “You with the maid? Everything’s fixed already. Just ask my brother, outside.”

“Kinda,” Schwartz shrugs. Explaining takes too long. “Just wanted to take a look while she finishes up.”

She runs her index finger on a display case, where colorful ribbons lay folded on themselves behind glass. 

The man grunts and takes a slow draw from his pipe. “Haven’t seen you before. You here to work up there at the mansion?”

Schwartz’s eyes widen to the size of saucers. Hell no. She crosses her arms in front of herself, to dispel even the smallest possibility.  “No, no, no— I’m here just for a couple of days. I work near Flanders.”

Better yet, she works in the Astrea Mansion, but no need to go over every little detail. 

“Eh, true that you don’t have the right looks for it.” Store Owner chuckles. “Good for you, though. It ain’t no place for young ladies.”

“I helped out with something and now Lord Mathers wants to give me a reward, or so they say.” Though she’d give it up in a heartbeat to be as far away as the White Beast as possible. Schwartz crouches as to be eye level with the lower shelf, and squints at a glass jar. Fruit jelly? She hopes it’s apple. She tried some here and doesn’t think she could ever do without now. “How’s the man like?”

“Eh, an odd one,” Store Owner lifts his shoulders in a what-can-you-do kind of shrug. “Same as the other lords before ‘im, I guess. Doesn’t show up in the village much.”

Schwartz walks back to the ribbon display and frowns at the color choice— red, blue, yellow… Ah! An orange ribbon. She pressed her finger to the glass on top of it. “May I see this orange one?” 

Store Owner perks up and sides up to her, unlocks the case. He hands the ribbon to Schwartz, letting it unfold totally not on purpose and not to have the ribbon catch the light to highlight its sheen. “I’ll take it. And a slice of apple jelly if you have any.”

Thanks to Carol, Schwartz got an advance on her pay, and isn’t as broke anymore. Hooray for payday. 

Once the man retrieves the fruit jelly, they both step up to the counter. Store Owner wraps the ribbon in double slip of brown paper. “Between you and me, Miss,” So now she’s Miss, huh. He ties a string around the tiny parcel as he talks, voice lowered by an octave. “You should go back home soon as possible.”

Schwartz clasps her hands together, head tilted, and stills. It could be a good chance to gather some info. “I heard there’s a weird girl up there. A spirit user.” Her head dips forward as she lowers her voice as well.

A scowl etches deep into Store Owner’s face, and turns to the side to spit on the floor. “That silver-haired half-devil. You should stay well away from ‘er.”

Schwartz racks her brain for any thread to pull on, to keep the conversation going. Reinhard mentioned a witch. That seemed important. “Is it true that she looks like— the witch?”

“So they say, Miss, so they say,” Store Owner hesitates, but is powerless against the siren call of good gossip. “You haven’t heard it from me, but—“ He glances at the store. It’s empty aside from the two of them, with Ram and the merchant still locked in conversation outside. Nobody else in the vicinity, either. 

“Had a cousin, in the village up and east of here. Place’s abandoned now, cursed. He said the girl was angered once, in the forest, and made ice grow from people’s blood. Said a little kid who only had a scratch lost his whole leg to it. Just like that.” Store Owner snaps his fingers. “And he wasn’t the only one. Some died, even, he said.”

Goosebumps make their appearance again, and Schwartz rubs her arms to warm herself. That doesn’t sound quite like what the White Beast could do. But it’s true that Emilia made ice shards appear out of thin air. Not much of a stretch that she could grow them on people’s bodies, too. Maybe she isn’t an inferior threat to the White Beast at all. Schwartz bites her lower lip. “Her, not the spirit?”

Store Owner grunts, and cuts a chunk off the block of candy. 

Emilia didn’t think twice about threatening strangers with her magic. Just like an RPG, the creepy magic always goes to unstable and volatile people, go figure. Because an overpowered murderous spirit isn’t enough to deal with. 

“I think I’ll get out of there as soon as I can.” Schwartz slips the parcel with the ribbon into her purse. Nothing better happen up there. She hopes she didn’t just call a red flag with that.

Store Owner chuckles, and wraps her dessert too. “Good choice. But try to pass by before you go. Holy Dragon knows we need more business around here.” 

“I’ll try.” Schwartz nods, and pushes a couple of coins toward him, then grabs the candy. Poor guy just has to live within spitting distance of a nuclear bomb and its handler. “Is this enough? Keep the change.”

Laughter and shrieks carry her feet to the edge of the village. They come from a gaggle of kids, and a puppy. As any kids would, they’re busy cooing over the tiny animal when Schwartz walks up to them and stops to lean on the fence. They stop when they see her, though. Two of them -a girl with a bob haircut, and the girl with the puppy- start skipping in her direction. Schwartz waves with her fingers. 

“Hello, Miss—” Little Bob Cut Girl chirps. “We’ve never seen you before. Are you from the city? You’re so pretty— we never get anyone new here.“ Then she blushes at her own barrage of words. “I’m Petra.”

“Hello.” Says the other little girl, demure and quiet, holding the puppy closer to her chest.

“Yeah, I’m not from around here.” Schwartz beams at her. What a nice little girl. Schwartz loves her already, she’s so cute! “Thanks, Petra.”

“What a worthless display. This one would wag her tail at the smallest praise. Ram is ashamed to witness this.”

“Hello, Miss Ram!” Petra waves with both of her hands. 

Schwartz jumps a good foot off the ground and turns. For someone a good four inches smaller, Ram’s really good at looking down on her. Schwartz wags a finger at her. “Shouldn’t you make me feel welcome or something? I didn’t ask to come all the way here.”

“The lack of welcome does nothing but reflect your character.” Ram sniffs.

“So— why are you here? It hasn’t been an hour yet.”  

“Ram thought to check in case you bothered people.”

Schwartz squints, but Ram doesn’t look at her. In fact, Ram’s gaze points down and to the right— where the puppy would happen to be. “You wanted to pet the puppy too, didn’t you.”

“What an absurd allegation.” While she says it, Ram reaches out a hand to poke the dog on the ear. “This is one mangy and pitiful creature.”

The mangy and pitiful creature flicks his ear, while the little girl holding it pouts. “It’s just little, it’s not his fault. He just needs to grow up.”

“She’s right,” Petra valiantly lends a hand. “We’re all little, but we’ll grow up.”

“You’re gonna make a little girl cry. You’re the devil.”

“If someone could, it’d be you. Ram’s presence is benevolent and reassuring.” Her hands flatten against the puppy’s head, and right after those words, he shakes it off and sinks his teeth into Ram’s palm. Blood wells up where he nicks the skin. 

She doesn’t make a sound, but narrows her eyes at him. “Ungrateful mutt.”

“You’re gonna pick a fight with a puppy, huh.” Schwartz reaches out to the little dog too, but the sudden, malevolent glint in his beady eye stops her in her tracks. Poor thing must have been manhandled all day by the kids, no wonder he’s so cranky at the moment. 

“Enough nonsense. I’ve finished up, so we might as well not make Lord Roswaal wait.”

With a sigh, Schwartz waves at the girls, then follows Ram back to the carriage. Maybe she could come back tomorrow. 

Schwartz does not meet Lord Mathers right away. Ram guides her through the hallways to her room to freshen up for dinner, and it’s then that Emilia makes her appearance, spirit at her side. 

They both freeze. But it’s Emilia who flinches back and cannot meet her gaze. The spirit’s whiskers quiver, as if it were a real cat, cuddly and cute, instead of the sick and deceitful imitation of one— it sniffs the air around Schwartz. Her anger boils within— no, their anger does. The little spirit pulses inside her chest like a second heart, awakened for a few seconds. 

Then they pass past each other, and after the emotions fade, the meeting leaves her hollow. 

Dinner is an excessive seven-course affair, showcased across the dining table even before the arrival of the host. Schwartz gets the feeling all this should somewhat impress her, as if she’d care about that sort of thing. Why would a stranger try to impress a nobody like her is the real question. 

By the time Mathers gets there, Schwartz counted up to five hundred twice, stare fixed on the  roasted river trout, and is probably looking about as intelligent with how lethargic she feels after the long trip. She’s also careful to avoid looking at the two maids.

Steps close in from outside the dining room. Finally.

“Good eveniing.” Mathers’ cloak flaps as he enters the room, grandiose and unnecessary, while Schwartz stares dumbfounded. Lord Mathers is an upstanding citizen, Reinhard said, when pressed with questions. Just like Rom and Felt, Schwartz thinks he should get his eyesight checked. Maybe this world lacks optometrists. 

Lord Mathers, it turns out, takes cosplay a step too far, with a theme halfway between sinister clown and mad hatter, make-up included. All finished up with a color palette of purple and blues, to boot. Looking at it hurts her eyes. His make-up, a heavy layer of white paint over his face, does little to cover the puffiness of his eyes. He looks exhausted in a way that theatrics cannot cover. And he is the court mage, if Schwartz remembers right. Because the combination isn’t suspicious at all.

How do villains get away with anything, in this world?

A small comfort lies in how Mathers mirrors her absolute bafflement exactly. They stare at each other for a good thirty seconds before Schwartz remembers she should greet him too.

“Good evening.” Schwartz fiddles with her napkin and regrets how it’s a poor shield against Ram’s angry stare.

“I didn’t know that Carol Ramendis had another granddaughter.”

Mathers sits in front of her, and those four feet of distance don’t feel nearly enough. His eyes unsettle her, but not because of the heterochromia. His eyes are piercing and calculating and cold, so intent he might as well bring a drill to her skull. Right now it’s only the two of them at the table, too, to make things extra awkward, even though the table is set for four people. 

“She doesn’t, that I know. The clothes are just a loan.” Schwartz stills, and frowns. Why would he even recognize the clothes? 

Mathers hums and glances at the empty seats. “Ram, I believe I asked you to call Lady Emilia down for supper.”

“I’m sorry, but Lady Emilia refuses to open the door and even to answer when called.” Ram’s deadpan tone barely hides her contempt.

Mathers then nods at Ram to go ahead, and she pours wine into his glass. “How inconvenient. Rem, please go try again. Ram will serve us this time.”

Rem -the twin-looking blue girl- bows and leaves without a word. No, don’t go. Schwartz isn’t ready to confront either Emilia or her spirit.

As Ram attempts to pour wine for her too, Schwartz covers her glass with a hand and shakes her head. “Thank you, but just water for me.”

Ram judges people a lot, Schwartz can tell from the smirk that says lightweight, and is pretty sure she’s not meant to smirk at guests. Carol would be so mad if she did it at the Astrea Mansion, at least.

“That’s too bad.” Mathers takes a sip from his glass.

The clatter of cutlery against porcelain becomes the only sound in the room, as Mathers doesn’t seem much interested in talking to her now that Schwartz sits in front of him. Though his odd, heterochromatic stare lingers on her often enough to make her uncomfortable. Store Owner’s right in labeling as odd.

 Schwartz focuses on the food. As delicious as it is, it cannot hold a candle to Carol’s cooking, and her stomach clenched shut because of how nervous she is— so she has to force every bite. 

“I must say I’m disappointed.” Mathers speaks after a few minutes, and Schwartz’s grip on her fork slips in her surprise. It clatters against the plate, loud, jarring. He doesn’t even blink. “Part of the reason I invited you all the way here so Lady Emilia could thank you properly, yet she neglected to greet you.”

Schwartz recovers her fork with shaking fingers. “It’s fine. Guess it can’t be helped.”

“I suppose there is still tomorrow night.”

His stare flickers to her hands, still shaking, and Schwartz doesn’t like it all. It makes her feel exposed, so the smile she plasters on her face feels brittle, and it could fall as soon as it’s prodded at. “Thank you for offering a reward, but it’s really not necessary—”

“But I believe it is.” Mathers’ smile is a bloodless, thin thing, shadowed by sharp eyes. “Is there anything you’d like, Miss Schwartz?”

If anything’s a trick question, this would be it, no doubt about it with how Mathers’ gaze pierces right through her. Schwartz wets her lips. Let me go back already doesn’t spill from her lips, not the close second wish, tell me about Emilia and her spirit; not with the alarm bells that ring in her head over how much she should trust the man. He could very well be on it. He must have heard the rumors about Emilia too, at the very least, if Schwartz heard them after one single conversation in Arlam.

“Sir Reinhard mentioned that you’re Lady Emilia’s sponsor.”

Mathers’ eyes crinkle at the corner in amusement, making the white paint crack in places. “That’s correct. Lady Emilia doesn’t have any other backer.”

“What’s in it for you, then?”

He leans his cheek on his hand, still smiling, and blinks, slow like a cat. “If you don’t have any ideas, I suppose I should give you a monetary reward. That’d be quite boring, though, don’t you think?”

Schwartz shrugs and pops a strawberry in her mouth. “What would I even ask for?”

He laughs, loud and unabashed. Mathers doesn’t act like a noble at all, unless Reinhard, who is much more restrained in his reactions, is an exception rather than the rule. “Indeed. Maybe I shall think of something interesting myself, instead.”

“Sure. But I still don’t want anything.” If Mathers knows about Emilia and her spirit, Schwartz doesn’t want anything from such a person.

“But do tell me— what’s your relation to the Sword Saint?”

Sword Saint? Schwartz tilts her head. What— Ah, Reinhard mentioned being a master swordsman. Maybe that means him. “To sir Reinhard?”

An arched eyebrow, and a nod. She knows literally nothing about this place, sue her. 

Schwartz looks down, at the half-eaten cake on her plate, the smear of whipped cream to the side. Her voice comes out softer than it should. “Sir Reinhard saved me.”

He did. Without him, Schwartz would be dead, or even worse, still trapped in that terrible loop, unable to escape, a moth hitting a window pane over and over and over— 

Mathers hums. “How unfortunate. I wonder how that could come to be.”

She blinks. Did this guy really say it’s unfortunate she’s been saved? But before Schwartz can ask for clarification Rem steps inside the room and bows to him. “Lord Roswaal. I couldn’t get Lady Emilia to join us either. My apologies.”

Annoyance flashes in Mathers’ eyes, ugly, cold, and dangerous. 

Schwartz still doesn’t know what any of this means. 

It’s screams that wake Schwartz up this time— they reverberate through her skull, making her teeth hurt, even in her groggy state. Her surroundings solidify into a bedroom not too different from hers in Astrea Mansion. It is not the screaming of pain in her dreams either that woke, either. The pained, grieving voice sets her on edge, and her breathing grows ragged in sympathy. Whatever it is, it’s close by. 

After a beat, Schwartz pads barefoot to the door and peeks outside. The sound echoes again and again along the hallways, bounces off the walls, and then fades. Nobody’s out there, though. Even as the darkness curtails everything, aside from a few spots of moonlight from the window, she can see that much. 

A door opens, and with it, a blade of light cuts through the dark. Schwartz walks closer. 

“—Betty detects a curse, in fact.” A little girl throws one of her odd corkscrew pigtails over her shoulders as she says it.

All five people in the room turn as soon as Schwartz stands in the doorway. 

“Miss Schwartz.” Mathers shifts, but his fingers stay closed around the Ram’s wrist, as if to check her pulse— Ram, who lies still under the cover, but whose pale, waxen skin leaves no doubt as to what happened. Her chest doesn’t rise and fall with each breath. Under the eyelids, no movement comes from her eyes either. Schwartz doesn’t understand. She was fine just that afternoon.

Emilia’s expression is hidden by her hair, while the spirit watches the proceedings with the usual indifference, until his features harden. He registered her presence, then. “You should go back to bed, Lia. There’s nothing you can do, and staying here will just hurt you.”

“But—”

“No buts.” 

For a creature of such a tiny size, it pushes Emilia out of the room with no effort.

Rem kneels beside the bed, eyes wide and unseeing. She whimpers again, a high animal noise that cuts through Schwartz’s chest with second-hand pain. Her eyes sting with the effort to not cry too. It’s stupid. She doesn’t even know Ram. They barely talked at all while on the carriage. 

Even Mathers’ features are twisted in genuine sorrow. Eyes dull and chin to his chest, he almost seems dazed while looking down on the dead girl’s face. As he lifts his head back up to face Schwartz, though, his expression clears, and he buries the sorrow beneath a cold, calculating glint. And, Schwartz thinks, resentment, burning hot under the surface. 

“What happened?” The last time she saw Ram there was nothing wrong with her, and Schwartz cannot see any wounds on her from where she is. She can’t smell the stench of blood either, and she’s sure she’d recognize it by now. 

As soon as she takes a step closer for a better look, Rem shoves Schwartz against the door. The impact knocks the air out of her lungs- it hurts, and her willpower loses the battle against tears— a silent gasp, and they fall from her eyes one after the other.

“It was you, it was you, it was you—” 

Mathers grabs Rem by the arm and pulls her off Schwartz, and she falls to her knees against the door, hands on her throat. Mathers looks down on her. 

“I’m afraid you might have to stay at the Mansion for quite a while.”

Chapter Text

Mathers leaves her in the dark, so Schwartz clings to the light of her little spirit as long as she can. It doesn’t last much at all, but the soft glow means, at least, that she isn’t there alone. Some undetermined time later, when Schwartz draws her knees close to her chest and shivers, tears tracks still stain her face. It’s cold down here, wherever there is exactly. A cell, definitely. Because that’s a normal thing to have in your Mansion. Or maybe it actually is. Who knows, Schwartz sure wouldn’t.

Like in the worst cliché of a underground dungeon, the seconds tick underlined by the sound of dripping water.

Think, Schwartz, think. If she can prove she got nothing to do with what happened to Ram, Mathers will have to let her go. He’d have to. Right? Her breaths pick up. It’s easier to ignore the cold if she focuses. So.

Ram has been with her most of the day, as the trip to Arlam and Mathers’ Mansion took hours. Early morning to late afternoon. Ram didn’t talk much, but otherwise burst with health, enough to crack quips and mock her throughout the journey. She hasn’t been pale, or weak, or flushed up with fever— her eyes have been clear, bored, and sharp. Schwartz’s sure of it.

But it doesn’t mean much at all, doesn’t it. Schwartz doesn’t think so, at least. Ram looked pretty much the same throughout the visit to Alarm, and at dinner too. Though she has been pissed off then, but that makes her more energetic, not less. Yet, somehow, all this still ended with Ram dead in her bed.

Schwartz breaths condenses into puffs of white air, faster and faster and faster. Oh. She is hyperventilating. No, no, no— not now. Either she freaks out or she thinks, and she doesn’t like the chances if she cannot find a solution. Only one thing to do. Schwartz brings her fist down hard into the meat of her thigh, and lets the wave of pain wash over her. Okay.

She massages her thigh with a wince.

What else. Right. The little girl mentioned a curse, and a curse means a caster. However other magic works in this world, curses have an instakill effect. Or at least this one does. Unless between casting and effect there must be a very short interval. Otherwise—

Schwartz stops. Something’s out there. A noise— footsteps. The rattle of chains. And another sound, one she cannot place right away. Mental, but with has a deep ring to it, unlike the sound a pan makes when it falls onto the floor. Blood pumps in her ears faster, makes it hard to breath. Danger.

Rem appears from around the corner with a spiked mace in her hands. It’s such a weird sight, a mace in the hands of someone so petite, that it takes a few seconds to sink in. Of course.

“You—” Schwartz crawls backward until her back hits the wall. Rem’s eyes don’t have a great look to them. They stare ahead wide and unseeing. Shell-shocked, even. They make Schwartz want to hide, or to run away, or hold her breath so that Rem will not see her. But she cannot do any of that.

Without no warning, the spiked ball hits the bars and dents them inward. Schwartz flinches. It’s happening again, isn’t it. It’s happening again.

Rem throws the ball and chain once more, twice, and a horn appears in the middle of her forehead with a bright glow. An Oni. Oh. Schwartz cannot help but stare transfixed. Of course this would happen. Whatever stupid deity is out there in this world just has it out for her, doesn’t it.

The spiked ball drops to the ground with a heavy thud as the glow strengthens, and Rem’s tiny, delicate fingers curl around the bars. With a screech of iron, she bends them out of the way, making Schwartz’s ears ring with the noise volume. It creates just enough space for Rem to step through.

“I’d have been best to finish this without being caught, but for my sister. For my sister—” Rem’s words break off with a snarl.

Rem’s first hit lands on the side of Schwartz’s face, so hard it sends her to the floor, and cracks the bone with an audible snap. The pain explodes, searing an entire half of her skull, so intense that for a moment she cannot even breath, let alone speak.

“Wait, wait,” Schwartz coughs out a mouthful of blood. “I didn’t—”

“—Shut up shut up shut up—”

Rem is on her again before she can gather the strength to react. Her foot comes down on her shoulder and knocks her arm off the joint with a pop. Schwartz screams. The sound bounces off the walls, loud and useless. No one is coming to help. She knows. No one.

“I’d have killed you fast, if you haven’t done that to Ram.” Rem hugs herself and wails, chest heaving with sobs. “You should just have left us alone.”

Schwartz curls onto herself, breathes once, then twice. It hurts. It hurts, it hurts. “What, what—”

A kick to the stomach sends her into the wall, gasping for air. “I said shut up—!”

Schwartz cannot breath.

Rem grabs her by the collar and lifts her limp body without effort. The horn glows dimmer now, but it’s still more than enough to twists the shadows on her face, enough to deepen them and make her deranged grimace even more unnatural. “I’ll make you.”

When Rem drops her, another kick to the dislocated shoulder rips a howl out of her and it rolls Schwartz on her back. Rem’s foot comes down again, on her throat. Then again. And again. Schwartz’s sight sight fades in a sea of black.

She twitches, helpless, while Rem crouches by her side, and twists her fingers into her scalp. “I smelled the stink of the witch as soon as I saw you. That’s how I knew you were one of them.”

Witch. Schwartz’s consciousness grabs onto the word. It’s important, but something it’s missing. Focus slips between her fingers, amidst the pain.

Rem slams her head on the floor, and the cartilage of her nose crunches with the force, turns into new waves of pain with every push grinding her face into the ground. Schwartz grabs onto her wrist, but her fingers unable to close all the way. She didn’t kill her, she didn’t, she didn’t— Her throat doesn’t work. The words just come out as saliva speckled with blood, in a dry heave.

Rem pries the fingers off her wrist and her hold switches to Schwartz index and middle finger. She bends them backward, slow and inexorable, every creak echoing as an alarm in her head until the phalanges snap at the joints. Schwartz shudders and throws her head back in a silent scream. Rem’s stare fixes on her, full of hunger and grief.

Then, she releases her. That gives no reprieve. Schwartz curls onto herself, just trying to inhales some precious air, but every lungful burns like fire. The next kick catches her in the stomach. Then, right after, one lands into her side. Schwartz retches blood and vomit onto the stone floor, then turns on all fours to crawl. Make it stop. Please.

Her eyes meet Rem’s when the Oni reaches for her hair again. Please.

The moment Schwartz mouths the word, something snaps in Rem. Her lips flatten over her teeth, halfway between a snarl and a grin. “You don’t get to ask that. I’ll make you pay,” Her hands wrap around Schwartz’s throat and squeeze as she lifts her up, making black spots dance in her field of vision. “I’ll make you pay,” Rem slams her against the wall head first, once, then twice more. Schwartz’s skull cracks. Something wet drips down her neck and under her jacket. Her eyelids flutter close. Ah. That doesn’t hurt as much— A quiver stirs from inside of her, frantic and warm.

“Not yet.” Rem’s fingers prod at the back of her head, ice-cold, and the cool sensation creeps inside the wound. Schwartz’s vision clears.

Rem drops her and turns. The chain rattles. Just like that, the spiked mace is back in her hands.

Schwartz’s little spirit appears in a soft, red glow, to hover between her and Rem. It’s still very weak. The waves of effort that it took to manifest reverberates through their connection, as if he just took a plunge into deep water and reemerged. Schwartz’s heart stops. No, no, no, no—

“Get out of my way.” Rem’s hand raises, and magic crashes into the core of him. The glow extinguishes, just like that, as easy as putting out a candle flame. Schwartz stares at where the little spirit was, uncomprehending. The place where their connection was is void, now, too. Something shrill pierces the air. It’s her voice, she realizes. It’s back, wrathful and pained and drawn-out.

Adrenaline pumps through her veins now, ice-cold, and Schwartz stumbles to her feet. Blood trickles down her neck, cold and sticky.

“You, you—” The words crack. You insane fucking bitch.

Schwartz slams into Rem and manages to knock her on the ground. It’s not enough. Rem knocks her back with a simple shove of her weapon’s handle, right into her stomach, then swats her across the face with the spiked head. It digs into her flesh, ripping away muscle and skin and hair with the momentum, and some her teeth come loose. The pain stuns her.

Schwartz drops to her knees. The next hit shatters her shoulder and sends meat and fabric splattering against the wall.

Rem laughs, high-pitched and excited and hysterical.

She lifts her mace like a baseball bat and swings it down into Schwartz’s thigh. The spikes delve in deep, and latch into the femur, so Rem has to pull with her foot against Schwartz’s stomach to take it back.

Schwartz trashes against it, hands wrapped around the weapon’s handle. She’s too weak to wrestle it off her hands. Schwartz sobs. Too weak to do anything. Rem wrenches the morningstar back and braces herself. Another hit with more force behind it lands on Schwartz’s arm, and obliterates it midway up her forearm. It crushes bone and tissue, leaves only broken jagged edges. Schwartz stares for half a beat before the shock hits. Not fast enough to react.

Rem swings the mace again, and again and again and again and again—

She convulses, prone on the floor.

The mace traces a new arc across the air, set to slam down into Schwartz’s head. “Die, witch cultist.”

She doesn’t want to die. She doesn’t want to die. She doesn’t want—

“Please cease your slothful display, Ram has business to attend to.” Ram’s figure shifts and distorts under Schwartz’s eyes, as if she’s looking at her through lenses. But she is there, healthy and breathing, with a bored, disdainful look in her crimson eyes.

Schwartz is back. Again.

She doesn’t bother with an answer this time. Her feet stumbles off the carriage step, so she falls onto her knees into the dust, and crawls on all fours to reach the closest bush. Schwartz empties her stomach into it, hands pressed to her throat. Shudders wreck her body even as she straightens up.

Little spirit. Come out come out come out— it materializes in front of her, beautiful, comforting like a candle in the dark. Concern, curiosity wavers across the corridor between their minds. Schwartz cups her hands around his core and holds him to her breasts. “It’s nothing, sorry.”

It’s alive. It’s alive— thank you, thank you, thank you.

Schwartz releases their connection and wipes the cold sweat from her forehead, still shaking. Her legs feel like they’re gonna give out any moment now.

“Disgusting. Never show Ram such a spectacle again.” Ram steps close to her. Schwartz flinches. Behind her hand, she bites her lower lip so hard it draws blood. Better try not to collapse again, because sure as hell she won’t be standing a second time otherwise.

“I’m gonna help you.”

“Hah. As if Ram could need help from one such as you.”

“I wasn’t asking.” Schwartz follows her.

It happened just like that first time in the city— so the loops aren’t a one time event, and aren’t a consequence of Emilia’s spirit presence either. Maybe they’re connected to Emilia in general. Unless the spirit killed Ram— but Schwartz cannot think of a reason it would kill an ally. But she doesn’t enough about their relationship. And if it’s not related to them at all, would it happen every time Schwartz dies?

“Forcing your present on others yet failing to heed simple instructions?” Ram’s cool gaze wander over her as she stops in front of the general store. She tilts her head, assessing.

Schwartz narrows her eyes. “You haven’t said anything.”

Ram smirks.

“Miss Ram,” Store Owner’s brother calls out and walks up to them. He’s a perfect copy of the other guy, only ten years younger. “We have your delivery right here.”

He points to the side with his index finger. Five wooden crates lay there, set and ready to be loaded onto the carriage.

“Is this everything? Why hasn’t it been delivered this morning, care to explain?”

The man shrugs, unconcerned. “It’s all the deliveries to town, Miss. We sent word to the Mansion already, couldn’t make it after the mabeasts attacked two wagons on the main road.” He frowns. “The magic barrier is malfunctioning.”

“If that’s the case, you should have reported it earlier. Ram will see to it.”

Mabeasts. Wild animals, maybe. Schwartz has no idea about what kind of wildlife lives around here. Then again, where here is exactly is as much of a mystery to her, so that’s fair. “Mabeasts?”

Store Owner’s brother nods. “Been havin’ lots of troubles with them, in the last couple of weeks.”

"I see.” No, Schwartz doesn’t see, but with her hopes of clarification dashed, she turns to Ram— and finds that two men around their age appeared next to her. It’s magic. But more probably not. They close in to stand right beside her and Ram, too close for comfort.

“Miss Ram,” One of them beams. “Do you need help with the crates?”

The other eyes her and puffs up his chest, and Schwartz tries not to stare, startled, because gives out the same vibe as a child who stands on his tiptoes to look taller. “Hello, Miss. You gonna work up in the Mansion too?”

“You can load them up, carriage over’s there.”

“Ah, no. I’m just visiting.” Schwartz cough in her fist and steps back.

The guy deflates in disappointment, and even his friend falters, put-off.

But he recovers first, after one more glance at Ram. “Leave it to us! We’re going to have ‘em loaded in a jiffy.”

The two guys banish themselves around the back of the store in the time it takes for Schwartz to blink. They come back with a barrow.

“You’re surprisingly popular around here.”

“Nothing surprising about that. Ram’s charm cannot be overstated.”

“If that’s what you wanna call it—“

This scene means Ram didn’t do any actual job in the other loop either, huh. Why is Schwartz even surprised. The two men finish loading the barrow and trudge away with the crates.

“Ram might as well stick with you, so your slothful presence doesn’t cause trouble.” Ram turns her back to her, index finger crooked. “Come.”

“Pretty sure you’re the slothful one.” Schwartz follows.

The wind blows as cold as Schwartz’s the past run, even though the sun is still high enough in the sky, without a single cloud visible. Wrongness envelopes Schwartz once again. She hates the chill. It reminds her of that first day, just about one week before.

“This place is quite chilly, compared to the villages on the way.”

Ram hums. “It’s the wind that passes through Elior Forest.”

“How so?”

Ram gives her a look that clearly communicates Schwartz has deficiencies of the mental kind. “Ram is appalled by such ignorance.”

“Is Elior Forest the place Lady Emilia comes from?”

“Of course. What other place would the Witch of Glaciation come from?”

It finally clicks. A frozen forest. The Witch of Glaciation. Emilia’s reputation. Schwartz frowns. That might be why Rem did that to her. She called her witch cultist. But—

No. That does not make sense. The Witch Reinhard mentioned has to be someone different. If someone has ties to the witch, it’d be Mathers, Rem and Ram. How could she call her out on being a cultist for someone she lives with?

“She froze the forest, didn’t she.”

Ram stops and turns to face her, features level, indifferent. Her arms lay loose at her side. For a moment, bitter amusement flickers within her eyes. “Of course she did. Lady Emilia great mana reserves that can handle even such a feat. Ram wonders why you ask such senseless questions.”

So. What could have happened to the capital would have been a repeat. Either by the spirit’s hand, or by Emilia— whichever of the two would have made no difference in the end.

Unease worms its way into Schwartz.

Laughter jolts her out of her thoughts, once again. They’re back at the place they met the children at. Schwartz needs to leave this new information about the witch aside, for now. Her fingers grip the fence tight. The curse takes priority.

“Miss Ram—”

Petra and the little girl with the puppy run up to them, just like last time.

“Hello! Are you from the city? You’re so pretty— I’m Petra.”

“I’m Schwartz.” The words leave her mouth by rote.

“Do not give praise to one who didn’t earn it.”

She rolls her eyes, and lets the rest of the conversation wash over her.

“This is one mangy and pitiful creature—“

“It’s just little, it’s not his fault. He just needs to grow up—”

Still, there’s not much that Schwartz can do to find the caster. The first, easiest course of action is to stick by Ram, as she has been doing, and hope for the best. In this place there’s so few people that it might be enough to pick out anyone suspicious. Especially if the caster is someone over at the Mansion, most likely case. That one conversation with the apple seller did make it seem like magic isn’t that widespread to the everyday person.

People at Mathers’ Mansion are all but common, she can tell that much.

“Ungrateful mutt.” Ram repeats. Like last time, after Ram touched his head, the puppy bit her on the hand.

Schwartz has no other recourse, after all, to exclude one person over the other, with no information about their motivations. And it’s not like a killer would just walk up to her and tell her. Probably. Unless it’s a Disney villain. But leaving that aside—

“He must have been too dazzled by Ram’s reassuring and benevolent presence.” Schwartz deadpans.

Petra and the other girl giggle.

“Enough nonsense. If they’ve finished up, we might as well not make Lord Roswaal wait.”

“Guess this a goodbye. Take care, you two.” While Schwartz smiles and wave, Ram already reached the path to follow back into the village. Schwartz needs to stick to her, for now. It’s the single course of action Schwartz can take right now, if she doesn’t want to get killed. Just maybe. It’s not sure-fire. Well, it’s not even sixty percent. Because why would things be easy for once.

Schwartz walks runs up to Ram’s side.

"Rem, Rem. Our guest is showing a worrisome, childish attachment."

Schwartz overestimated the chances to be alone with Ram in the stretch of time before dinner. Especially without her noticing.

"Ram, Ram. Our guest vacant, lost expression is loathsome."

She also underestimated how hard it would be to override her nerves and exists in Rem’s general vicinity. Her mild, demure expression juxtaposes to the wild, deranged grin every time Schwartz looks at her. It makes her forearm itch. The knowledge of what Rem’s mace can do to is still fresh in her mind.

It doesn't help that Rem dices vegetables with a very sharp knife just a couple of feet away from her. Every single nerve in Schwartz's body refuses to turn her back on her, and as a consequence her hands shake, too. It forces her to clench her fingers around the hem of her jacket in a way that got nothing natural to it.

"You’d be vacant and lost too if you had motion sickness after traveling for hours."

The twins blink at her. Not that Schwartz ever had anything even close to motion sickness at any point in her life, but that’s the excuse left to her. Normal people don’t throw themselves out of a carriage to throw up in the bushes for no reason.

"Rem, Rem. The guest acts on unwarranted hostility."

Unwarranted. Hah.

This is the worst, and as far as Schwartz can tell nothing happens outside of the usual. It shouldn't be this hard to pinpoint a culprit when only six people live in a house.

Her eyes flicker to meet Rem. Nothing about her suggest that she'd crush someone's skull into ground meat, when there's not a trace of even the tiniest hint of violence in her mannerism. It does fit the Red Oni, Blue Oni dichotomy to the T, though.

Schwartz sways on the stool she sits on while Rem whips a cup of cream to stiff peaks. Is that the dessert? She sure hopes Rem doesn’t know how to make poisons, too. Come on, she just needs to make some stupid small talk, and look normal. She inhales. Useless. Nothing comes out of her mouth.

shut up shut up shut up

Rem's shouts still ring in her head. Schwartz twists a lock of hair around two fingers and pulls. It's hidden enough that it just appears like she's bored and playing with her hair. And pain helps her focus, helps her not flinch back when Rem closes in to grab a spatula from the wall behind her.

Schwartz misses Astrea Mansion. She doesn't want to be here for days on end, just to pass some stupid trial by fire that otherwise condemns her to a new loop. She wants to see Reinhard again. She wants to be scolded by Carol over etiquette. She wants to tease Felt over her bottomless stomach.

Let me go home. She bites her tongue. Schwartz doesn't want to talk to these people.

This is stupid. She wastes precious time here in a stupid kitchen. No way any curse caster would act with Rem in the room ready to rip them to pieces, and she still lacks an excuse to keep Ram close to her after dinner.

Okay. Think. Even a lame excuse that makes her look like a weirdo is better than nothing.

"Is there any way I could borrow a book after dinner?"

"A book?" Ram glances up at her from the chair where she is doing absolutely nothing useful. The potato in her hands has been half peeled for the last half hour.

"I need to keep up my reading practice. I'm still not great at remembering the letters."

As humiliating this is, maybe it could work as a decent hook for Ram.

"Rem, Rem. Our guest is an arrogant, illiterated buffoon."

"Shouldn't you shush it when talking about buffoons?"

They literally live with a creepy clown in an isolated mansion in the woods. Schwartz thinks the judgey tone is uncalled for.

"Ram is so generous she could bring you a book from Lord Roswaal's library, if it weren't for your barbaric manners."

"I'd really be thankful if you did."

Rem pauses halfway through scraping the batter off the bowl. Schwartz doesn't need to look at her fully to know she's staring at her. If all this backfires- would she have the time to make a run for it? The sound of chains rattles in her mind, and Schwartz shivers. No. Rem would follow her even outside. That crazed look in her eyes, when she first entered the cell, left no doubt about it.

"You should go and get ready for dinner, now." Rem talks directly to her for the first time since Schwartz stepped inside the kitchen. "It'd be inconvenient for us, if you had no time to freshen up and it turned out you were here all this time."

"And disrespectful to Lord Roswaal. Please go wash your face and don't show up looking like a messy child in front of him, it'd be too embarrassing for Ram to withstand."

Must be nice, to not have to be subtle in shooing someone away. Then again, Schwartz doesn't think she can stand to be in Rem's presence for much longer.

"Hear you loud and clear, I'm leaving you alone." Schwartz jumps off the stool and zeroes on the exit. Before she can make a run for it Rem's hand closes around her wrist. Schwartz wrenches off her hold, startled. Well, great. Now both of them are going to be suspicious.

Rem keeps the mask of innocence fixed on her face, but Ram arches an eyebrow at her reaction.

"Yeah? Something you need?"

"Rem just wondered if you'd like her to show you to your room."

"No. I'll find it again myself, somewhat. Thanks."

If not, Schwartz is just going to commander a random bathroom. If this place is anything like Astrea Mansion, there should be at least a couple of guestrooms that have running water, for the most important guests.

Rem wants to get her alone, and nightfall hasn't fallen yet.

Schwartz leaves the kitchen. Her steps echoes in the hallway, hurried and frantic.

There must be something that she can do to avoid fate. Isn't there?

Her new, first meeting with Mathers still begins with a long, drawn-out stare, though Schwartz finds a bit easier to keep hers level and not lower her eyes.

Dinner stays unchanged for the most part, but it only makes her even more aware of how much Mathers' focus on her is not out of politeness, but to assess her reactions.

Schwartz manages to trap Ram five minutes after dinner exactly, though for some reason her stare grows more hostile by then. This happened last time too, and Schwartz got no idea why. Oh well, at least Rem doesn't join them in the stint to the library.

The place is as grand as one Schwartz would expect to see in a movies, with rows and rows of books covering the walls and the shelves from top to bottom.

"That's so— much." Schwartz cringes at herself. Of course a nobleman's library would be "much."

"Lord Roswaal’s family took four hundred years to collect all this. Ram supposes even a country bumpkin such as yourself would be impressed by such magnificence."

"Have you even read any of these?"

"Ram is too busy working to trifle in such matters."

Yeah. Busy. Working. Schwartz wrinkles her nose and shoots a dubious look at the other maid. It's not so easy to tell, but she still swears that Ram's quips turned from teasing to actual mild hostile and insulting. With a frostier undertone, too. As in, winter tundra level of frost.

"Here. This should work." Ram picks a book from a shelves within eye level and nods towards the exit.

Schwartz uses their walk back to the guestroom as an occasion to memorize the Mansion floors. Her memory isn’t great, but once you know the master bedrooms are on the first floor and servants' quarters are usually on the highest floors, all you need to focus on is the ground floor. There have to be at least four or five exits there, if this place is anything alike to the Astrea Mansion. Kitchens, scullery, entrance- all places that need a quick connection to the outside. Most exits are usually in the back.

"So, what book is it?"

"A collection of tales. It should be simple enough even for your lacking intellect."

"Do you ever say anything that isn't insulting?"

"Ram doesn't know what you're talking about. Every words out of her mouth is the honest, shining truth." Her mouth curls into a smirk.

Well. Whatever. "Guess it should work well enough, in any case."

Schwartz pushes the door to the guestroom open and they enter. Just like the bed she woke up to in Astrea Mansion, this one is so big it could probably fit about five people. There's not much difference in decoration, either. Must be some sort of aristocratic trend, to have bedrooms a certain way.

"Now, if you'll excuse Ram-" Or even if not, her tone clearly says.

"Actually, I was hoping you could give me a hand with this."

No matter how dumb or how weird it sounds, Schwartz will keep Ram under watch, even if it kills her. Okay, no, not if it kills her. The whole point of this is to not go through all that again. But, you know. Schwartz plasters a smile on her face and tries hard to not think about a mace splattered with her blood, or about Rem's eyes as she delivered the blows.

Of a tiny spirit glow extinguished with so much ease. Her smile almost falters.

"Lord Mathers said to give me a hand should I need it, right?"

Not that Mathers used the exact words, but it should be close enough to sway Ram into doing what she asks. The semi-murderous, exasperated look on Ram's face tells her it works, though it won't win her any goodwill. Schwartz is fine with that. Once she leaves this place, she won't ever come back unless someone literally drags her there tied and blindfolded.

"Give the book to Ram." Ram comes to sit beside her on the bed. "What can you read from this?"

Schwartz squints at the page. Ram opened the book right in the middle, without a care for what chapter it ended up to. "Hosh- Hoshen? Story of Hoshen?"

"It's "i" not "e", but Ram supposes you aren't as bad as you made it sound." Her tone is all but complimentary. Ram sounds as though she wonders why Schwartz makes her waste time with this. Not that Schwartz can blame her.

Schwartz’s finger glide across the words, then turns the page to next story. Next chapter opens with an ominous figure drawn in ink, spread across two whole pages. Beneath her, a city on fire— the castle look familiar, in own stylized way. It’s the castle towering over the capital.

Schwartz hums, lets her index finger drag across the figure.

"Please do not stain Lord Roswaal's property with your greasy fingers. Ram won't stand for it."

Schwartz doesn't move her hand on purpose, but changes her mind and places it in her lap when it looks like Ram is considering detaching her whole hand. "What story is this? The title is harder to read than the other."

"The Defeat of the Witch of Envy."

Witch of Envy. Another piece of the puzzle, maybe. Since it wouldn't make sense for Rem to accuse her to be a cultist for Emilia of all people. Schwartz squints.

"Does that word mean dragon?"

"The Venerable Divine Dragon Volcanica sealed the Witch 400 years ago. Here begins the account—" Ram fingers hover on the words and follow along to her voice. "This is an ornamented letter for the V of Volcanica's name. It follows a different calligraphy script than the one you’d learn first."

"That makes sense." It explains why most of the stuff on this particular page is just scribbles to her, even though she can read most letters of the basic script now. Beautiful scribbles, though. Very topsy curvy.

Schwartz worries her lower lip between her teeth. "I heard some people compare Lady Emilia's to the witch."

"It's because they're both silver-haired half-elf."

"What's this letter?" Schwartz, who can remember that one letter perfectly, asks. "I cannot remember."

"That's a Z."

Schwartz turns the page again. Ah. Oni. Besides her, Ram frowns. The inked illustration of a village cover the bottom portion of the title page.

"What's this story about?"

“An old Oni village.” Ram says, clipped.

"You know, we have a few stories about Oni too, where I come from." Schwartz hums. Japanese folklore is quite extensive.

"Ram isn't surprised by that at all."

"The Red Oni Who Cried," A flicker of memories flashes through her mind, and Schwartz smiles without joy. "And The tale of The Blue Oni."

Though the last one isn't a fairy tale, of course. It's a video game, and it makes a good little joke. But no biggie, what Ram doesn't know, Ram won't be making fun of Schwartz over.

"Last one is a ghost story, I guess." Or close enough to one.

"A ghost story?"

"Yeah. You don't have ghost stories?"

"Ram has certainly never heard of them."

"So—" Schwartz drags the syllable in a singsong voice. "Do you want to hear the tale of The Blue Oni?"

She shifts, as to sit on the bed with legs crossed instead of on the side of the bed, then pats the covers. “Come on, now.”

Ram sighs, then settles with her legs sideways.

"The story starts with a group of friends." Schwartz grabs a small velvet pillow and hugs it to her chest like plushie. Her fingers plays with the braided hem. "One day, they decide to prove their courage by visiting a Mansion in the middle of the woods," Schwartz grins at the unimpressed Ram's stare. "Much like this one, you could say. But it's abandoned, and rumored to be haunted by a fearsome, twisted creature."

"Do these friends want to prove their courage by slaying it?"

Schwartz taps her chin. Sure, why not. "Guess you could say that."

She clears her throat, as the incessant rustle of the wind outside picks up.

"So they enter the Mansion, and look around for a while. They in a group after all, so they don't think they have anything to be scared of. A version of the story says there were four of them; another says six entered the Mansion."

Schwartz snaps her fingers, and— score. That makes Ram flinch.

"That's when all the doors close behind them. And the windows are all boarded, too, so they are truly trapped. It's so dark they barely can see anything, and they all walk blind, dread wrapped around their hearts."

Somewhere on the same hallway as them, a door clicks shut. They both startle at the noise.

But Schwartz sure isn’t gonna get deterred by so little. She leans forward instead, and stage whispers. "It doesn't take long for the Oni to find them. But he doesn't kill them all at once. He chases them and takes them out one. by. one. Warning them of its presence with a terrible, terrible shriek, each and every time."

Ram frowns. A howl from the forest fills the silence between one word and the next.

"The demon rips one of them apart as he hides in a closet on the first floor. He crushes another friend’s head in the library. A bedroom, the basement, a holding cell, the kitchens—"

This part might be embellished and not totally part of the game, sue her.

"No place is safe from the Blue Demon. Only one, out of the friends who entered, escapes the Mansion come morning, and lives to tell the tale."

"What a dreadful tale. Ram cannot find any point in such gruesome tellings."

Schwartz's lips curl into a grim smile. "I guess the point is that only an idiot would visit a Mansion inhabited by a Blue Oni."

Ram just stares at her in silence.

Ram falls asleep about half a hour after the story, while Schwartz fake-reads the collection's titles for the fifteenth time. Her fingers shake on the pages. Not much time left now.

Wisps of clouds choke the light of the moon, and enshroud the guestroom with darkness while Schwartz's heart pounds like mad. She did all she could to keep an eye on Ram and try to see if anything weird happened. It has to be enough. It has to.

Ram has been either with her or with Rem, not a single moment alone, all throughout the day. If the curse was to be cast in her presence, nobody had any chance to do such a thing. Unless Rem herself is the culprit, but that's unlikely. Like, 97% innocent kind of unlikely.

If the curse is some sort of long distance nightmarish spell, well, fuck her, because Schwartz hasn't the faintest idea about how to prevent something like that. However, with how the other magic works in this world there might be some hope that isn't the case.

Voodoo folklore in her world would say curses require some kind of contact, too, either directly with the person or through some conduit, but those aren't real. At least, Schwartz hopes so.

A whimper comes from the other side of bed, and Schwartz's heart drops. No. She lets the book fall and crawls to sit next to Ram. In the darkness, it's impossible to tell whether her face paled, or much at all. With some hesitation, Schwartz reaches out and brushes her cheek with her fingertips.

Ram's skin is ice cold.

Her index and middle's fingers press against the hollow of her throat next. Still breathing, but her pulse flutters, weak and erratic. The next whimper comes from Schwartz herself.

Ram convulses and arches off the bed, while she can only stare, transfixed. The right thing to do would be to get someone— wouldn't it. But her limbs might as well be made of lead. She can't move. She can't move. She can't. Bloody foam drips out of Ram's mouth as soon as her muscles relax again.

So Schwartz takes a deep, deep breath, and screams.

One. Two. Three. Four-

A door slams shut, somewhere out in the hallway. Schwartz barely catches sounds of footsteps that follows, over the beating of her heart.

Mathers steps into the room with a stoic expression and without a trace of makeup on his face. As soon as his eyes lay on Ram, the expression turns into one of shock. He falters in his tracks, mouth parted, as if he can't quite believe what's in front of him.

He walks up to Ram like a man in a dream.

"How long?"

"I-I, she was just sleeping, I-"

Mathers grabs her by the shoulders, hard enough to hurt. "How long has she been convulsing?"

"A-a few minutes. Five, at most." Schwartz's hands wraps around his wrist, while she bites the inside of her cheek."I didn't do anything. Please."

Please. Please don't send her in that cell. Please don't leave her to Rem again.

More footsteps, from multiple people, come from outside. First one to come inside is Emilia, and Schwartz flinches. Rem follows, and then the little blond girl right after.

"What is all this commotion, I wonder?" Her eyes lay on he unmoving corpse on the bed without much sympathy.

"I can only hypothesize it was a curse." Mathers releases her shoulders and pull away from her hold.

"Betty detects a curse, in fact. Was the girl responsible for the happenings, I suppose?"

"I don't know any magic. Please."

From the corner of her eyes, Rem stands as still as a statue, eyes unseeing. Her feet move towards the bed only after a while, with a slow, defeated cadence, then she falls to her knees. Tear tracks stain her cheeks. She lifts her head towards her.

Schwartz braces herself. It takes a fraction of a second for Rem to pin Schwartz on the bed, hands wrapped around her throat. "It was you, wasn't it."

The hold tightens until Schwartz's vision darkens. She can't breathe. She pushes out with her arms, but Rem is too strong, and it does as much of a difference as it was a toddler trying to push her off. Just like last time, it's Mathers that lifts her off Schwartz.

Rem’s murderous face it's exactly the same as the previous loop.

"Rem. Wait." His eyes bore into Schwartz, and again that genuine, desolate confusion mixes with the cold, calculating glint in his eyes. For a moment he looks like a man hit by truck, without any understanding of what is happening. Then his demeanor stitches together again.

His fingers, when they close around Schwartz's arm, sign her second death sentence.

“I’m afraid you might have to stay at the Mansion for quite a while.”

Schwartz learns one thing: laying there and taking it only makes it last longer.

"Please cease your slothful behavior, Ram has business to attend to."

Schwartz blinks at her, slow and uncomprehending. Ah. It's Ram again, isn't it. She should be able to speak, now.

"Actually, I think I will wait here if you need to do something. Hope you don't mind."

Ram blinks back at her. Schwartz doesn't know why she'd be confused. Plenty of people wait in the car while others do the grocery shopping.

"I suppose Ram should have expected such lazy behavior by one such as you. Very well."

Ram leaves. Schwartz stares ahead, slumped over her seat. She should— do something. Probably. Ram's the most decent person in there, isn't she, as far as Schwartz knows. She shouldn't have to die. And they're gonna go back to the Mansion in less than a hour. It’s right there. In the distance, above the sea of green, the roof and a portion of the upper floors peek the tree-line. So grandiose.

Schwartz doesn't want to go back there again.

She stumbles off the carriage step, her head void of thoughts, and turns towards the tree-line. She walks. And walks. And walks. And walks. Soon, the canopy blocks out the sunlight.

It’s very dark beneath the trees, as it should be, since it’s a fantasy world forest. Schwartz feels small.

At first, she hears only a single growl. Ah. Of course. She turns. Five beasts that share some vague resemblance to wolves stalk towards her from the underbrush. Her luck, back at it again. Mabeasts, huh. So that’s how they look like. And this isn’t the correct choice either.

Schwartz chokes out a laugh.

The mabeast in the middle gets the jump on her first. The teeth are a good three inches long, and they dig into the meat of her arm like it’s the stuffing of a ragdoll. She screams, higher and higher, as the animal rips her arm off with a couple of yanks. There isn’t even the time to fight it.

The second mabeast closes its maw into the soft flesh of her belly. It tugs. Her viscera spills onto the grass, and releases steam into the chilled, shadowed air of the forest.

The two play tug-of-war with her body for a terrifying thirty seconds. It hurts, it—

Then a third mabeast stalks forward, and snaps at the first one. It takes its place besides Schwartz’s torso, and chews on the stump of her arm, red eyes flashing. His red, open jaws make it look like it grins at her. Schwartz sobs.

The fourth pins her to the forest floor with a giant paw, covering all of her upper torso, and chews down on her right leg. It yanks at the limbs, just like the first one. Schwartz screams again. Her femur breaks off with a crunch, and a wet, slurping sound. Like someone sucking on hard candy and cracking it apart under their teeth.

The mabeast licks her blood off his snout while another licks some of her viscera from the grass, a couple feet of distance from her.

In the end, the fifth mabeast approaches with leisure, measured steps. It wraps its huge mouth around around Schwartz's head. Its breath stinks exactly like a dog. The mabeast closes its jaws, and she hears a crunch. Something splatters in the grass below her.

The pain fades away. Schwartz is so, so tired. It wouldn't hurt to close her eyes for a moment.

"Please cease your slothful display, Ram has business to attend to."

Schwartz is a stupid, stupid, idiot. An useless fucking one, that went about it all the wrong way around. She's been so convinced someone in the Mansion did it, so focused on Ram, that she didn't do the one thing she's supposed to do.

Information comes first.

Chapter Text

Schwartz watches the blood well up in the bed of her nails, though such a tiny punishment doesn't make up at all for her stupidity... WIS in the negative digits, no doubt. Everyone was right about it. Why does she never listen? She cannot believe how many chances she wasted, but it goes to show that she's the same fuck-up no matter the world. Way to go, Schwartz. Just like always. Ram doesn't comment on it. Ram doesn't comment on much of anything, actually, just stares out of the window with a bored expression while her foot taps on the bottom of the carriage.

Schwartz squashes the impulse to stomp on it with her heel. Her incessant tapping comes from the deepest pit of hell just to make her headache worse.

She needs to calm down. Breath, Schwartz. There's not much time to waste, so any scrap of information can be crucial, if Schwartz chills the fuck up. And she can chill. She can be as chill as a glass of ice water. Since, you know, running isn't an option, when it added dying-horrifically-eaten-alive to her tally less than a hour ago.

“Is something amusing?”

So. If she sticks to Ram, she's dead. If she runs into the other direction, she's dead. Schwartz almost giggles. Hah. One reasonable choice left, and nothing else. So, information gathering it is… it’s just like prepping for an RPG quest! Except with fewer NPCs to talk to.

“Yeah, no. But actually yes.” Schwartz crosses her arms and scratches the wooden flooring with her heel.

“This makes no sense at all.”

Problem is, information gathering means that a date with Rem this very night is still on. That is, unless Schwartz is lucky enough for a key event to happen and take care of the curse. Schwartz’s not lucky often. And it’s not like she can do anything else, of course, when acting with no info made no difference at all. Culprit impossible to find and, you know, getting murdered.

Plus, with all this, there’s still no guarantees that Ram isn't already cursed either. Schwartz looks her over dubiously. Ram looks very much uncursed like she did every other time until she dropped.

“Kindly remove your unworthy eyes from Ram’s cute face immediately.”

But back onto the real issue. Schwartz cannot trust anyone enough to ask question. Not one of them. Nope. So her choices can only go onto how less risky it appears.

“That really hurts my feelings.” Schwartz frowns at her nails, not really registering what Ram said.

One. Rem. Psycho Blue Bitch is out of the question. Any extra interaction with her just means moving their cute little death date from later tonight to right now this instant. So, no fucking way.

“Ram would think that’s the minimum punishment for your idiocy.”

Two. Mathers. Guy's so suspicious he might as well wear a neon sign. Which. Well. He kinda does. All that makeup must be the human equivalent of whatever is that poisonous frogs do. If Schwartz squints, she can even see a family resemblance. Their shared sliminess cannot be a coincidence. Though as a court mage he's probably the most knowledgeable person in the mansion. Unless it’s some kind of passed down title?

“Guess you do, huh.”

Three. Emilia and the spirit. Yeah, no.

Four. Weird little girl. She could detect the curse and didn't show any hostility to Schwartz. That isn’t very hard, when Schwartz existed in her proximity for about one minute only, but her presence alone has apparently a not a zero chance of the annoyance meter raising— Schwartz has been informed she can be very annoying. Other than that, only info on her is that she didn't seem all that heartbroken that a servant of the mansion laid on the bed murdered. Chances aren't great with her either.

Schwartz curls a lock of hair around her palm and chews on her lower lip.

Last one. Ram herself. Not many hints about how much she knows about magic or curses, but right now she's not hostile. Just mildly annoying. Okay, no, she's actually a pain in the ass. But whatever. Also it's not like it means much, since she's Rem's sister. For all Schwartz knows she might be ready to snap without notice— Rem looks sweet and demure until she grows a fucking horn and beats you into meat paste. And it’s not even an idiom, Schwartz remembers bits of herself ground repeatedly into the floor by Rem’s mace.

Anyway. Point one. Ram cannot perceive the curse on herself, or she'd have alerted someone. Should the worst happen, she won't join her sister into beating her bloody. Schwartz really doesn't need a double dose of that. Point two. Ram is right in front of her, and they are stuck in the carriage together. No need to wait up and look for Weird Little Girl.

Whom Schwartz still might have to find and not have time to question anyone else. She sighs.

Ram foot almost slams into hers, misses, and a hollow thud resounds in the carriage cabin instead.

“Hey—! What was that for?”

"Ram is bored by your loud and uncouth breathing." Ram duly informs her, like she has done for every little thing that annoyed her.

"Well, you're going to have to put up with it," Schwartz takes a deep breath. Then she takes a deeper, longer breath. Her patience is the very same as an old rag. Frayed at the edges, thin, and in need of recycling. "Be considerate, I'm trying to think of solutions here."

"Solutions?" Ram tilts her head. "Excuses. The guest's brain is too limited to be put to such intensive work."

"Yeah, solutions. Got a complicated problem I need to deal with."

"Tonight's supper menu is already decided, the guest doesn't need to put in any effort."

"Good to know. Maybe I should just skip your dinner instead, since at point you might just poison me."

Actually, Schwartz frowns, that’s a real possibility. Rem is in charge of cooking, isn’t she. She hasn’t tried it in any of the previous loops, though. How hands-on of her.

"The guest isn't allowed to skip supper."

Schwartz pauses and looks at her. What the hell does that even mean. Ram returns the stare with indifference. It's as hard as to say how much she is joking as most things that come out of her mouth. In any case, procrastinating won’t do her any good, no matter how much the outcome scares her.

"Ram, what do you know about curses?"

"That's quite the change of topic, though Ram understands why you wouldn't like to linger on your embarrassing gluttonous tendencies."

Schwartz isn’t sure how long she can keep up the banter and friendliness. So she sighs. Loudly. "Just... answer the question."

"Curses are taboo magic."

Which isn't at all surprising, and not information Schwartz can do anything with. "Do you know anything else?"

"They're a very suspicious topic to be interested in."

Schwartz shrugs. "I'm dealing with a fucked up situation here."

Ram considers her for a longer moment, hands in her lap. "Ram doesn't think it'd be that easy to find someone who can cast curses. What is this really about?"

"Bad luck, I guess."

They both stare at each other for at least thirty seconds, and neither of them lowers their gaze.

"Curses require physical contact," Ram finally relents. "But I don't know much else about it. It's not a topic Lord Roswaal saw fit to instruct us in."

"Us? You and—" Schwartz bites her tongue before she can make Rem's name. She should not be aware of her existence, right now.

"Me and my sister. We're both maids for Lord Roswaal."

Not that this is new information either. Schwartz flexes her fingers. Luck isn’t on her side this time either.

"So you know nothing about it. Who would you ask about curses, aside Lord Mathers?"

Ram sniffs, affronted or something. "Lord Roswaal possess unparalleled knowledge in the magical arts, but if you truly were to waste the opportunity to be instructed by him, I'd say lady Beatrice comes as close as anyone could."

"Lady Beatrice?"

The only resident unaccounted for is the little girl. So, probably her.

"Lady Beatrice is the custodian of the Forbidden Library. I don't know much about it, but it's not a place you could end up in by chance." Ram smirks. "Ram will be sure to watch your efforts, should you go look for it."

"I'm guessing it isn't as easy as to walk up to it and opening a door?"

"Ram thinks you'll have to find out."

Not as good as Schwartz's hopes for the conversation, but at least it isn't zero. Discovering one of the requirements of a curse can at least have Schwartz start a process of elimination. It means her initial thought about keeping close to Ram and seeing who approaches her isn't too off the mark. However, assumed the casting occurred under her eyes, it also means it doesn’t have a physical effect.

But the most curious thing about the whole conversation is another.

"One last thing. Lady Beatrice is a Great Spirit, so you shouldn't expect her to listen to your trivial whims."

Ram doesn’t really pressure her for answers on the reason she is interested in curses. Why.

"I'll keep that in mind. So, a spirit can detect curses?"

Why. Why. Why. Schwartz doesn’t understand.

"Ram is astonished that this guest thinks a being of pure mana cannot perform such a simple task."

Schwartz hums, then freezes. Spirits can detect curses. That— would make everything much easier. Or at least somewhat easier. If her little spirit wakes up, and he can detect the curse, a timeline would begin to piece itself together. Schwartz wraps a lock of hair around her little finger. It might work by touch. After all, he didn't notice at all last time, even in moments when aware and in close proximity to Ram.

Schwartz clenches her fingers into a fist, down in her lap. Ram's maid uniform doesn't give much an excuse to fix her clothes— no wrinkles, and so pristine she really doubts Ram herself had a hand in it. Hair, then. Or an eyelash. It doesn't look like dirt or leaves would work either— Ram's tongue lashing can intimidate even inanimate objects apparently.

An eyelash is easier to fake. Schwartz shares the sense of urgency with the little spirit. Help me. Help me. It awakens with the equivalent of a confused little huff.

Schwartz clicks her tongue and lifts her hand to Ram's face. "Stay still, you got something—"

Every fiber of her being would rather lick a slug— Ram looks too much alike to Rem, even if they come in different colors, the stupid cotton pink doesn’t send any calming message to her hind-brain. Her thumb strokes under Ram's eye. Is her hand shaking? Schwartz sure hopes not. She pushes down the inexplicable urge to dig her finger into her eye. Can you feel it?

The little spirit flares up in disgust. An echo of… something… reaches her mind. Syrupy, black, rotten, and wrapped around Ram’s hand Ah. So this is confirmation the curse was cast before getting to the mansion. If it could be removed now… a negation comes in answer. Yeah, Schwartz shouldn’t have expected anything else. But now she'd need only to confirm it right after the loop beginning. She isn't really looking forward to it.

She doesn’t think Ram touched anyone in Arlam, but she didn’t pay attention to her hands specifically.

"Got it." Schwartz flicks away the inexistent eyelash. "You had an eyelash there."

"Ram is appalled by the liberties this guest takes with her person."

"Guess I'll have to remember not do it again." Schwartz doesn't say it as she backs away, but it's gonna be extremely easy, with how her fingers burn with the force of her disgust even now. "Hope your spirit won't take offense to a couple of questions. I'd hate to get my head crushed or something."

Though it wouldn't be a new item on her list.

"The guest possess a very truculent and unstable mind. Ram sorely invites her to keep away from Ram's innocent little sister. And lady Beatrice is a great spirit, kindly do not refer to her as anyone's."

Schwartz cannot contain her laughter at all. Her voice bounces along the walls of the carriage again and again, for two minutes straight, as they make their way out of the woodlands and into an open path directing to a gate. When she finally stops, tears have gathered at the corners of her eyes and she has to wipe them away. Her hands still shake.

Ram stares at her with hands pressed to her chest and pushes herself as far away as possible from her in the enclosed space.

As soon as Ram leaves her in the guest room to get ready, Schwartz flops on the bed and counts to three hundred. She holds her breath. No sound of footsteps outside, only the faint chirping of birds from the mansion gardens. The place is otherwise silent. So few people live here, thinking about it. Almost the same as Astrea Mansion, though Astrea Mansion could never feel this creepy.

Schwartz walks to the door and leans on it, ear pressed against the wood. Still nothing. She opens the door a crack. Deserted hallway, as expected. Good. And if it's like last time, at this point in time Rem is in the kitchen with Ram and Schwartz won't happen on her in this wing of the mansion.

She slips outside, heart hammering in her chest. If she's caught— Well. Anyway. Ram said a great spirit is the guardian of some library or the other, and the way she described it doesn't sound like the library from the last loop. At least, last time she described the place as Lord Mathers’, not as the Forbidden Library.

Problem is, how to even find such a place. She followed Ram around last time and there's no way another library would fit at the ground floor of that particular wing. Could it be around here, on the first floor, even if it's an unusual layout? It's... not impossible. Some libraries do extend to two floors, after all. Schwartz wrinkles her nose.

She might as well just peek inside random rooms. If nothing else she might find something interesting.

Schwartz stops in front of the first door ahead of hers and pushes it open. She blinks. Oh. This was easy. Shelves cover the walls from top to bottom, as well as a standing close to each other in a way that’s even more intricate than the other library she visited. And contrary to the other library, the shelves hide the walls from view here. So many of them, too, and arranged in such as way that it might as well be a maze. Well then. It doesn’t make sense, but it isn’t like anything in this place does.

Beatrice...? looks up from the book in her lap. "And who might you be, in fact? This isn't a room anyone can just walk in."

Schwartz doesn't have time for this. She walks up to her. "Are you Beatrice?"

"I am Betty, I suppose."

She supposes? Schwartz tugs on a lock of hair, very lightly. Whatever, Schwartz wants to get it over with.

"I need you to come with me and dispel a curse."

Beatrice slams the book shut and frowns. That doesn’t seem the right way for a guardian of the library to treat a book, but what does Schwartz know— that one time she tried to learn about archival systems, she got bored halfway through and closed the tab. Then again, custodians aren’t little girls either, usually, so.

"Betty will not go anywhere but the Library, in fact."

People in this world must do it on purpose. They make things ten times as difficult for Schwartz specifically. "Your— maid, Ram, is gonna die."

"Betty doesn't suppose an enemy could make it past the wards placed around the mansion. What nonsense are you speaking?"

Schwartz grits her teeth and counts to ten. It only makes her think of more ways to throttle Beatrice tiny neck. "Why would I make up something like that?"

"Betty doesn't know and doesn't know you either, I suppose."

"It would take you just ten minutes. Come on."

"Betty cannot spare that much time, in fact."

Schwartz's fists tighten along her sides until the knuckles are white. So, so close to solve the loop, but this little bitch— blood fills her mouth. Ah, she's bitten her tongue. She should probably calm down, shouldn't she? There must be something she can do to drag Beatrice to where Ram is. Would her little spirit convince her? Schwartz tries to call him hope. Nothing. Battery's out for the day. Well, shit. "Listen, I really need you to come down and do your thing. What do you want?"

"Betty wants just one thing from you, in fact. It's almost time for Betty's Bubby time now, so Betty supposes you should leave."

"Bubby?" What the hell. Schwartz is pretty sure there's no such person with that name at the mansion, even though she arrived only since— how much time actually passed, for her? She digs her nails into the palm of her hand. It doesn’t do much to ground her. It feels like it’s already been more than three days. It can’t be, can it. “Who’s that?”

"Bubby is Puck and Betty's elder brother, in fact." Beatrice puffs out her cheek, as if she's affronted that Schwartz wouldn't know such an obvious thing.

Disgusts and dread surround Schwartz's stomach in a vice. Her mind paints the monster looming above her, the maw closing around her torso. If Beatrice is its siblings— she shudders and steps away. The next words escapes her mouth without a thought behind it. "That revolting thing?"

Betty becomes white as a sheet, her cheeks cherry red from anger. It is, weird enough, very close to the color of her frilly dress. Schwartz knows immediately she made a mistake.

"How dare you insult Bubby. Betty wants you out of here. Betty wants you out of here now."

"Listen. I really need help, and—"

Something knocks into her with the force of a truck and behind her, the door slams open. Schwartz's back hits the wall opposite to the door and she curls up in pain. White-hot, all over, and not the worst experienced in the last few hours. Once the first wave pain passes, Schwartz’s arms wraps her shins and she leans her forehead on her knees, breathing ragged. Stupid loli bitch.

Why why why why why why why—

What doesn't anyone in this hellhouse let her just go home. They can die all they want then. A sob makes it past her lips. Then another. Schwartz sinks her hands in her hair and pulls, pulls, pulls. She needs— needs to move. She needs to try the next thing on the list. With how little time is left, there's not much of a choice.

Next on the list is Mathers.

Schwartz needs to pick herself up. Schwartz doesn't have time to lose. Schwartz would rather swallow broken glass than have to think or move again.

Time passes.

She picks herself up and dusts her clothes, wipes her tears with her palm. It'd be a pity to ruin Carol's nice jacket. Her legs shake, but she takes a few steps regardless. She should go to the ground floor— if nothing else she can ask where Mathers' studio is.

A flash of white and silver outside the window, down in the garden, catches her eyes, and Schwartz stops. Ah. That's where Emilia and Puck are. Emilia is… the sight is so jarring that Schwartz doesn’t understand, at first. It clicks a good thirty seconds later. She is playing red light, green light inside of a hedge maze, with her spirit. That’s… odd. Why would— she’s around her age. Isn’t she?

Schwartz's hand rests on the windowsill. This is all because of Emilia, isn't it.

If Emilia was never in the capital, or if she at least didn't visit the loothouse... Mathers would have never requested her to visit his mansion. If her spirit didn’t kill her those times. If Emilia didn’t threaten her and Felt. If if if. Schwartz could be at the Astrea Mansion now, and help Carol with supper— she's been teaching Schwartz to cook. She'd see Reinhard and Felt and Grimm. The twin would read children bedtime stories together in her bedroom, to help her learn the script. Schwartz wants to be back so much it hurts. She can't even send a message for help. With every reset, it would never reach its destination.

Schwartz digs her fingers into the wooden frame, doesn't pay attention to the splinter working its way under the skin of her little finger. The violence of her own wrath takes her by surprise. It’s a murderous, all-encompassing feeling that makes her mouth go dry and her fingers shake. Her breathing picks up. She hates Emilia. She hates Puck.

Puck, floating in the air ahead of Emilia, turns to look straight at her.

Very weakly, her little spirit responds to her emotions. A whispers, no, less than that, an echo of a whisper brushes her mind. Not nearly enough strength to manifest yet. But the emotion is impossible to confuse. His pain and wrath mirrors her own, just as frantic, just as helpless.

Schwartz looks back at Puck right in the eye. Well, as much as the distance allows. Bitch. Her anger compounds with her little spirit's and grows.

Schwartz closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. When she opens them again, there's no trace of Puck in the garden anymore, but Emilia stands still with her head tilted to the side. The cutesy, childish pose makes Schwartz want to puke. Emilia has no right to look like that with such a disgusting, deceiving creature plays children games with her. Schwartz's heartbeat thumps in her ears. Her spirit's reverberates in her head. She feels lightheaded, desynced. She... needs to do something. She needs to move, go downstairs.

So she turns away and starts walking.

The sooner she can solve this, the sooner she can go home, and maybe then she won't see Emilia and Puck for a long time. Not until she’s ready.

Her heels click on the marble floors, with the sound bouncing off the wall into the deserted hallway. Mathers better not to use her request to do something creepy. Schwartz herself isn't sure what, but the guy might as well be made of slime with the uncanny feeling he gives. His whole, well, his everything is just wrong.

The windows rattle, behind her.

She has never felt anything close to this for anyone, before. It's the same with Emilia, really. The deep certainty in her heart that she is dangerous... perhaps whatever the little spirit detects passes onto her. She had a bad feeling from the start, but since they are contracted, it grew tenfold.

As goosebumps crawl across her arm, Schwartz rubs them to dispel the chill.

Maybe, just like he can find curses, he can perceive Emilia's dangerous powers. Or even her disposition. He even recognized them, she thinks, back when Schwartz found him in the gardens and—

"Please cease your slothful display, Ram has business to attend to."

Schwartz blinks. What. Ram’s bored stare. A sea of trees outside the window. A familiar, maddening sentence. Time re-winded. Again. But how— she doesn’t remember dying. It cannot have other conditions, if it does… It could mean it gets worse every time it happens. No, Schwartz would have noticed by now. She thinks so. Probably. Shivers wrack her body, and she leans forward to rest her head between her knees. Something must have killed her in the hallway. It must be that.

“What—“

“Shut up for a minute.” Schwartz dry heaves two, three times, panting. Okay, enough of that. If the timeline changes, it’s gonna happen one more time. And then another. And another. And another. At least this time she didn't feel anything. She inhales sharply, fists her hands in her skirt, and glances at Ram. "I’m good."

“Then, Ram needs to go now, no time to attend to—“

Schwartz grabs Ram by the wrist and ignores her wide, startled eyes. “Wait.”

Come on out. Come on. Tell me if you feel it. A weak pulse answers her. Curiosity, negation, drowsiness.

Ah. There it is.

Ram wrestles her arm back. "Do not do that again."

Whoever casted it, did it between the carriage and the mansion. Ram isn't already cursed who knows from when, which means that Schwartz can solve this. Schwartz can escape the loop, and go home, and, and— Schwartz’s smile, this time, curls up wide, genuine, and unmotivated. Ram flinches back.

She lifts her hand in surrender. "Sorry. I won't."

She got what she needs, finally. Okay, now. There aren't that many people in the village, so in theory finding the curse caster is gonna be quick, and no problem. Then, Schwartz is free.

"Still, mind if I come with you?"

Schwartz touches everything Ram brushes against, every single person involved in the loading of the groceries onto the carriage— she holds the hand of Store Owner's brother; touches the elbow of one of the two short-haired guys; lets the other grab her hand with his sweaty palm. Flirting back through gritted teeth has been annoying. She does the same with inanimate objects, though she doesn't see how they could cast a curse: she rests her hand on the crates of food; runs a finger across the wheelbarrow they used to take them away; turns apples and potatoes and cabbages around in her hands. Nothing, even with her little spirit doing his best to stay alert.

None of them matches. This doesn't leave many people to try out in the village.

The last people her and Ram interact with are always the two little girls at the edge of town. Schwartz cannot recall if they ever touched Ram outright, but she also didn't pay such a close attention to that back then. Case in point, they close in at this very moment.

“Hello, Miss—We’ve never seen you before. Are you from the city? You’re so pretty— we never get anyone new here. I’m Petra!”

That other, nameless girl just smiles at them and cuddles the puppy to her chest. Something in Schwartz pauses. She never introduced herself, not once, throughout the loops. This little girl in particular never, ever does anything to stand out, included talking as little as possible to her and Ram. Just like someone would do to disappear into the background. But she doesn't touch Ram, not that Schwartz remembers. Well. Better safe than sorry.

Schwartz forces her lips to curl up and beams at her. "And what's your name?"

"I'm Meili." The girl smiles back, but the warmth in her eyes falters when her gaze meets Schwartz's, and her eyes widen a fraction, big and green and fascinated— bright like mirrors. Her mouth forms a little oh. For an instant, it feels almost like acknowledgement. But then the moment passes, and her childish smile is back again. "Petra's right, you're really pretty. You remind me of my Big Sis."

"Do I?" Schwartz tilts her head.

Besides her, Ram hums and rests a hand on the puppy’s bald head. Just like clockwork, it bites her. “Ungrateful mutt.”

"Your hair and Big Sis' are the same." Meili reaches out with a tiny hand and brushes her fingers through the ends of her hair— her touch is surprisingly gentle, and doesn’t pull any knot. Schwartz holds her breath. If Meili is the caster, this would be the right moment for her to act. But nothing happens. "Your eyes are like Big Sis', too."

"Where's your Big Sis now? Are you here alone?"

Meili hums and scratches the puppy's ear. "She's working. But she'll come to pick me up soon."

"Have you and Petra been friends for a long time?" Schwartz rests her hand on the puppy's back. "You two are so cute—"

Ram puts a hand in front her mouth to hide a smirk. “Ram had no doubt the guest would have gotten along with children.”

“Like you didn’t come here specifically for them. And the puppy.”

"You're going away so soon, Meili?" Petra looks down, disappointed. Her hands pull at her ribbon, then join behind her back. "Meili has been here with us only for… uhm. Two weeks."

Been havin’ lots of troubles with them, in the last couple of weeks, Store Owner’s Brother said about the mabeasts. The girl keeps an animal in her arms. The mabeasts that ate her earlier could very well have a smaller form— it would be more logical than spawning. But then again, this world has magic, it could have nothing to do with it.

"That isn't long at all." Schwartz makes a face of commiseration and joins her hand in front of her chest.

"Isn't it?" Petra’s big, blue eyes gleam with unshed tears, and she even stops halfway through a sniffle. "But I'm curious to see your Big Sis, Meili." Petra reaches for Meili’s hand and squeezes her fingers. The tears leave room to wide, childish smile. "If she's nice like you."

"Big Sis likes warm people who open up to her— I'm sure she'll like you too."

Schwartz trails a finger from the puppy's back to his bald, mangy head. He flicks his ear and looks straight at her, then bites down on her finger. "Ouch."

Little spirit flares with a weak warning inside of her. Righteous anger may very well be his default setting, because it swells inside of her for a moment and how dare this thing try to kill her contractor right under his nose—Huh. Schwartz squeezes her eyes shut, tries to clear her head. All that, and it isn't even a person who casted the curse. None of the people she talked to ever thought to mention something like that.

Schwartz keeps the smile glued to her face. "Poor thing, did you children play with him all day long? He must be tired."

"Such a mangy and pitiful thing surely has little energy to match." Ram offers rare words of support and examines the punctures where the tiny beast bit her, then smears the blood away with her thumb.

Like the previous time, Meili narrows her eyes at her and pouts. "He's all the energy he needs. And he's not a thing. He's my friend. He’s gonna grow up very big and strong."

"Ram doubts such an assertion could be true. He doesn't even walk by itself."

Oof. Well, Schwartz isn't so surprised that Ram got cursed anymore. In any case, the problem now is what to do about Meili and the little animal. If Meili is aware of it— she must be, right? The timeline fits perfectly, if the Store Owner's Brother words are true. The mabeasts started giving trouble right when Meili came to Arlam, two weeks ago.

"He's just cranky from playing so long. Probably."

Meili beams at her and her eyes crinkle around the edges. Cute things. "Miss is so nice—!"

Cranky, sure. More like murderous like half the people in this hell. It won't try to jump them just because he's small enough to be slapped away, and not because of any goodwill, because Schwartz this time is sure she doesn't imagine the malevolent glint in those beady, tiny eyes. The puppy pants with his little pink tongue hanging out, as if mocking her.

Schwartz won't trust cute things ever again. The puppy licks his nose and has the unmitigated gall to do a blep. Yeah, cute things. Never again. Though, thinking about it, he cursed them, so he probably doesn't need to be any bigger to kill.

"Ram guesses this guest would know all about playing around."

"You sure would be too lazy to do even that."

Ram narrows her eyes at her. "Watch it."

"We've been playing all afternoon." Petra confirms, with a blush. "I didn't do my chores yet..."

"I'm sure every now and then is fine." Schwartz shrugs.

"Don't listen to this one. Her slothfulness will corrupt you."

Her head hurts. Schwartz doesn't think it's the curse.

"I always do my chores," Meili tilts her head with a faraway look. The puppy licks her hand, then rests his snout on her wrist with a whine, as if answering to her mood. "Mama gets really angry when I don't do them right."

"Mama? She must be really strict."

More like, she sounds abusive, and this doesn't sound good at all. Then again people here resort to murder over the slightest, nonsensical suspicion, so for all Schwartz knows, Meili’s Mama might be mother of the year by comparison. Meili acknowledges it with a shrug and nothing else.

What to do, what to do. Should Schwartz alert Ram and take Meili away, or not. Meili’s timing cannot be just a coincidence. Again: cute things. Children will now be included under such label too, and come with a warning. Handle with care. Keep away from your eyes. In any case, she doesn't want to alert Meili just yet, at least not in explicit terms, but at the same time she cannot let her go. She might need her to confess. Maybe, maybe… Schwartz has an idea.

"Meili, where do you sleep while waiting for your sister?"

Meili blinks in surprise. "Uhm. Here and there."

This might really be the right line of action. There’s no village a day walk from Arlam, and with so few people living in the village, Meili can't really say she's got relatives close-by. If she does, Ram and Petra would know it’s a lie. Actually, this place is so small it doesn't even have an inn, and the closest thing to that they have are two barns, from what Schwartz has seen while walking through.

Petra looks at her aghast. "If you said so, my Mom would have helped."

Meili's eyes flash with the desperation of someone who realized made a terrible mistake. "It's not a problem, it's just for a little bit—"

"No, that's terrible." Schwartz lays her hands on Meili's shoulders. "We really cannot leave a child to sleep outside. You have been sleeping outside in the cold, no?"

"Not… really. Uhm."

Ram freezes. Finally realizes where this is going, which shows she isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed either. Hah. "Ram doesn't think—"

"Ram, we should take Meili with us." Schwartz smiles, and forces her hand around Meili's small fingers. Meili tilts her head with a thoughtful look. "She can bring the puppy too, can't she?"

“Ram doesn’t think Lord Roswaal would appreciate bringing animals inside—“

Schwartz ignores her.

“That’s great—” Petra hammers the last nail in the coffin with her genuine relief for her friend. “I’m gonna see you tomorrow, then, Meili. Bye bye!”

Schwartz bulldozes Meili into taking a few steps towards the path back to the village. It takes a good minute before the little girl reacts to the pulling and digs her heels into the ground. "W-wait. Maybe I shouldn’t go with you—"

Well, she's pretty strong, but at least isn't the monster Flam and Grassis are. Schwartz can work with this. So she tilts her head and crinkles the corner of her eyes in sadness. "Why not? We've got plenty of room. Isn't that right? I bet you got so many empty guestrooms up there."

"Ram thinks that's correct, but—" Ram is still shellshocked and wide-eyed, which is great and hopefully can last right to the moment they depart again with the carriage. "—it takes time to prepare them for sleep. My sister doesn't have time to air them out for a new guest."

Stop being difficult, for fucks sake. Schwartz widens her smile until it hurts to keep it up. "Then I guess she could sleep in my room. I'm sure one tiny little girl could fit in."

Meili's brain whirs with audible speed in search of a solution. "I can come back to play with the others tomorrow, right?"

"Sure you can. Maybe after breakfast?"

Hah, no fucking way.

Meili relaxes and grabs her hand back. Finally. "Guess is fine, but I-I don't want to be a bother."

"Ram thinks the guest should be more considerate of others people's work."

"What work? Don't you have my room ready either way?"

At long last, Ram gets beaten by facts and logic. Schwartz preens. The carriage is just fifty feet away now. Meili walks obediently next to her.

"Uhm, Miss?"

"Yeah?"

"I think it's better if I leave the puppy here— I actually found it a few days ago and I think his mom is still around." Meili makes eyes big and sad.

So she does know something. A child like her wouldn’t just give up her pet that easily, and especially not near the woods infested by wild animals. At least in her world. Children wouldn’t change too much in behavior from there to here, right? Right. In any case, Schwartz isn't impressed, but it's not like she can let her suspect something and run away.

From the explanations she heard on curses, she probably doesn’t need the puppy to solve the loop. "If you're sure it won't get hurt..."

"Nah." Meili's braid bounces as she shakes her head. The puppy jumps down from her arms and runs into the forest.

"Well, guess we're set to go now."

Last time Schwartz moved around before dinner, she got tossed to the start of the loop again, so no way that she's gonna tempt fate this time. So she waits for Ram to come get her again. She waits for them to finish the introductions. She waits for them to finish dinner. By the time they finish eating and Ram takes Meili ahead to the guestroom, ants are eating away at her under her skin.

Time to approach Mathers and hope it doesn’t backfire horribly like every single thing does in this place.

"Lord Mathers. Wait a moment.” Schwartz slots a smile into place. “Please."

The man stops right before the door and looks back at her with the creepiest approachable yet confused expression his face seems capable of. Schwartz awards it with a 8/10 on the creepo-meter. Possibly the confusion is for the sudden politeness rather than her request as a whole. "Yes, Miss Schwartz?"

"Me and Ram got cursed in town."

“Pardon?” Mathers blinks, and reaches out his hand with his palm up. Oh. Right. He wants her to touch him, to check if she's telling the truth about the curse. Fucking gross. But quicker than expected, so maybe everything could get solved within a couple of hours and Schwartz can stop thinking about the whole thing.

Schwartz surrenders her hand to Mathers' with a sigh.

"How interesting— it seems you are correct. How did you detect it?"

"My spirit did, but isn’t strong enough to dispel it. So, can you undo it?" Schwartz doesn't like him, but she likes dying even less.

Mathers narrows his odd, two-colored eyes and then offers her a close-lipped smile. This smile isn’t creepy, to be fair. It’s just downright cold, and full of suspicion. Closer to his true character, maybe. Or maybe not. "It's already done. But why didn't you warn me of this early on, Miss Schwartz?"

His fingers still grip her hand.

"I'm not sure. I just—" Schwartz frowns. "I felt it was better to not warn Meili I knew it."

"So, you're accusing a child of having casted such a curse?"

"A small animal she was holding passed it on me and Ram by biting, when we petted it."

"A small mabeast, then, probably.” He hums. “How curious. Controlling mabeasts isn’t a common talent."

Schwartz still waits for Mathers to remove his hand. He doesn’t, not right there. So they stare at each other with the same perplexed, close-lipped smile before Ram coughs from the entrance of the dining room. Schwartz wrenches her hand back and scowls. As soon as she reaches her room, that hand is going to get a triple dose of soap.

"Come here, Ram."

Ram stops close to him, and Mathers rests a hand on her shoulder. "You were correct on both accounts, Miss Schwartz. Ram was cursed too. But if so, it is my duty to detain that little girl and ascertain the truth."

"You're not gonna throw her in a dungeon or something, right?"

Maybe Schwartz made a mistake. She could have just swapped places with a little girl— Rem... she wouldn't hurt a little girl the same way she hurt her. Would she?

"Weell, she did try to kill a guest and one of my servants."

That… Schwartz bring her hands to her throat. That much is true. Meili would have killed her and Ram without blinking. Still, something doesn't feel right. Meili is twelve years old at most. And contrary to half of the people inside this place, she actually failed in killing her and Ram. Schwartz squirms and hugs herself. "Could the mabeast have done something to the children in the village too? They were playing all day, according to one of the kids."

"It pains Ram to say but the guest might be right."

"Well then, I suppose a brief visit to make sure the children of the village are doing well is within my duties as a Margrave. The little girl’s fate will await until morning."

Schwartz isn't sure what face she would make if a guy with clown makeup would knock on her door at this time in the evening, but, well, it isn't something she's going to have to deal with herself. As far as Mathers actually helps the children, it’s fine.

Abruptly, Mathers turns to face her and grabs her hand between both of his this time, wearing the fakest smile and the coldest stare Schwartz has ever seen on a living person. Schwartz flinches at the touch, and backs away half a step. His hold doesn’t let her do much more than that.

"This makes it twice that your actions save someone under my care. I insist that you think of an adequate reward for your service to my household."

Ram bores a hole in the side of her head. Oh. This is why she was so pissed the previous loops too, isn't it.

"Meanwhile, Ram will accompany you to your room for the night. In fact," For the first time since Schwartz has been there, some kind of emotion that isn't grief flickers on his features. It looks like satisfaction, or very close to it. She doesn’t like it. She doesn’t like it all. "I think you should stay at the Mansion for a longer time than anticipated. I'd hate to give you so little hospitality to allow you only with a couple of days to think. Ram, keep a close eye on our two guests."

No. No, no, no, no, no— come on. Not this again. Schwartz solved it. She brought him the culprit. Ram isn't gonna die. Are you fucking kidding?

Her mouth opens and closes without a sound.

Ram clasps an arm around her elbow. "We should go, now."

Schwartz follows Ram to her room in a daze, throughout a maze of hallways by now she knows by halfway to memory. She isn't ready to be closed up in a room yet, though, and she needs to know. To know how much she can push back. The mansion gardens aren't as refined as Astrea Mansion -you can really see there that someone loves flowers- but some fresh air and a few minutes alone, after all that happened, would do her good. Assumed, of course, that what Schwartz thinks will happen won’t, when she asks.

"Hey, you know, actually," She turns and Ram almost crashes into her. "I'd like to take a walk outside in the garden, before going to my room. You mind—"

"The guest should stay in her room for the time being. Ram will have time to give her a tour tomorrow." Ram speaks calmly, and points to the guestroom door, with that same bored eyes Schwartz observed throughout the loops. Unreachable and indifferent.

No. No— She grits her teeth and clenches her fists along her side. "It's just going to be a ten minutes walk."

"Ram has to insist on the guest retiring for the night. For the time being, Ram will join her and the little girl from the village to be sure everything works out."

Schwartz did everything right. Didn't she. And it’s all been useless. A would-be murderer is gonna sleep in the same bed as her. It's true that Schwartz insisted, but still. This is more than bad luck. This must advanced bad karma. Solving the loops won’t fucking matters if she’s kept prisoner in a room by the other twin.

The doors opens and an insistent hand between her shoulder blades pushes her inside. Schwartz stumbles into the room while Ram locks the door behind her.

Meili glances and zeroes right at the locked door, legs crossed, sitting in the middle of the bed. A satchel is tossed carelessly onto the floor, and there’s doll in her hands, all in familiar colors. Schwartz stares at it. Red, white, and purple. Ah. This isn’t something she would have expected to see here, not even in a million years. It’s a Reinhard doll. It looks up at her with black button eyes and a badly stitched smile. Schwartz blinks away the prickle at the corners of her eyes. This is unfair.

"Miss. Wanna play with me?"

“—Sure.”

Schwartz crawls on the bed. Neither her nor Meili acknowledge Ram’s presence in any way.

“This is sir Reinhard.” Meili announces, like Schwartz wouldn’t know it at a glance. “My Big Sis sewed it for me. I'll let you use it every now and then, since we don't have a second doll. But since Big Sis made it, you need to be reaally nice with it." Meili puffs out her cheeks as any normal child would.

So, even a little murderer is bossy when her doll is involved.

Schwartz turns the Reinhard's doll around in her hands. It's not really that well made. Scratch that, it’s awful. The stitching is crooked in places. Bits and pieces come from different cloths, and don't quite match in color or texture. The red for Reinhard's hair faded with frequent washes. Schwartz can still tell it's Meili's favorite.

"We will have to imagine that he's fighting a dragon." Meili pouts. "Even at home, I don't have a dragon doll. Big Sis says it might make Mama angry."

"Works for me." Schwartz gives in agreeably. It's not like she has a plan to get out of the place yet. At least, not one that isn't basically waiting it out. Someone back at the Astrea Mansion will wonder where she ended up to. Right? The invitation gave a term of three days for her trip.

"The dragon," Meili wags her index finger with a solemn frown. "Is big and black, with huuge red eyes."

"How about we move the lamp and make a shadow puppet for the dragon?"

Meili tilts her head. "A shadow puppet?"

Schwartz grabs a lamp, turns it around. "Metia-powered. Lucky. We can move it anywhere, then." She places it onto the bed so that the shine directs to the wall above the headboard. It hurts her eyes a bit. "Watch."

Schwartz pinches her fingers together to make a dog snout. It projects on the wall several times the size of her hand, and Meili gasps in excitement. "I could make the shadows, so you can use the doll. Does the dragon have horns?"

To be fair, to make a dragon she'd need a paper and hand combo, but eh. The girl could still kill her anytime, so there’s no way Schwartz is gonna put in her best effort.

Meili thinks on it. "It can."

Schwartz just makes the shadows for the wolf and position her other hand for the horns. Close enough. This ought to be worth one murder-free ticket. "Sadly, I don't have enough hands for the wings."

Meili hums, then nods. "Sir Reinhard cut them off. The dragon is stuck on the ground and cannot fly away. Blood spurts from the cuts... but sir Reinhard isn't yet finished with it."

Well, that sure is graphic. Schwartz gets the distinct feeling they're both waiting for something and neither of them has any intention of falling asleep, if they can help it. Same for the reason the door is locked. Meili knows now. Schwartz is sure of it. "What sort of voice should the dragon have?"

Probably something deep and roary Schwartz cannot really do.

Schwartz wonders why she always ends up doing children activities with people who might kill her or otherwise let her die in bad ways.

"Can you do a really long, evil laugh? Like this—" Meili inhales for a good fifteen seconds. Huh. And releases it. “Bwah-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

Schwartz clears her throat and obeys.

"Yes—!" Meili says, with the satisfaction only a twelve years old can show for life.

"The dragon counterattacks. Her maws opens wide, full of teeth, and she launches herself towards the knight—" Schwartz moves the dragon shadow closer to the doll's.

"Sir Reinhard is really fast, my Big Sis told me so. So he won’t fall for it." Meili makes the Reinhard doll jump back. Which, totally fair. Reinhard can probably take out a dragon, easy.

The battle is far more drawn-out and exhausting that Schwartz expected, considered their champions are a shadow on the wall and a doll made out of soft cloth.

In the end, they both surrender to sleep that night, and Ram is the one who stays awake, sitting in a corner of the bedroom. Schwartz’s eyes flutter shut to her cold, red eyes.

Schwartz wakes up to an unfamiliar ceiling, instead of opening her eyes in the carriage that brought her to Mathers Mansion. Relief floods her, even as Meili's arms curl tighter around her waist. Meili presses herself closer to her back, and yawns against her shoulder blades. So. One night out of three is over. This isn’t so bad. She can do it. Just a little more.

Schwartz takes a deep breath and covers her eyes with an arm.

At least it’s morning. Finally. Finally.

Even though it just means Schwartz needs to tackle the next problem on the list. But no, she cannot think like that, or her resolve won’t hold long enough for it to end. She replays the thought and huffs, with little amusement. That’s useless whining. Schwartz literally has no choice but to go through with this, or it will just keep repeating with no recourse.

Meili moves behind her. "Ah. You’re alive. Miss is a snitch. I thought so."

"No offense, but I didn't want to add death by little girl to my list." Schwartz turns her head and talks into the pillow.

"What."

Next order of things. Do her best to wait everything out without any more death loops. Whether caused by Rem, Meili, or anyone else.

The doors opens, and Ram steps inside the room without knocking. Carol would scold her ear off for something like that. “Lord Roswaal requests you join him for breakfast. Please get ready.”

Chapter Text

“Well, it seems we finally get to have a meal together after all.”

Schwartz raises an eyebrow. Anticipation underlines Mather’s tone, but she cannot think of any specific reason for it, though it must be because her and Emilia are now in the same room— but it doesn’t really matter. Whatever reaction he looks for, he ain’t gonna get it. His reaction is happy enough that it gets harder and harder to believe it’s just a matter of thanking Schwartz for what happened in the capital.

Emilia dips her head down and hunches over the moment Schwartz looks in her direction, like a particularly weak yet pretty pillbug. Her behavior doesn’t match at all with her attitude from their first meeting in the alley, and doesn’t match the ease shown when she helped fight Elsa in the loothouse with either. Schwartz doesn’t understand. Emilia must gain something from acting like this, but it doesn’t seem like an attitude that would help her with the other people in the mansion.

Then again, without knowing more about Mathers and the maids, it’s not like Schwartz can guess much.

Only an extended stay would answer these questions, but that’s not something she wants to happen. Reinhard, Felt and Carol would have questions if she doesn’t come back soon. Right? Right.

Schwartz hums, then leans her cheek on her palm as Ram serves— chilled soup, and places the serving bowl in the center of the 27-foot long table. It does feel right out of an otome isekai, with so few people seated at the longest table she’s ever seen in her life. And the serving trays and bowls and cutlery shine silver under the chandelier. It would be so pretty and exciting— if she wasn’t kidnapped by those people.

Emilia blinks back at her, silent. No words are forthcoming from Schwartz, either, and why would they? They have nothing important to say to each other. The tension is so thick that Schwartz had an easier time breathing back at home, with 108 Fahrenheit in August.

Beside her, Meili rips into a slice of beef with all the kindness of a feral dog, until she senses Schwartz’s eyes on her and stops to offer a close-lipped smile, cheeks bulging like a chipmunk. It’s cute as pie, and sets Schwartz on edge right away.

Mathers still stares at her and Emilia. Because that’s not creepy at all.

Well, he did put Ram as a jailer for her and Meili, so he must get something out of it. Schwartz doesn’t wanna know. She scowls at the soup and shoves a spoonful into her mouth. Chilled cantaloupe soup. How fancy. And useless, to someone held there against her will. Even after what he said, Mathers is determined to keep up appearances, for whatever reason. In any case, eating is as good a pretext as any to not acknowledge him, Emilia, or Rem— standing behind her in all her five foot tall intimidating glory.

Schwartz’s nape feels like fire ants are walking on her neck.

“Lady Emilia,” His mouth widens into a smile, but Mathers’ eyes are the coldest they’ve been yet, even compared to the calculating gaze Schwartz had to bear with at the first loop. “Miss Schwartz graciously visited us, yet I haven’t seen you welcome her adequately even once.”

“Uhm. Right.” Emilia twists the napkin between her hands and smiles down at the apple slices on her plate. “I’m happy we’re both here this morning, Miss Schwartz. I, uhm…”

Emilia better get on with it so they both could be free to go sometimes this decade.

Puck comes into existence right in the air above Emilia’s head. His tiny eyes linger on Mathers, glinting with fake cheerfulness. “Lia doesn’t need to force it if she doesn't want to.”

Schwartz flinches back from his stare. She needs to get a grip– but her blood turns to ice every time the memory of the capital comes to her mind. She hides her trembling hands in her lap.

“Is that so? But I disagree.” Mathers folds his napkin and places it next to the plate. “It’s important that Lady Emilia learns how such matters are handled.”

“No— I really wish to thank her.” Emilia’s anxious little head shakes in reassurance. Schwartz still doesn’t know what she’s playing at. She sounded eager enough to plant an icicle into her insides, back in the alley. “I’m just not very good at conversation, and— I didn’t want to bother Miss Schwartz.”

Emilia lifts her face to look at Schwartz now, all huge violet eyes and rosy cheeks. It would be more believable if Emilia weren’t as dumb as a pile of bricks– as beautiful as she is, that ridiculous naive act doesn’t make her acting skills any more effective.

“It’s really—“ Schwartz overrides her nerves and loosens her jaw just enough to let the words through. —not a problem. I don’t need any thanks.”

“This Miss is really weird.” Meili pouts at the empty tray and pokes at it with a tiny finger, while Emilia flinches at her comment. “Can I have some more?”

“My— you’re quite relaxed for the position you’re in. You’re aware you’ll be taken away after, aren’t you?”

Meili kicks her feet against the chair legs. “I never get to eat this much.”

That’s not something Schwartz wants to think about. Meili is just a child. Yet she ended up there with a murder dog. That cannot be normal, even here. Can it?

Emilia takes a deep breath as a line forms between her eyebrows, then jumps to her feet. Her chair screeches as it scrapes against the floor, and Schwartz realizes she grabbed the knife only when it’s tight into her fist. Oh well. Not like it can do much against ice magic.

“Thank you so much for helping me.” Emilia bows, back stiff and hands clenched at her sides. Schwartz cannot see her face, but a blush colors her pointed elf ears. Is it so humiliating to thank someone, to her? “I wasn’t expecting it—“

“As I said, I don’t need any thanks.” Schwartz slouches back into her seat and loosens the hold on the knife. It’s not like it’s Emilia herself Schwartz wanted to help, as much as everyone else in the crossfire of Puck’s anger. In fact, if Emilia had been somewhere else instead, it would have been better for everyone involved.

“Lia, you didn’t need to. This girl barely helped,” Puck floats down until he lands into Emilia’s lap like a real cat. “It would have been better to call here the Sword Saint instead, since he did all the work.”

“Puck—“ Emilia’s voice raises in pitch with her protest. Everything sounds genuine, sure, but Schwartz cannot trust it, now when Emilia thought nothing of threatening five strangers with icicles, back in the alley. “Why are you in such a bad temper?”

Mean is one word to describe that abomination. Schwartz has a few better ones.

Emilia frowns and rests her hand on her chest. “But it’s true I should thank sir Reinhard too. I didn’t have time to say anything after the fight.”

Schwartz stills. Reinhard’s presence at the mansion would mean Mathers cannot keep her there anymore, and maybe Reinhard could even help to keep Puck in check, but Emilia sounds— invested in it. Maybe having them meet right away would be a mistake. Sure, he dispatched Elsa without much of a struggle, and the loothouse reduced to debris is proof enough, but. Puck is much stronger than that woman— that thing grew to the size of a tower, back at the capital. She isn’t even sure how much radius his magic has. And— after what Ram said, what the general store owner said she might be underestimating Emilia, too. If Puck kills Reinhard– Schwartz shivers.

“No need for that. I’ll pass it on once I’m back to Astrea Mansion.”

Puck and Emilia won’t be safe for long, but first she needs to become more useful, too. Reinhard isn’t just the friend met on the street a couple of times, now. They’ve been living in the same place for days now, if something happened, because she could do nothing—

Schwartz glances at Mathers, who gives a neutral smile in return. He cannot be thinking of keeping her there for much longer.

“But— the etiquette books say I should always convey my thanks in person, when possible.”

“I’m sure sir Reinhard will get it even if you’re not there yourself.” Schwartz grits her teeth. She’s been doing it so much that it starts to hurt.

Emilia’s features shift into a determined expression. “No, thanking sir Reinhard in person is the right thing to do.”

Schwartz only knows what Carol told her about etiquette, but she’s pretty sure that a thank you note or a gift are more than enough to express Emilia’s thanks. There’s gotta be another reason why she wants to meet Reinhard in person. Her fake sweetness gives her a headache.

Schwartz slams her hand on the table. Her glass shakes with the impact. “I just said you don’t have to. You deaf?”

The first surprised reaction isn’t Emilia. It’s Mathers. Movement catches her attention from the corner of her eye as he startles at her tone. Emilia’s eyes widen and she takes a step back. Her leg hits the chair and sends it to the floor.

“What…”

Is Emilia looking for other people’s sympathy again? Anger flares inside Schwartz, so strong her fear burns to cinders, and leaves her breathless for a moment. It burns and freezes her insides at the same time, makes the tips of her fingers shake, pulses in time with her little spirit’s heartbeat. She takes a deep, unsteady breath. It happened more and more, she noticed that much— when his anger bled into her, it’s not always easy to tell where his feelings end and Schwartz’s begin. It’s like his feelings are the spark that sets her own alit. Puck’s gaze bores into her as soon as the feeling sparks. It’s not the first time either— can he feel her spirit, too?

Besides her, Meili pushes an apple slice into her mouth.

“But I—“ Emilia hugs herself and lowers her head in the most ridiculous display of sadness Schwartz has seen in a while.

Even in a place like this, it’s just like the girls back at school. They pretended to be victims all the time, to avoid punishment and get her framed as the guilty party instead— they pushed her to the floor in the hallways; tossed her agenda in the school toilet; smeared her uniform with ketchup and mayo at lunch break. Whatever they did there was no difference. A few crocodile tears on command and the teachers would side with them.

“Stop this silly act, it’s pathetic.”

“It’s not an act, I really,” Emilia doesn’t even have the decency to look her in the eye while she lies through her teeth. “I just want to talk to you and sir Reinhard more—“

“Talk to me? Someone like you? You think I’d believe that—“ Schwartz blinks. She isn’t sitting anymore— when did that even happen.

Emilia is just like those girls.

“I’m telling the truth, I’m not a liar, so why—“ Emilia’s hand slides up to her head and brushes against her ear.

“I heard about you.”

Emilia startles. “About… me?”

“People in the village told me what you did.”

An image flashes behind her eyelids, like the frozen frame of a movie. It’s not— hers. Why— a man, with a huge ice crystal protruding from a wound on his torso. Blood drips from his mouth. A blanket of snow envelopes the surroundings, and farther away within the line of sight, a line of trees. With so much white, they look like a black cutout against the gray sky. A memory? Her little spirit could shuffle through hers, does that mean—

“They said you froze the forest. That you killed people.”

Emilia doesn’t even seem to be breathing anymore, as her eyes stare forward, wide from surprise. “I’m— I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do it. I—“

Schwartz bares her teeth at her. “You didn’t mean to do it? On two separate occasions? Do you think I’m stupid?”

Meili peels the skin off an orange. “I didn’t think Miss could get so angry– Miss looks even more like Big Sis when she smiles like this.”

“You better cut it out, Lia didn’t do anything wrong—“

“She killed people, but of course you wouldn’t find that wrong, you—“

“Please don’t take it out on Puck, he’s my family, he just wants to help—“

“I know what that thing wants.”

“I said stop,” Emilia’s previous stillness disappeared, and her whole body shakes now. “Puck has always done his best—“

“Yeah, I’ve seen his best.” Schwartz digs her nails into her palms and inhales once. She must not let Emilia get under her skin.

“Ram thinks your rude behavior needs to stop, when you’re just a guest,” Ram steps forward, her mouth a small, flat line. “Both of you are acting unbecoming in front of Lord Roswaal.”

“If he dislikes it, he’s free to send me back. Right now.”

“Maybe— if Miss Schwartz wants to go, we shouldn’t keep her here.”

Schwartz scowls. So Emilia does know she’s not here because she chose it. “So where did your act go just now? Is it because I called you out? You liar.”

“Take it back, or I’m gonna make sure you cannot talk back ever again.” Puck swishes his tail in midair back and forth, frantic.

“I— I’m not a liar.” Emilia’s cheek turns bright red in anger. “I’m not. Lying– is bad, I’d never do that.”

“Really? You act so innocent when you’ve done all that. You even threatened me and Felt back at the capital.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, I, I just wanted to frighten you into giving the insignia back—!”

“Congrats then, the thread of being ripped apart by ice shards almost worked—“

“I wouldn’t have done it, I swear.”

“Sure, because every sane person who threatens people with death doesn’t really mean it, right—“

“Both of you, now. Be. Silent.” That deceiving playful attitude vanished from Mathers. His eyes are just as cold as before, but there isn’t the faintest trace of a smile, and his attention focuses on both of them. “You are both acting immature. Lady Emilia, ask Miss Schwartz for forgiveness. Miss Schwartz, sit down.”

Schwartz counts backwards from twenty, and her dread grows until her blood turns to ice. She lost control, in a room where more than half the people present need only the slightest excuse– any further word could get her killed on the spot.

“If you don’t mind, I’d rather get out now.” Her feet carry her to the door before she can hear his answer.

Outside, the hallway air is cool against her face, nothing like the suffocating dining room’s air. Schwartz breathes once, then once again. One and a half days left.

All goes okay until footsteps reach her ears. Of course someone got sent after her, why give Schwartz a bit of peace instead of pressing on. Schwartz speedwalks past two doors and toward the service staircase, then sprints up for the first floor. The banister, under her fingers, is smooth and cool to the touch.

She knows it’s the wrong decision the moment a chill spreads through the air, as she reaches the landing. That’s when her blood turns cold too, though it’s not from the temperature change. In the darkened space behind her, ice stalagmites rise from the floor and block the way to the ground floor, making the service staircase useless. Well, shit.

“Hey, I was hoping to meet you up here. Since you’re alone, I guess it worked.”

Puck floats a few inches from her face, and makes Schwartz flinch even before registering who speaks. His tail sways from side to side as he looks at her for a few seconds. Does that mean he blocked whoever was from following? It would have probably been Ram, if anyone. Unless Rem tried to follow her first, for a repeat of the first night.

“What do you want?

“You know, for a bit I thought about looking the other way, since Roswaal seems to care about this so much. But you really hate Lia, don’t you? And I cannot allow that thing you brought in here to stay around.”

“Ah.” Schwartz takes a step back and tries to control the panicked beating of her heart, so she inhales deeply— the cold air makes her lungs burn. Her hands, useless at her sides, shake. He’s gonna kill her. Again.

“Where are you going? The way back is closed off, you know.”

“Are you gonna flap your mouth some more?”

“Aren’t you afraid?”

“Of course I’m afraid. Is that gonna stop you?” Schwartz eyes the space behind Puck, heart hammering so hard in her chest that it hurts. She doesn’t want to die again, she doesn’t but– in such a narrow space, there’s no way an attack is gonna miss her, let alone not an attack from someone who can just freeze you solid with no issues. Even so, she doesn’t want to make it any easier for him, and doesn’t want to be caught motionless like a frightened cat.

“Nope. But it’d be nice to see some repentance.”

Even by his words, begging would make no difference at all. Schwartz stays silent.

“I can control the cold to slow down the bleeding. It might take you a few good minutes to bleed out if I do that— you sure you don’t have any last words?”

Schwartz dashes past him. It’s a short-lived attempt.

She takes four steps exactly before a sharpened ice rod spears through her abdomen and through the wooden planks of the landing. Fire spreads through her body, and as Schwartz coughs a splatter of blood lands on the ground.

“Die for the sake of my daughter, Schwartz.”

Two. Even though Schwartz avoided the fight with Emilia, Puck doesn’t leave her alone. Her route is different too— her destination changes to the mansion entrance, and she walks past the service staircase from earlier and turns to the right to reach it.

Schwartz never makes it. As soon as her fingers brush against the door, her vision turns black, and the world rolls back to the start of the loop. This is the least painful death.

Three. Schwartz curls on herself and coughs. The blood that spills from her mouth paints more of the floor red with every spasms overtaking her body. Puck pierced her liver, her bowels and her collarbone with three shards of ice as long as her forearm, just as she tried to run up the main staircase.

Avoiding the fight with Emilia does not make a difference, so Schwartz doesn’t bother anymore.

Four. Schwartz hides in the library. She loses consciousness due to hypothermia after a handful of minutes. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts—

Five. Ram makes her attempt to avoid breakfast useless when she drags her to the dining room without even bothering to look her in the face. Trying to run from the kitchen service door is just as useless as her other tries.

Schwartz bleeds out on the floor next to the fireplace with a throat ripped to pieces, with the light burned behind her eyelids.

Schwartz gets rid of Ram midway to the walk from the dining to the main staircase.

It might not be the route that leaves her with the longer stretch of time to act before Puck murders her, but at least it doesn’t leave her stuck powerless into her room either, since Ram tends to leave her alone and lock the door behind her. Schwartz walks faster and fails to think of any solution to avoid danger. Puck always detects her location somewhat, so there’s no time to lose either. Her best bet is that outside a certain range, it’s too far from Emilia and he cannot appear.

Otherwise, since he found her even in the library with no hints on where she went, there’s no way to avoid this, and this is an endless loop she can only escape through death.

Schwartz is tired.

The familiar chill grows around her again. She chokes back a whimper. Well, whatever. Better give hiding another try, rather than just give up.

Schwartz picks a random door and pushes it open. Ah, it’s a study.

From inside the room, Mathers looks back at her, a towel pressed against the side of his face— even without paint, it’s white as a sheet, paler even than hers. Smears of white makeup stain the terrycloth. His jacket rests on the back of a nearby chair. Discomfort weighs heavy in her gut— a private moment like this isn’t something she wanted to see, and it’s even worse when Mathers is involved. It makes her an intruder, too.

Which, fair enough. She barged in without knocking.

“Yes? May I do something for you, Miss Schwartz?”

“Not really.” Schwartz doesn’t move from the door. No way she’s gonna go outside again, but getting closer to Mathers is also a big no from her.

Mathers hums and tilts his head, as if he’s listening to a noise she cannot hear, then his eyes focus somewhere beyond the door, up above her head. He chuckles. “Ah, I understand. Please take a seat.”

“Yeah, I bet you do." Schwartz does not lift her hand in a rude gesture, but plops on the velvet sofa that faces the desk instead, a good five feets away from him. The desk doesn’t look like it belongs to Mathers. Far too organized and devoid of personality, with only a thin stack of documents on the right side, and pen and inkwell on the left side.

“No need for so much hostility,” The words come muffled as Mathers rubs the rest of the makeup off his face. He looks even weirder without it. Naked, uncanny, and younger than Schwartz expects. At least, younger than she’d have guessed from his eyes. It’s like seeing a snake without the scales. “It’s true that I usually prefer people to handle their own affairs, but I assure you, I’m truly invested in your wellbeing.”

“That’s what a scammer would say,” Schwartz draws her knees to her torso and onto the sofa, then presses her shoes down against the pale fabric of the lining. This is rude. Every word out of her mouth is rude, too, and Mom would probably scold to hell and back if she ever acted like that in front of the neighbors. Schwartz doesn’t give a fuck anymore. Her sanity feels suspended on a thread over a deep, dark void, and it becomes harder with every loop to tell if the pain that pierces through her body with no warning, at unpredictable intervals, is real or a phantom. Maybe she is just going insane. “Makes it hard to believe you, you know.”

Mathers’ smile looks just as real as hers. “I admit I’m quite disappointed by your distrust, Miss Schwartz.”

Schwartz leans her cheek on her knee. Her heartbeat thrums in her ears, loud, and frantic with the adrenaline from the previous half an hour— does it count as half an hour, when it repeated half a dozen times? In any case, a post-adrenaline crash is close, no doubt about it, but this isn’t the place where she wants to be when it happens. Though she might not really have a choice.

Mathers sits down beside her and Schwartz scrunches her nose. “Can’t you sit at the desk instead?”

He chuckles. “This is my mansion, as you are aware.”

“I don’t like you. Go sit the fuck away from me.”

“That’s really unfortunate.”

A shuffle of footsteps trails closer from beyond the door, then moves past. Rem or Ram, then. Mathers doesn’t pay any attention to it, torso turned toward her, and he isn’t smiling anymore. His eyes grow distant, though, rather than angry— Schwartz likes this even less.

“You seemed really invested in getting Emilia to thank me.”

“Is that the impression you had? I suppose I’ve been concerned about her manners and etiquette of late. She’s still learning, you see.”

Schwartz huffs, amused.“Is this where I pretend to believe you?”

“Indeed, that would make things easier.” Mathers smiles without teeth as his eyes study hers. “Though I do wonder if perhaps a direct approach would have worked best, with you.”

The best for what. Schwartz bites the inside of her cheek and lets a lock of hair slip in front of her eyes, and doesn’t make a move to push it back. She doesn’t allow herself to blink, either, as Mathers keeps looking straight at her.

“You do know that’s creepy, right? It’s really creepy.”

“My, I’m so hurt, Miss Schwartz. I hoped we could be friends, or at least allies.” His hand reaches out, the tip of his fingers brushes against her cheek right before he pushes her hair back from her face. Schwartz goes rigid with revulsion. Fuck no. This better not go where she thinks it’s going, because she swears to god—

Mathers stays still for a good thirty seconds, then bursts out in laughter, hand back on his chest. He laughs so hard he’s out of breath by the time he stops.

“You’re fucking gross.” Schwartz scrambles away until her back hits the low armrest, and scowls.

“I’m sorry my little joke displeased you,” With another chuckle, Mathers draws back and crosses his legs. “However, you too— you have the worst eyes I’ve ever seen.”

“What?”

“I confess it truly surprised me, from what I could learn about you, to see that you have such unpleasant eyes. You’re very young, are you not?”

“Sorry to disappoint, these are the eyes I was born with. And they’re my mom’s too, so shut up.”

Mathers shakes his head. “No, I do not think that’s the case.

O—kay. Schwartz grabs a cushion and hugs it to her chest, as an additional barrier. “You sure talk a lot.”

“Of course, if it bothers you that much, you’re free to leave my study at any time.” Mathers leans back, the smarmy, amused smile back on his face.

The door is just a few steps away. Nothing stops her from leaving the smug asshole where he is and try her luck outside, back to the guestroom, or from trying to find Ram and drag her around as a makeshift protection from the other murderous psychopaths. Nothing, aside from the deep certainty she wouldn’t make it in time.

Schwartz doesn’t get up from the sofa.

“Yes, I would imagine having a chat here would be the best option for you.”

“Don’t talk like I’ve got a choice in it.”

“Still, I’d like to soothe your temper some, if you would allow it, so I’ll tell you some you’d like to know.” Mathers offer his hand, palm turned upward, and waits.

“Is this some weird powerplay?” Schwartz gives up and lays her hand in his. Again. Gross. The weirdo has zero reasons to do this, aside from keeping her on her toes and crushing any doubt that Schwartz needs to give in some, to keep herself safe. “That’s also very creepy, just so you know.”

“Puck usually manifests during the day, from nine in the morning to five in the afternoon. He can manifest at night too, should an emergency arise, but it costs him.”

“—and you’re giving me this information, because…?”

Schwartz bites her lower lip. This is important. It could make a big difference if in the future she gets into a position where she can confront Puck. It’s also too good to be true.

“In part because I noticed that you aren’t happy with him, or Lady Emilia,” Mathers pushes his hair back from his face. “Is there anything else I can do to improve your relations?”

“What, you want to get rid of the cat and lock her up instead of me? Otherwise, no, not really.” Schwartz glares at him. Like his offer could be serious– he’s mocking her again. No way he could get rid of her with no issues, even if he’s Emilia’s sponsor.

“I am sorry to say that I cannot abide by such a request at the present moment. In the future, though… we never know what could happen, can we?” This time, when Mathers reaches out, is to rest a hand on her head. All Schwartz can do is not bite his fingers off. “But now I’m afraid I have some work to attend to. Feel free to request refreshments anytime, should you choose to stay for the day.”

Mabeasts attack Arlam on the third morning.

Of course they do.

Schwartz sobs and scrambles on her elbows until her back is against the wall. Nowhere left to run, now, not with how the wolf-like mabeast's fangs punctured her thigh all the way through.

Choosing not to stay at the mansion and help in the village to avoid Puck hasn't been all that great an idea, after all. But everyone aside from Emilia, Puck and Beatrice was going to leave for the village, and Schwartz was left with no choice but to follow. Being left alone in a place close to Puck and Emilia is a death sentence for her, after all– and it's only once separated from Ram, that it turned out to be another dead end for her.

The mabeast stalks her from the tree-line, nose against the ground where Schwartz's blood dripped, leaving a trail. His steps leave deep prints in the muddy soil as it gets closer and closer to where she is curled up, in the shadow of one of the village houses.

Schwartz covers her head with her arms and waits.

As hard as surviving in Mathers' mansion has been, Schwartz didn't really expect to die another time, not when her chance to go back is so close at hand. It's late morning now. If nothing happened, Schwartz would have waited less than an hour before going back. It's so, so scary being here, so much that her hands haven’t stopped shaking since the day before. Anything in this place has the power to kill her without a thought, like she's worth nothing. Going back and back again, rehearsing every line by rote just to get the perfect route to get her out of all this. Still. Still.

Even if it hurts, even if everything repeats another time, even if it sends her farther away in time from the departure from this place– she wants to wake up again.

Nothing happens.

Until the mabeast yelps, then growls. Schwartz glances up from between her fingers.

Reinhard looks back at her.

Blood loss can cause hallucinations, but her heart twists at the sight anyway. Well, at least if she's gonna die, she's gonna see him for a bit, even if it's not real. Hysterical laughter almost makes it out of her throat. Of all the things she could have hallucinated about, her mind picked a damsel in distress scenario. Too much romance light novels must have turned her brain into mush.

"Schwartz?" Reinhard frowns, but it's just a moment before his attention is back on the mabeast. He really is so handsome, even with such a moody look on his face, isn't he. His hands hold the mabeast's head still with no apparent effort until, with a sudden lurch, he twists its neck to the side.

The mabeast legs give out, but it's not over yet. Its breathing comes out in shallow, pained grunts, and Reinhard tilts his head, eyes distant and– sad. Without a warning, he shoots his arm out toward the mabeast torso. Schwartz doesn't see all of the motion, not really, but blood sprays out of a hole right where the wolf mabeast's heart should be, and Reinhard's arm, once back at his side, is drenched in blood down to his fingertips.

Some of it splashes on her face, too. It's warm, and slides down her cheek and onto her neck. No, it's not just warm. It's real. This isn’t a hallucination. Schwartz bites down on her lower lip so hard it hurts, so that the tears won’t come. A gasp still makes it out of her throat, no hope to stop the noise.

Reinhard approaches and bends on one knee, right next to her. His eyes widen the moment they meet with hers. "Schwartz. Where else are you hurt?"

Disquiet grips Reinhard's heart when Schwartz stares back at him with empty, darkened eyes.

He pushes a lock of hair away from her face so he can look at her pupils. They are the same size, but her gaze is so intent it makes his chest go tight, makes him feel awkward and unsure in a strange way. His fingers leave smears of still warm, sticky blood wherever they touch her. Under her eye, along the side of her face, on her hair. He jerks back— he didn’t mean to do that. He didn’t mean to show her that monstrous sight either, since most people are frightened by his strength, but instinct overcame reason at that moment.

The shock of her cold fingers, clenched around his wrist under his glove, chases the thought away. More of the blood smears across her hands at the gesture.

Relief and awe that don’t belong to him flood through his mind.

Oh. Schwartz isn’t frightened. She is glad to see him.

“Are you really… here?”

“…I am.” Reinhard blinks, and before he can stop himself, he strokes across her head, leaving yet more traces of blood on her— but the only injury on her body seems to be the punctured thigh, as nothing suggests a concussion aside from her lethargic reactions. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to do that.”

Lord Mathers cannot refuse to attend to her, not in this situation. Reinhard will see to it. Reinhard shrugs off his coat and presses it down on the wound. “You’re a civilian. Lord Mathers should not have brought you out here.”

Schwartz closes her fingers around his wrist again. “I didn’t want to be left at the mansion.”

“I shall take you to get medical attention now. Would you please hold onto me?”

She blinks at him, slow as a cat, and doesn’t let go, even when Reinhard slides his free arm around her shoulders. “But aren’t we going back now?”

“You need healing, and I need to speak with Lord Mathers,” Reinhard pries her fingers off gently so he can slip his other arm under her legs, then hoists her up in his arms. Schwartz is so light it makes something in his chest twinge with pain. “We’re going to depart for Astrea Mansion after that.”

Schwartz nods, docile as a child, and hides her face in the crook of his neck. Her skin is so cold Reinhard hopes it isn’t from shock by blood loss.

As it happens, Reinhard finds Lord Mathers just a couple of minutes after, overseeing the wounded.

“Sir Reinhard, I had no idea you were going to visit us too.” His face shows nothing more than a mild smile, but it’s evident by his bored eyes that none of the words are genuine. That’s fine. Reinhard is used to such treatment, and as long as it doesn’t interfere with his duties, it is nothing he should be worrying about.

“Lord Mathers.” Reinhard doesn’t bow to him. “I hoped to see you before going back. Schwartz needs treatment, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Lord Mathers walks closer and examines her injury with a critical eye. “Alas, I’m not as skilled in the healing arts, but I will gladly guide you to a healer- both Lady Emilia and Rem are skilled enough.”

“It stopped hurting.” Schwartz tenses, then coughs and eyes Lord Mathers with a wariness that she doesn’t bother to hide. Her fingers clench onto Reinhard’s shirt. It’s worrisome to see Schwartz like this. Even back at the capital her behavior displayed enough courage that she accompanied him into the loothouse, even as she had to hold herself from trembling. Is it truly only because of the encounter with the mabeast?

“Lord Mathers, I wondered—“ Reinhard lets the smile fade off his face, and as predicted, Lord Mathers wavers in uncertainty, as many do when he doesn’t wear a smile to reassure them. It saddens Reinhard that many citizens find him so fearsome, but it is useful enough in situations as this one. “—Schwartz is a civilian. Why is it that I found her alone in the village, in such a dangerous situation?”

Lord Mathers regains his footing with haste, and his eyes crinkle at the corners, the mask back in place. “I only followed the Miss wishes, but her being alone is an unexpected development. I gave her an escort when we left the mansion.”

“I’m afraid this isn’t enough, Lord Margrave,” In his arms, Schwartz flinches and moves her head to look up at him. Ah, he should take care not frighten her— Schwartz might not be used to such confrontations between aristocracy. Reinhard squeezes her shoulder gently, and softens his tone. “As an employee of my family, I can’t look over how Schwartz has been injured. I entrusted her wellbeing to you when we sent her here under your request.”

“I’m afraid that an attack of such scale was an unforeseen situation. I’ll be sure to compensate for any offense I might have caused you, sir Reinhard.”

“I apologize, but I cannot overlook your actions in this situation. Miss Schwartz’s injuries might be a personal matter of my house and yours, but it’s a result of negligence on your side. I had occasion to exchange a few words with the villagers traveling through the main road.”

For a few seconds, Lord Mathers’ mask slips again. Reinhard smiles at him. It’s not a kind smile. He makes sure of it.

“They have informed me that in your territory, the barrier keeping the main road safe has been compromised for at least a couple of weeks. Even with the crown family now extinguished, that’s in violation of your duties.”

“We had a third party compromising the barrier, that’s true, and the news of it have been slow in reaching my estate. That matter is resolved now, with the culprit in custody.”

“Is Meili in a cell right now?” Schwartz speaks up of a sudden. “Even if she’s done it, she’s a child.”

“I’m not certain that you understand, Lord Mathers. As the sword of the kingdom, I am required to report your negligence to the Council, and your current position isn’t so solid that you can escape from the consequences unscathed.”

It is for the wrong reason, and it saddens Reinhard to linger on it, but with Lord Mathers support of Lady Emilia as a royal candidate, a number of his past alliances have wavered. Minister Miklotov isn’t likely to want to punish him due to past events, but even he will have to bend to the pressure if Bordeaux leads his faction to weaken Lord Mathers’ position. Bordeaux’s prejudice against demi-humans is well known.

“I shall petition the council to revoke your title as court mage. I hope you shall excuse me now, but I need to make my way back to the estate.”

Lord Mathers gapes at him, and Schwartz stares at him with wide, surprised eyes. “Can you really do that?”

“The matter will be in the hands of the council. I am merely reporting the situation.” Reinhard turns away.

“Wait— there’s one last thing I have to do. Lord Mathers still hasn’t handed me the reward.” Schwartz lays a hand on his shoulder, and lifts herself upright enough to look over Reinhard’s shoulder. “I know what my request for you is, now.”

“I suppose you don’t have a direct hand in sir Reinhard’s hostility, so I might as well hear you out. Regardless, I could point out that I will do my best to save your life from death by blood loss.”

Reinhard arches an eyebrow. Lord Mathers is known to be proud, and to have a vindictive streak. He isn’t someone who would acquiesce so easily to a request, after such a smack on his reputation and position. Reinhard hopes this is a sign that he shall take the reprimand as an opportunity to focus more on his duties, rather than scheme to retake his position through other means.

“I’m going to take Meili with me.”

Reinhard isn’t certain what to expect when they retrieve the girl Schwartz mentioned, but the tiny girl facing him, who carries a similar aura as Schwartz does, isn’t close to anything conjured by his imagination. Especially not when she carries a doll in his likeness with her onto the carriage and sets it beside her in a sitting position.

“My Big Sis says you’re reaally, really strong.” Meili accompanies her words with a sweeping gesture. Reinhard nods. That is correct. He is the strongest man in the world, after all.

Schwartz’s head falls lower against his shoulder, at the motion, and Reinhard stills. She is exhausted. He should be considerate of her current condition— healing magic doesn’t restore a person’s energy, it can only mend wounds. And the deep, all encompassing exhaustion carved onto Schwartz’s face isn’t something explained by such a brief stay at an unfamiliar place. As uncomfortable as it is, once back, Reinhard will have to ask questions.

The rest of the trip back is filled by Meili’s chatter. It is not unpleasant.

Chapter Text

"As I told nya, it is not the fever that you need to worry about–”

The air overflows with the not-scent of dry flowers and blood, but it doesn't seem like Felix can perceive it the way Reinhard can. Schwartz squeezes his hand at the sound of his friend’s voice and Reinhard startles. She’s been unconscious for a whole two days. The fever brought out a blush on her cheeks, but the sheen of sweat on her skin makes it too evident to believe her sleep is anything close to restful.

"–but she still needs plenty of rest for the next few days, and you will need to keep an eye on her for much longer than that." As Felix's tail sways from side to side to punctuate the instructions, it ends up brushing against the bouquet of dry flowers on the bedside table– and all the while Felix sharp eyes linger on his. Reinhard looks down again.

Schwartz curled the fingers of both hands around his own when he brought her to her bedroom, and didn’t yet let go. They’re as delicate as any noble lady– no sign of hardship or calluses from work that he can see. It makes Reinhard’s hunch about her upbringing even more likely to be correct.. It is clear that it must be on par to the one of a wealthy merchant's daughter, at least. 

The few days of work she did as maid hasn't yet been enough to change it.

Every breath Schwartz takes tickles as it wafts over his knuckles, but Reinhard doesn't find it in himself to want to back away. It is improper of him, but regardless, she latched onto him too tight for him to untangle their hands without disturbing her. Last time he tried, the muted distress reverberated between them until he felt ill himself.

"Stress can do that to the body, past a certain threshold. However, I cannot explain a reaction of this degree with one mabeasts attack."

Felix reaches past him to lay a hand on her forehead, and mana thrums in the space between them. Her fear fades as magic flows inside of her, yet her hold on Reinhard doesn't weaken in the slightest. In fact, she brings his hand even closer to her face, and the warmth of her skin carries to him.

Reinhard tilts his head. It does sound somewhat correct, but his medical knowledge doesn’t have Felix’s depth. 

“However, treatment can go a long way to soothe the mind.”

Felix draws back and hides a mischievous smile behind his hand, but it cannot hide the familiar, amused fondness that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. It reassures Reinhard even more than his words do. If Felix is in a teasing mood, it truly means the healing went as expected.

"Reinhard. How did you lose your gloves?"

"I-- I'm afraid that they were dirty, and then I forgot."

The image of the blood smeared on Schwartz's face flashes through his mind, and Reinhard frowns. It would have been proper to wear a different pair, knowing how the mabeasts' blood stains the leather, but Schwartz's health had become the priority the moment she collapsed at the entrance of the manor.

Felix hums and sits on the edge of the bed. "Is there anything else nya need to ask? You wouldn't call me back so soon for so little. Is it about the girl again?"

"Quite so."

Schwartz sighs and curls on herself.

"Would it be possible that past trauma resulted in such a condition? I’d appreciate it if you could check."

"Trauma?" Felix tilts his head with a faint, coquettish smile, but his gaze narrows in suspicion. "What sort of trauma?"

Reinhard hesitates. This is not a matter he can ask about  anyone lightly, never mind Felix in particular. His trauma might be too similar to Schwartz’s. “ –would you be able to judge if she had worn a mana drain collar for any extended period of time, and could anything be done about that?"

It happens in an instant. The line of Felix's back tenses, and he curls his hands into fists, a demeanor that clashes with his neutral, indifferent expression. "That needs a few tests rather than a single check-up, and she would need to be awake for them."

Reinhards nods.

As Felix studies Schwartz's features a line creases between his forehead.

"I'm going to help, but–" The coy expression returns on his face, Felix relaxes, but alarm bells sound in Reinhard's head. He must have overstepped boundaries, because it is never a good sign when Felix's mood changes so swiftly. "I have nya condition. A favor for a favor, between friends?"

"Of course, I wouldn't ask you–"

"None of that." Felix turns his torso fully towards him, and lets the silence extend for a few seconds before speaking again. "You need to come with the girl to the Karsten estate."

Reinhard's brow furrows. "Of course, if Schwartz is to get treatment–"

Felix's mouth thins into a pale, displeased  line. "Not Schwartz."

His voice shakes with repressed tension too, and this time it's Reinhard who draws back. Perhaps, in hindsight, he should have expected this. Felix has always been partial to Prince Fourier, and the shaken expression that flashed on his face when Lady Felt stepped into the drawing room, days prior, made the pain ever so clear even to someone as socially stunted as he is.

It is his mistake to think that Felix came back to his senses just because he hid his emotions in that short span of time the introduction had been made. Schwartz's introduction, the reason both of them visited and reserved a judgment for, moved the focus far too soon for him to catch the extent of Felix's distress.

"Royal candidates are forbidden from meeting each other before the Royal Selection begins. Felix, you were there, when we were given the order–"

 "I don't care what those old pieces of shit ordered–!"  Felix snaps, then presses a hand against his eyes, inhales, and Reinhard's chest constricts in a painful yet familiar guilt. It hadn't been his intention to hurt him by introducing him to Lady Felt– he should have realized how thoughtless it had been and acted accordingly. 

His wish to show– to let someone know that not all was lost overcame his common sense.

Perhaps waiting for the Royal Selection ceremony would have been the correct course of action.

"I apologize– however, I am bound by duty to upkeep the rules indicated by the Council."

"Then you shouldn't have invited me or Julius at all days ago." Felix's too responsible to truly raise his voice in front of a patient, but it's a close occurrence. "Yet you did that anyway."

Reinhard lowers his eyes, ashamed. "That is correct, I should not have. So don't ask me to do anything more."

He just wanted someone to know that the Royal line wasn’t lost, even if he could not voice it aloud. 

Felix slumps into himself. "Have you thought at all about how Lady Crusch is going to feel, when she walks into the throne room and sees her ?"

"I am very sorry for Lady Crusch's plight, but I cannot do otherwise. I have to pledge my sword to Lady Felt–"

"If things were all right, your sword would be in service of Lady Crusch, too." Felix hugs himself and looks away.

Reinhard cannot deny such truth. Should the mission to make contact with the Sage have been successful, the royal line wouldn't have been so close to  extinguishing, and had Fourth Prince Fourier survived, likely as not Lady Crusch would have joined  the royal family before long.

His Highness' feelings for her were that transparent and the topic of much gossip.

"I am sorry." Reinhard dips his head low. Three words are a poor offer to his friend's emotional outburst, but it's all he can present him with at the moment. In time, he hopes Felix will understand him, even though it is not wise to make him aware of the danger of exposing Felt as a member of the royal line at this time.

Felix nods, terse, with a scowl.

"Lady Felt's expressions look a lot like His Highness'." He says, finally, and taps the corner of his mouth with a finger. “Especially her smile.”

"It does."

But Felix's eyes are lost in the unseen distance, and he doesn't want Reinhard's words. He waits.

"Fine. I'm sorry, too." Felix sighs and the tension uncoils. "Even so, you need to bring your lady and the maid to Karsten manor once the ceremony is over. Lady Crusch would appreciate it if you joined us on the trip out of the capital, in any case– even if you aren’t meant to participate, your indirect support for the White Whale hunt would inspire others to join."

Reinhard turns away. Schwartz's labored breathing fills the silence. Locks of her hair stick to her temple, and it makes Reinhard's fingers twitch, for some reason he cannot quite pinpoint– it shouldn't... be like that.

"Grandfather would not be pleased by my presence at the manor."

"We all appreciate Old Man Wil," His dry, amused tone pushes him to look at Felix again. "But it is Lady Crusch who approves the guests, nyot him."

"Regardless, he deserves peace, especially in such a delicate moment." Reinhard smiles and glances away.

"Karsten manor would also be more comfortable for me to perform the tests on Miss Schwartz."

Schwartz's eyelids flutter at the mention of her name.

Reinhard sighs. "I suppose it would be. But it still wouldn't be– the right time for Lady Felt to confront something like that, right after the ceremony."

Felix narrows his eyes at him. "How much does your lady know? You mentioned she lived in the slums. Have you confirmed her identity?"

Reinhard rubs at his nape “The only person present who could have disappeared from the area, when I went back to look.”

“Why didn’t you take them with you? You–” His ears twitch as realization hits..

Reinhard directs a wry smile to the bedspread, and Felix clicks his tongue.

"In any case, I'm sure Lady Crusch would appreciate it if you talked to her at the very least. I can space out the check-up between three days, if you need some time to prepare Lady Felt for meeting her."

Reinhard turns Schwartz’s hand over. "After the ceremony. I would prefer if we didn't talk about it again before that."

"Julius would like some answers too, nya know."

"I suppose I ought to meet with him as well, though my answer remains firm. I did as much as I could for the moment. Because I know you both would not disrespect the instructions the Council gave us."

But the gentle ribbing only has Felix grin up at him, while his tail swishes again with impatience.

"As long as you join us after the ceremony, I can keep Julius off your back until then."

"It would be pleasant if nothing else if we could have some leisure time before our duties become too pressing."

"Sure, he can join too–"

"I'm certain if anyone could convince him, it's you."

"You can bet I could. If I wanted to..." Felix’s left ear twitches." Oh, fine. I will. But nya could do it too, and easily. Just promise him a spar. He'll come running."

"I don't suppose we would have that much leisure time, so it would be dishonest of me to imply as such."

They both chuckle, tension broken, and the noise has Schwartz stirs and blink up at them.

"Oh." She hides a yawn behind her free hand, and frowns. "I– fell asleep. Sorry."

"That's nyalright," Felix mirrors her gesture to hide a smile behind his hand. "It's a side-effect of the treatment. Your fever should go down faster, but you should still rest to not relapse."

Schwartz blinks, and lifts her head to look at him, then the words sink in. "I can sleep– a bit more?"

"Of course. I apologize, we should have left you to rest sooner." Reinhard pulls his hand back gently, but Schwartz holds onto it harder, corners of her mouth turned downward and cheeks still flushed red.

"What's wrong?"

"Pardon?"

"You– look sad. Like a puppy. That's– "Her eyelids already droop closed again, and Reinhard knows she won't stay awake to properly answer him then. "–that's not. Not good."

Without another word, Schwartz is pulled back under by sleep.

"Well, nya–" Felix coughs in his fist, but that isn't enough to mask the mirth in his voice, and right then Reinhard has an uncanny feeling about what’s about to happen. "I guess you cannot walk me to the exit, so I'll just go."

"Wait, Felix–"

Felix does not wait, or turn back. Reinhard turns Schwartz's hand around, and hesitates. Staying there after Felix finished the treatment is inappropriate, as it is rude to not accompany his friend to the door as usual.

Around his palm, Schwartz's fingers are as fragile as bird’s, and just as breakable– like even the lightest pull could hurt her, at the moment, and cause her features to twist in distress.

Reinhard does not slip free.

It does not take long before someone comes for him.

"Hello, Mister." The dark little head of the girl Schwartz brought back with her peeks from the doorway. Reinhard didn't have the occasion to ask as many questions as he would have liked about her presence, but nonetheless, Meili became a charge of the Astrea family now. At the very least until Schwartz recovers. "The Old Miss said I should look for you. She asks if you can come downstairs in a bit."

Besides, her aura is so similar to Schwartz's that Reinhard had to do a double take the moment Schwartz introduced Meili to him, even though the intensity of it doesn’t compare. The Council will want to know about it regardless, of course.

Meili skips to his side, and if it wasn’t for the odd, disquieting power around her, the spare maid uniform she wears would set her right as a companion for Flam and Grassis. 

"Thank you, Meili."

Meili doesn't take it as a dismissal, but walks over and past until she can climb on the bed and sit on the edge. Reinhard blinks. People do not often leave him with their children, unless they cannot help otherwise. It makes him wish that Felix hadn't left so soon, as to act as a buffer with the girl.

Her eyes are wide, and green, and stare straight at him in wonder.

"Do you need any help? I’d be glad to offer assistance."

He has no way to know what Schwartz might have told her in her days at Lord Mathers' estate. Perhaps she indicated that Meili should refer to him for things.

"Nu-uh." Meili kicks her heels against the bed and Reinhard winces. She still observes his face with an odd, curious hunger. Reinhard cannot recall anything quite like this happening with a child.

"My big sister says you're really, reaally strong," She informs him with a solemn nod. "The strongest man in the kingdom."

Reinhard nods back. It is not novel information for anyone in Lugnica, but it is accurate. "That's correct."

"Can you kill a dragon?"

Reinhard– blinks, and Meili tilts her head to the side. He considers the question.

"I helped hunt a small number of draconoid mabeasts in the past, though they are not very common."

"Are they strong? Like a real dragon?"

That's— a difficult question to answer. It was a quick matter for him, and Julius didn't seem to have any trouble as well. Captain Marcos never asked for him to back up any of the other knights busy with the cleanup efforts either.

"I did not find their strength notable."

Meili pouts. "What about real dragons, then?"

Reinhard shakes his head. "To my knowledge, there are no real dragons left, except the Divine Protector of Lugunica, Volcanica."

Meili frowns and kicks her legs out again. Her ribbon unravels and tilts askew.

"Can you defeat the Guiltylowe? It was back in the forest, you know."

"I did defeat the Guiltylowe, when I came to accompany Schwartz back," Reinhard rubs his neck, as the reply does not seem to be enough with how Meili's eyes light up, eager and excited. He speaks again, hesitant. "I have defeated mabeasts of comparable strength on the way back from the Augria Dunes, too."

"What kind of mabeasts were they, Mister? I have seen cat mabeasts, and lizards, and mabeast that could fly– but not for a long time–” She pouts. “Their wings were weak. And Mama doesn’t like them.”

Reinhard leans back on the chair and furrows his brow, but startles when Meili drags her legs on the bed and kneels closer to him.

"Most of the beasts in the Augria Dunes look like insects, with many legs and eyes. I believe the wounds they cause are laced with strong poison, on top of the curses mabeasts in other areas can cast." Reinhard didn’t pay that close attention to their characteristics, at the time, but it sounds correct enough. "Schwartz mentioned you can control them."

Meili shrugs, her eyes flicker to his face in a way that feels too pointed for someone around her age. "Uh-uh. I could do that for a long, looong time. Hey, Mister. Have you been bitten by them? Did the poison hurt?"

Reinhard straightens and looks down at Meili. If you believe someone is your captor, prodding for weak points is a logical step to gain back your freedom, he supposes. And from what little Schwartz could recount during the trip back, the girl was placed in custody by the Margrave for attempting to manipulate the mabeasts against his household. 

In a normal situation, he wouldn’t attempt to intimidate a child, but a show of strength can come a long way to avoid further issues and keep the peace. For Meili’s sake as well. And from what he understands of Schwartz's intentions, she removed Meili from the situation due to her age.

"I am immune to all poisons. Other than mabeasts, there have been people who attempted to put it to test without any result to show for it." 

She stills, then, and looks him in the eye without any fear at all. Then the smile breaks open in her face. Rather than frightened by his neutral, intent tone, she seems delighted. Reinhard feels like he's passed a test of some sort.

"Wow. Mister is soo strong." Meili claps her hands. "You aren’t like Miss S. at all, that’s good.. She needs someone to think things through."

That's not wrong. Reinhard is a monster, while in the little time he’s known her, Schwartz has been painfully gentle with people and spirits alike. Even as withdrawn as she has been with strangers– Reinhard has seen her expression soften and turn pained while cupping her hands for the spirit she acquired, as she fears it might disappear with no warning.

This is why he needs to handle this with care. He owes it to Schwartz, after he failed and sent her off to a place where she got harmed. 

"Schwartz is very kind." He pauses.  "Are you going to attempt to leave again? She’d be disappointed if you do."

She had made an attempt when they stopped for a few minutes, back during the carriage trip. Not that Reinhard can allow it to happen.

Meili shakes her head. "My big sister will come get me when it's time to go." 

She watches him in silence for a few moments. Then, she joins her hands together and nods, contemplative. "Miss is too nice, and played with me even if she knew about the mabeasts, so you should really keep an eye on her."

The air is still without the faintest trace of a breeze. Her words ring true. He should have kept a closer watch on her, so that she doesn't come to harm again. The moment he accepted her as a member of the staff, the responsibility for her wellbeing fell on him, especially when Schwartz doesn’t have any family in Lugunica.

"I shall ensure she comes to no harm."

He directs the words at Meili, but the resolution is to his benefit. Then, he tugs very gently to escape Schwartz's hold, but it's not enough to bring her to let go, and he doesn't trust that his own strength won't hurt her. Reinhard supposes he has no choice but to wake her up, then.

Meili reaches out before he can move and slips her tiny, childish fingers between his own and Schwartz's palm. Her hold loosens enough that he can draw back. "Thank you. Did Carol say what can I help with?"

"It's dinner time." Meili jumps down the bed and on her feet.

Reinhard hums. "Is it already?"

He must have been lost in thought way longer than he expected, then.

"I shall have someone to bring some supper to Schwartz, too, then."

"–Report."

It is early morning, and Captain Marcos scowls at him from beyond the conversing mirror, unhappy with waiting even for the slightest length of time.

"I have retrieved Schwartz from Lord Mathers' mansion, and solved the situation with the mabeasts. She's been harmed, but was healed before it could become grievous. Also, caravans won't be affected by the beasts anymore."

"Good. Now keep the girl where you can see her."

"Sir."

He studies Reinhard for a few seconds, then grunts. "Are you sure you want to proceed with your request?"

"I think it would be beneficial to put Lord Mathers' estate under inquiry, in the light of the recent events. But I can only ask that the Council considers it."

The captain barks out an amused sound. "Bordeaux has been waiting for a pretext for years. Didn't think you'd be the one to give it."

Reinhard shifts forward on his seat. "Am I to assume that it is likely that the inquiry will begin shortly?"

"Miklotov pushed back on too many things already. Yeah, if sentiment doesn't overcome him, it will. The paperwork to revoke Mathers' court mage title was already pushed through."

"Thank you, sir." Reinhard dips his head.

"Don't do that, I didn't do much about it. Just keep doing what you've been doing, and wait for the opening of the Selection."

The conversing mirror goes dark without another word, and Reinhard leans with both arms on the desk. Fixing his lapse in judgment over Lord Mathers' integrity won't undo the strain Schwartz underwent, but it ensures his actions affect other people in the future.

Reinhard places the mirror back in the drawer.

A rustle accompanies the turning of the page, and Reinhard's eyes flicker upward and away from the new column of numbers.

Schwartz lies curled on herself onto the study sofa, and by the looks of things Lady Felt is likely to join her soon– her eyelids drop closed every few moments. She shakes her head from side to side as if to clear it, but the bleary, tired look aimed at Chronicles of the Lugunica Royal Dynasty shows it won't be long before sleep defeats her resolve.

In any case, he shall have to thank Julius. Nudging at her pride has been an effective method to ensure greater efforts with academics.

He redirects his attention to the accounting books. It is just a tedious, formal requirement, as Carol does not often make mistakes, but she insists that checking the books is a worthy habit to keep. Regardless, it has allowed him a pretext to evaluate Lady Felt's progress with her studies, and to make sure that Schwartz won't overextend herself.

No matter how many times Carol tried to persuade her, Schwartz refused to stay in her bedroom to rest, and was allowed to do so in the study as a compromise.

A book falls, and as predicted, Lady Felt slumps to the side until head comes to rest in the crook of Schwartz's elbow. Reinhard smiles. The light from the windows faded to a warm glow, and they would have been able to retire soon anyhow; no harm in taking them back to their bedrooms a few minutes early.

The setting sun casts his shadow over both of them. Reinhard kneels on one leg, then stills.

As Schwartz's lips part in a sigh, a lock of hair falls down across her face and curls in the hollow of her throat. His hand reaches out before he registers the gesture himself, so that the black sleeve of his uniform ends up next to her black hair.

The color itself is rare in Lugunica, but Schwartz's in particular even more so. It is a true, elegant hue, without a hint of violet or blue or silver– pure starless black, deeper than ink. The strands look as if they might be as smooth as silk. His fingertips hover on her cheek, then Reinhard closes the distance, lifts the lock of hair between thumb and forefinger. Against expectations, it’s not cool to the touch, not while the warmth of her skin still clings to it.

He still hasn't procured new gloves, he realizes. It allows him to feel it for himself– it's just as soft and silky as it seems. Reinhard's heartbeat thrums so loud that his chest might as well burst open, and it feels borderline painful to breathe.

Schwartz's eyes move frantically behind her eyelids, frantic, but she doesn't wake. He holds his breath all the same. He should let go now, he knows it isn't appropriate, but as unsettling as it is, the feeling isn't one he wants to let go of yet. It isn’t fright, or worry, or excitement– not quite. Reinhard closes his eyes and inhales. 

This close, he can taste the tang of roses and blood as his tongue runs along the seam of his teeth.

Divine Protection of Enhanced Awareness

Reinhard startles and turns his head, the lock of black hair still held between his fingers. Lady Felt looks back at him, mouth agape.

"What the fuck—" She breathes the words, so that they won't be loud enough to wake Schwartz.

His blood migrates to his face and Reinhard burns in shame. It was unbecoming of him, he shouldn't have touched Schwartz in such a shameless manner, let alone be caught in the moment to the point he forgot Lady Felt is next to him. Guilt twists his insides.

"Please mind your language, Lady Felt, it's–”

"My language ? You're creeping on sis." Lady Felt leverages herself against the back of the sofa to sit upright, eyes incandescent in fury. "I knew yer innocent wasn't right—"

She is right. He is unnatural, and Schwartz is so fragile– if he forgets himself a second time, at the wrong moment, he could break her wrist, the slightest error could leave bruises.

"I would appreciate it if you let Schwartz rest," His tongue weighs heavy in his mouth, but he forces the words out. "It was difficult for her to fall asleep."

Lady Felt shuts her mouth with a click of teeth, and scowls. She reaches over and plucks the strand of hair from his grasp.

"Stop that." Her voice softens to an appropriate volume, but it cannot be mistaken as gentle by any meaning of the word.

Reinhard dips his head low. "I apologize for my inappropriate behavior. Still, if you allow me, I shall take Schwartz to her room— I'd rather not leave her in the study alone like this."

Lady Felt hesitates. "Fine. But I'm coming with ye."

His arms slip under Schwartz's shoulder and under her knees. Reinhard lifts her in his arms. It is always a shock, how nobody weighs different than a bird for him, because his strength is so great to avoid any strain. It still feels wrong, monstrous of him, the way everyone feels the same.

She raises, and points her index at him. "But I'm gonna hafta watch ye."

Schwartz's head drops against his shoulder.

Reinhard nods. "Yes, Lady Felt."

He takes a few slow, leisure steps so as to not jolt her and allow Lady Felt to keep pace with him as they walk to Schwartz's room.

Lady Felt stomps up the service stairs with her features posed in a glower, and it makes guilt sink its claw even deeper into him. He should apologize to Schwartz as well, once she wakes up. His transgression must have been worse than he expected, if Lady Felt is so troubled by it.

"Sis was acting weird," Lady Felt's words jolt him out of his reverie.  "Ya know, before. During the lessons. Broke a quill and froze like a mouse with an owl overhead."

"Felix assured me that a few days of rest will alleviate some of the stress. However, I– I," Reinhard looks down. Even in her sleep, Schwartz's features draw together in a pained, bewildered expression, and his chest constricts. He did that to her. "I am sorry— I misjudged the situation, and Schwartz paid for it."

"Told ya not to trust that guy," Lady Felt skips two steps to reach the landing, then turns to face him. The difference is enough for her to look him straight in the eye without looking up. Her eyes are just the same as His Highness Fourier were– wide and sharp and guileless all at once. "She could’ve died. Apologize to Sis later."

Reinhard nods in acknowledgement.

" And make sure to not mess up like that again."

"I won't allow it to."

Schwartz will have all the time she needs to recuperate here at the estate, and Reinhard shall be more vigilant and won't let her be vulnerable and exploited. Yes. It will be alright. He won't fail a second time, and certainly not in the same way he has done with the matter of Lord Mathers.

Schwartz stirs in his arms.

Lady Felt grins and the knot in his stomach loosens some, but it is short-lived. The moment she catches herself the scowl returns on her face. He hasn't earned her trust yet. "Good. Now wipe that look from yer face. And remember to keep yer hands to yer own self."

They step out of the service stairs and into the hallway. The bedroom is at the end of it.

Reinhard takes a couple of steps, but a whimper stops any further movement. Schwartz tenses in his arm, eyes open and unseeing, and her lips move again without any sound other than ragged, frightened breathing. Tears gather at the corner of her eyes.

"Sis?"

Reinhard's fingers curl around her shoulder. His Divine Protection of Empathy floods his mind with primal animal terror, and he gasps with the whiplash. "Schwartz. It's only a nightmare. Do you know where you are?"

Her pupils contract to pinpricks, but they flicker to his face– recognition flashes through his mind as she drinks the sight of his face for long, tense moments when Reinhard could swear her heart is about to burst. Her hand moved to grip his forearm. It's so delicate he barely feels it. "Reinhard?"

Her relief and the wave of affection are so overwhelming in their intensity that his legs almost give out, and Reinhard bites the inside of his cheek to ground himself. He has no memory of such intense emotions from anyone.

"Ya feeling alright?"

Lady Felt walks up to them and reaches over to Schwartz's wrist, without making contact. Her hand hovers a couple of inches away, awkward but genuine in her worry, and it's Schwartz that closes the distance to clasp it into her own. "I'm— good. Sorry for worrying you two."

"I believe some more rest is in order."

Lady Felt opens the door and Reinhard walks to the bed. He lays Schwartz on top of the mattress with care, as much as he is capable of it, but just when he attempts to back away a hold on his sleeve stops him. Schwartz watches back, breath labored, and shakes her head. 

“Please.”

She pulls onto his arm until he sits beside her, with Lady Felt on the opposite side. 

“Don’t get why ya want this guy around–” Lady Felt rolls her eyes and pushes down against Schwartz’s shoulder until she says down the bed. Her hair fans around her head, mussed and out of place, and Reinhard looks away.

“But ya heard what he said, now sleep.”

“Don’t think I can turn off that easily—” Schwartz rubs the tears away from the corner of her eyes with one hand, but still holds on to Reinhard’s sleeve with the other.

His attention flickers to the shelf above the desk, on the opposite wall. Two collections of tales, a book of poetry. Any of them would be suitable. “Perhaps you could read some before resting, just until you feel calmer.”

“Yeah, bet that would put yer to sleep real fast—”

Reinhard coughs into his elbow to mask his chuckle, and Schwartz frowns, looks over at the books, then her eyes move back to him. He— doesn’t like how her eyes became after her stay at Lord Mathers’ mansion. At times, it is just like the light behind them flickers off, and Schwartz is left looking at the unseen in the distance, cold and lifeless. Such a lack of emotion doesn’t belong in her face.

Reinhard is afraid to ask about what her vision showed her.  

She tugs on Reinhard’s sleeve. “You read them for us.”

“Sis,” Lady Felt bristles. “I could read for ye.”

“You skip whole paragraphs because you get bored.”

“I don’t mind reading for you, but—“ Before he can ask, Schwartz loosens her hold and lets him stand and reach the desk. He tilts a book toward them. “Is this fine?”

Schwartz’s lips twitch upward as her eyes sparkle with humor, and Reinhard breathes more easily. The unnatural stillness left her features. “I have no idea what that is.”

“That don’t look like any letter I ever saw.” Lady Felt makes a face at it. “There’s more?”

The letters on the cover are indeed very ornamented.

“I suppose then it is only proper I read them for you, then,” Reinhard smiles, letting his eyes crinkle at the corners. Julius says it’s beneficial to play along, at times, even with the recruits. It should work in such a situation as well. “Perhaps I should quiz you two on the content, later?”

“Don’t ya dare—“

“No can do. I’m very sick,” Schwartz covers her mouth with a hand. “Headaches, fever— it cannot be helped, Felt must take this on alone.”

“No way, I fucking won’t—“

Reinhard ducks the pillow tossed at his head, then sits back on the bed.

He picks a page where the spine falls open more easily, to the illustration of a lone figure against a field of pumpkins, sun high in the sky. Schwartz and Lady Felt’s voices make for a reassuring background noise to the story.

The rain thickens to a slow, persistent drizzle, but Reinhard’s steps make no sound on the wet gravel.

It is not required for him to patrol Flanders late at night, in truth, but the walk to town alone is always welcome when he needs to settle his thoughts into a coherent whole, since the air is crisp and helps him clear his head. Even if visibility is further reduced from the rain, he has no such issues— night, for him, is clear as daylight. And in the last few days clearing his head has been a necessity, like it hasn’t been since— well, there was no point in dwelling over what happened a year and a half ago.

He takes the path that circles around the manor. It’s best to make his way into the pantry room and out from the kitchens rather than scare Carol half to death. She made it very clear he is not to wake them up in the middle of the night ever again.

The door creaks as he pushes it open. Reinhard shakes some of the water off his hair before stepping inside.

A sliver of light shines through the space between the kitchen door and the floor. Carol hasn’t been awake this late in years. In fact, it isn't her at all. But the unmistakable not-scent makes it obvious who would be there at this hour. 

Schwartz sits in front of the stove, back turned to the pantry door. Her hair falls in front of her torso in a braid, leaving the delicate line of her nape exposed. She wears only a nightgown– perhaps a reprimand is in order, as that cannot be appropriate with a fever. The fire creates a halo around her head and naked shoulders. She nurses a cup of tea between two hands and lifts to her mouth, still unaware he entered the kitchens.

Her shawl droops down one side of the bench she sits on.

“Schwartz? Are you unwell?"

She turns and looks at him with unfocused, vitreous eyes before blinking it away. Her fever is likely back as he assumed.

“What? No, I– I just couldn't sleep.” Her eyes narrow. "You're one to talk. You're drenched."

Reinhard tilts his head. He doesn't quite understand her point, but does not want to distress her, so he should say something agreeable. A neutral observation often works best in these cases. "The rain was quite persistent tonight."

"But you went out like that," Schwartz pats the seat beside herself on the bench. "What if you get sick? Dry up here."

Ah, so that's it. She doesn't know yet. He rubs his neck, gives a reassuring smile to the best of his ability, and walks closer. "I don't get sick."

Schwartz blinks as he sits down. "Everyone gets sick."

Reinhard blinks back. "I'm not certain that's correct. Divine Protections against illness aren't as common as others, but they aren't among the rarest, either."

"So, out there somewhere, someone got a Divine Protection against colds? Huh."

Reinhard nods. "That's one of the most common Divine Protections against illnesses."

The crackling of the fire underlines the silence that follows, and bright with fever as they are, Schwartz's eyes take on a dreamy, distant look. A shiver runs along his back– perhaps he should not have mentioned it. She might find it wrong, unnatural.

Schwartz warms her hands with the teacup.  Of course she wouldn’t comment on it.  

This the first time they have been alone together since they met at the capital, too. It would be the best moment for an apology, at least, since he cannot take back what he said. But the words get stuck in his throat as shame makes his neck and face go hot.

"Has nobody ever spoken to you about Divine Protections before?" He settles on instead.

Schwartz shakes her head. "Nope, never heard of that."

Schwartz's Blessing is perhaps even rarer than his own, but depriving her of information about other people's gifts would have isolated her even further from the world, making her dependent on whoever provided her with lodgings and meals. Gaining control over Divine Protections isn't always a straightforward development, either.

Reinhard's softens. Schwartz must have been frightened, before, wherever she has lived. "Should you ever require help, I'd be glad to be of service."

Her brow furrows, but then she beams at him with the same ease. Her expressions always flow from one to the next, ever-changing like water. "I know— thank you, Reinhard. Do you want some too?"

She lifts the cup of tea.

Reinhard shakes his head. "That's not necessary."

Schwartz’s mouth curls into a disappointed moue.

He needs to stop putting it off. "Schwartz, I have to apologize–"

She tilts her head, uncomprehending.

"I shouldn't have pushed you to take Lord Mathers' offer, and–"

"You couldn't have known–"

"I, it was unforgivable of me but," Reinhard swallows, ears burning. "I have been inappropriate with you."

"So you shouldn't–" Her words cut off in the middle. "What— do you mean?"

"—I touched your hair, when you were asleep. Before. In the library." Reinhard rubs his face and glances away– he doesn't think he can bear to see her features twist in disgust. 

For a moment that feels far too long, the only sound in the kitchen is their breathing, and the crack of fire as it eats away at lumber. Then a breathless cough breaks the silence, and Schwartz curls onto herself in a fit of giggles. Her braid falls in front of her face and hides her expression.

Reinhard blinks, and hopes his face isn't as scarlet as it feels.

The laughter doesn’t abate until Schwartz’s teacup almost spills its content on her lap, and Reinhard takes it from her hands and places it out of range before it ends up on her clothing. But he is relieved–he hasn’t had a glimpse of the girl he met at the capital, who promised to be his friend and make up for what he lacks, in far too long. 

"Is- is that," Another breathless gasp. "Is that all?"

Reinhard dips his head to his chest. "Yes, I'd never do–"

"It's alright, Reinhard,” Her eyes soften as the smile lingers on her lips, and she shakes the braid undone. “It’s just hair.”

Schwartz reaches over with both her hands and closes her fingers around his wrist, so Reinhard lets her guide his own to her head with no resistance. “Here. You can touch it right now, even.”

She guides him so that his hand rests behind her head, along the curve of her skull, and in that moment, Reinhard knows how it feels like to be light-headed. Her hair is just as soft and smooth as it was earlier, but this time his whole hand sinks into the black locks down to his wrist— there’s so much of it, falling down her shoulder, down her back, even to her waist. The amount of trust placed in that simple gesture leaves him staggering— and Schwartz just leans into his palm, unaware, while he can feel the delicate plates of her skull under her scalp and even the frailer line of her spine press along his thumb.

Warmth bursts from his chest outward, and at first he cannot tell if the emotion comes from himself or if his Protection of Empathy picks it from her mind— but the wave of fondness and amusement that follows makes him gasp, and then there’s no mistake about whose it is then.

Reinhard cannot remember any time anybody let him touch them like this.  

He doesn’t realize he closed his eyes until her thumb strokes above his cheekbone.

“Are you alright?” Her tone shifts to soft and worried. “Maybe you are getting a cold—“

Just like that the moment is broken, as ice rushes through his veins, and that same visage flashes through his mind smeared with blood, when he put down the beasts at Lord Mathers’ estate— any of those mabeasts could have ripped her apart if he arrived only a second later.

He had known that, back then, of course. How could he not, when he’s seen one beast close its teeth on her leg? He had known how vulnerable she was since they talked on the first day he brought her to the manor, yet nothing prepared him for the visceral fear that has risen from that single show of faith in him.

Reinhard can afford to give his back to people, as nobody can hurt him, but one mistake on  her part could prove fatal.

“Did you get any sleep at all? Even I got a couple of hours in, you know.”

His features fold into a smile. “Ah, I’m afraid I didn’t, I started the patrol after supper, but I don’t require as much rest as others—“

Schwartz hums, hands still on his face. Reinhard’s free hand twitches at his side. Anyone in the kingdom could bring her harm.

“—Got it. Come here. I’m,” Her eyes crinkle in amusement. “Gonna teach you a secret method to get some sleep, no problem.”

Cool fingers settle on his neck, and she pulls him gently toward her— Reinhard follows until he lies on his side, head onto her thighs, and the blush spreads from his neck to his face for yet another time this night when he fully realizes the position they’re in. He tenses. Her dark, distant eyes look down on him with concern, even as she is the one who displays deep circles under them. Her hair falls around his head like a curtain.

“I don’t believe this is— necessary.”

Schwartz shushes him with a finger on his lips. “Close your eyes.”

Reinhard does not close his eyes. Certainly that ought to be counted as an unreasonable request. Her thighs are clad only in a thin, muslin nightgown, and all that separates his mouth from her bare skin is the insubstantial stretch of cloth. It’s soft— and the feverish warmth of her skin seeps through until it might as well burn him. Her fingers slip from his mouth to the back of his neck, and Reinhard cannot help but sigh as Schwartz soothes the muscle.

“You’re really tense.”

Her hand moves away, but his relief is short-lived since her nails drag along his scalp with a surprising gentleness.

“Come on, relax.” Her lips curl into an amused smile. “Please?”

Reinhard swallows, and gives the tiniest of nods— it feels like he might overstep at any moment, and the thought of such makes his chest go tight. But her fingers never stop carding through his hair, and after a few minutes his eyelids slip closed, as the repetitive motion lulls him into a reverie. Above him, Schwartz makes a satisfied hum.

It is not long before sleep claims him. 

Chapter Text

The woods bustle with the activity of several dozens of hunters.

Reinhard is but one among many, and everyone excluded him and Meili is native to this domain— so he should try to make his presence as unobtrusive as possible. Furthermore, as he isn’t alone and his companion is indirectly responsible for quite a few deaths in Arlam, it’d make things go smoother if they don’t linger on him too much around them and avoid provoking a reaction. The grudge they hold against her could develop into sabotage, if anyone realizes her identity.

“Mister, do I reeally have to?” Meili tilts her head back to look at him and pouts.

Reinhard hums. If he were to hunt down every beast in the area alone, things would be over much faster and her presence wouldn’t be as necessary. However, his superiors require a reason beyond her age to allow her escape the usual punishment for multiple accounts of murder and use of forbidden curse magic— let alone let her live free with such a dangerous ability. Reinhard cannot recall anyone, in records or in rumors, known to control the mabeasts.

Demonstrating her usefulness would go a long way to make her living on the Astrea Estate possible.

Schwartz, Reinhard thinks, would be pleased if that happened. She is quite fond of children.

Meili reaches out and clasps the hem of his cape— and Reinhard blinks, disconcerted. Aside from Schwartz, there’s no one who would dare to touch him with such familiarity— they’re all too frightened to. Perhaps this is a Gustekan trait— Meili is from there as well, or so she mentioned offhand.  It is a hard, cold place from rumors, so that such a life could install a certain boldness would make sense. “But couldn’t I bring just one back with me?”

With so few people living on the estate and Reinhard himself bound to Lady Felt’s service, the possibility isn’t as dangerous as it would be for someone else. Nonetheless—

“Miss Carol would be cross.”

She giggles. “Mister is funny.”

Reinhard smiles. He doesn’t understand it, but laughter is often a sign of ease— and Meili’s seems sincere, with the way her eyes crinkle at the corners and how hard it is for her to restrain her expression. This should make the proceedings much more efficient. Satisfactory teamwork cannot happen without agreeableness. “Thank you. You should guide me to the most powerful mabeasts, however. It’s best if we do not linger near the hunters.”

“My Big Sister also says to not stay near people too long—” Her expression turns sharp and somber. She nods, and kicks a rock to watch it bounce ahead until it disappears in the grass, then tilts her head to look him in the eye. "—But I thought Miss would come with us too. "

Reinhard shakes his head. It can be good advice on duty, as presence of the knights during high-risk combat situations could put citizens in danger, but it is not the sort of behavior he would expect a civilian to keep— the assumption often goes the other way around. “Schwartz— 

Of course, the reason Meili said that would have more to do with detection rather than keeping people safe. Even her question about Schwartz could very well be a way to prod for weaknesses. He should take that into account, to pick the right position and work schedule within the estate. “It is not appropriate for her to be here.”

“Mister reeally worries about Miss S. a lot.” Meili nods toward the thicker portion of the underbrush, and grabs his hands. Reinhard lets himself be pulled.

Her behavior startles him in its familiarity, though Reinhard cannot put his finger on where he saw something akin to it. It is lined with manipulation— even with his poor understanding of social norms, he’s seen enough of such means to recognize them for what they are, but that isn’t quite it. Meili— seems to look for his approval and guidance in the same breath she tries to direct his actions.

It’s odd. He doesn’t know what to make of it.

The branches in the canopy above them become thicker, and the light dims. That isn't an issue, of course. Though— Reinhard glances at her, but no, she doesn’t appear to find it any harder to follow the path in the darkness, than to walk into an open, bright clearing. It fits well enough with the information about her skills gifted by his Blessing of Judgement, he supposes.

Meili pokes at his hand. “—What’s the strongest mabeast Mister killed?”

Reinhard glances down. For an interrogation, Meili’s questions are unsystematic in their approach, and quite useless; information on his skills won’t help her any. “—That’s difficult to say.”

Meili tugs at his sleeve again. “Were there any stronger than the Ulgarms?”

Reinhard nods. “—Ulgarms aren’t difficult to dispose of for any experienced knight, though of course a pack numerous enough can be irksome to deal with.”

They are intelligent, so they would retreat before a superior opponent, and thus it can take longer than it should to take care of them. Such as now. A few of them hid deeper into the forest when confronted with an unexpected breach of their territory— but Reinhard expected that much. 

“—So Mister really fought stronger mabeasts—!”

“—The Augria Dunes host mabeasts that can spit a venom strong enough to kill by contact, and many of them grew armored hides to shield them from the others. They make for more challenging opponents than Ulgarms.” 

Or would, to anyone other than himself.

“Did Mister go there to find strong monsters?”

Reinhard slows his steps and tilts his head to the side. The chatter from other animals vanished in this stretch of the forest— it’s safe to say that they are closing in on their target, if all other wildlife sought refuge elsewhere. His voice lowers to a murmur to match the sudden silence, and he shakes his head. “—I only travel by the Council of Sage’s orders.”

“—Are they strong like Mister? My Big Sister says Mister is the strongest—”

“—No. But a few of them served in the war and used to be powerful combatants.”

“Why does Mister take orders from them?”

It takes a few seconds for the words to sink in his head, and when they do, Reinhard tenses. The Council’s will is the same as the Kingdom’s, and should be followed without question. It is the correct conduct to keep— his title as Sword Saint guarantees that his life would be pledged to serve the Royal Family.

But they’re long dead, all except one, and as the words echo into his mind his mouth parts, but keeps no reply he can offer comes to him. 

Silence falls on the rest of their trek.

“What do you intend to do?”

Reinhard pauses and looks upward, where Carol’s worried, drained face waits for him to acknowledge the words. The question comes as an ambush— as they weren’t talking about anything distressing. The difficulties that will come with providing Lady Felt with a fitting retinue still belong to the future for now, and they have more than enough time to prepare the household for the change—on that account,  expenses should not be particularly difficult an issue either.

Carol sighs. “About Schwartz.”

“—Schwartz?”

“I raised you better than this.” The fondness underneath the rebuke mellows any sharp edges.

So Reinhard nods with a polite, reserved smile as etiquette requires; it never failed to please her in the past. “My apologies, but I don’t understand.”

“Are you certain she shall be ready by the time we’ll need to compete with the other factions? Whatever happened in the Mathers domain—”

“—I’m quite convinced Schwartz will talk about it when she is ready.”

The wrinkles around Carol’s eyes deepen as her mouth turns downward, and a familiar pang of guilt flickers in his chest. Reinhard squashes it. His reply is within reason, he believes. It’s been stressed to him how important it is to let others talk about their issues at their own pace, instead of taking matters in his own hands, and he refuses to make a mistake due to haste now. Schwartz needs time to process her previous circumstances as well.

“—Have you taken a look at her eyes?”

Reinhard tilts his head to the side. “I have.”

It’s hard not to notice Schwartz’s eyes, as exotic as they are, and they have become even more unearthly in the last few days— it is improper of him, he knows as much. He caught himself watching more than once as her gaze lingers in the distance and she loses herself in her work; though he does not understand why that represents a breach in etiquette. The soulful yet empty depth of her eyes is fascinating to look at.

Carol exhales. “I suppose it wouldn’t bring back any memories for you. You’re far too young. How death would leave a mark in someone eyes—”

He considers that— it would likely be impolite to inquire further. If it is a matter stemming from the Demi-Human War, it’s best not to make Carol relive those memories, and if Schwartz experienced something similar— well, pressuring her would be even more inappropriate, would that be the case.

“Nonetheless, if she is to take on an active role in the Royal Selection, she will need to join more of Lady Felt’s lessons as well. That will impact her availability for work. And I’m not convinced it wouldn’t be too— stressful in her current condition. It is a great responsibility.”

Reinhard frowns. Should Schwartz choose to support Lady Felt rather than just be part of the Astrea staff, it would be— advantageous for their faction. Her Divine Protection is one in hundreds— perhaps even thousands. Lord Miklotov would know more details. Though he won’t mention the issue, nor with her and not with the Council, unless it’s raised first; the last thing he wants to do is force her, and the councilors would without a doubt require her skills put to use in other matters, if not the Selection. “I will be beside both of them, and I can compensate for anything that’s needed with my Blessings. It’s the safer option for them as well.”

Furthermore, excluding Schwartz from the Royal Selection process would mean she has to stay back at the estate while he accompanies Lady Felt to meetings and inspections. Her unwillingness to do so has already been made apparent— and Reinhard himself found himself just as unwilling to leave her behind where he cannot guarantee her safety. The mistake of what happened at Lord Mathers’ Mansion won’t have a repeat. He did Schwartz a dishonor, not taking her reluctance to go as seriously as he should have; regardless of whether it was born from a vision or from simple nerves— not when she has pledged to his household. 

He’s the strongest man in the world. Keeping an employee of the estate safe –someone who proclaimed friendship to him –  should be a simple matter.

Carol rubs her temple. “It might be so, but even you cannot make alliances in Lady Felt’s place. It has to come from her.”

Reinhard frowns. “—we cannot be already at disadvantage. The Council’s guidance—” 

“—won’t stop the other candidates from speaking to their own vassals and allies. Even if they had followed the Council’s request— and I don’t believe Anastasia Hoshin had any intention to– anybody with eyes and ears can make a guess as to what’s happening.”

“—Julius would dissuade Lady Hoshin from revealing anything.”

Carol arches an eyebrow.

Reinhard winces. 

“—It is not so bleak, though. It is true that none of the other candidates will have your alliance.”

“Quite so.”

As unpleasant as the thought is, that none of the other candidates made an overture to him is a clear hint that they already suspect he found the missing fifth candidate. Lady Crusch would have already contacted him for certain, he thinks, in light of their shared memories. Disappointment is a heavy thing— though Felix is far too pragmatic for Reinhard to hope he wouldn’t steer Lady Crusch in the correct direction, he had at least hoped he would keep the appearance of fairness and not reveal anything outright.

Ah. Reinhard smiles, wistful. Felix’s Lady must have been quite cross at that— though only a fool would ignore critical information, and with Grandfather advising her as well, he would have ensured she wouldn’t lose what little edge such news would give her. He pauses. A visit to Lady Crusch’s estate would mean Reinhard would see him, and Schwartz— Schwartz would meet Grandfather as well. That—

“That aside, there is something I need to ask of you—”

Carol’s words drag with hesitance, and Reinhard blinks as the trail of thought slips between his fingers. He– will think about that later. Yes. Carol would want him to pay attention. It isn’t often that she doesn’t feel she can be blunt with her requests, and he cannot remember the last time she needed to ask anything. In all but name, she has been the figurehead of the household since he was a child. 

“You should speak to Lady Felt about what’s required of her, too— you cannot prepare her by keeping her in the dark.”

Reinhard shakes his head. “I cannot do that.”

It benefited them that Schwartz persuaded Lady Felt to stop with the escape attempts, though Reinhard isn’t certain of what she could have done to obtain such a result; he won’t ask not until Schwartz feels like sharing what happened herself. The result is what’s important.

Regardless, he shall be vigilant, because he cannot betray the oath he’s made to the Royal Family and allow Lady Felt to disappear. “She doesn’t need to prepare yet. I can perform as the needs arise, until the Selection Ceremony.”

“What will you do if she refuses to participate?”

“She won’t be allowed to do so.”

The words taste sour in his mouth, yet to lie would feel much worse. Lady Felt cannot, under any circumstances, deny her duty— the best outcome for the Kingdom would be for the line of Farsale to be restored to the throne. Reinhard smiles, apologetic. It is close to dinner time; they should not linger on such a heavy topic. Carol does not return the gesture. Her eyes darken, and then she lowers her gaze.

“I did not mean to add to your burdens.”

She keeps silent, long enough for him to think that she must be cross with him. Before he can speak again, however, the tension in her shoulders lessens. “At the very least, I cannot say you’re the only one who’s worrying me at the moment, or even the one that worries me the most.”

“Pardon?”

“Your father hasn’t been in contact for longer than usual. I fear—” Her voice trails off.

Ah. He should make inquiries in that sense, as well. Even by his standards, it’s— disquieting, how long Father has been out of contact.

It is quite fortunate that his Blessing of a Calm Mind makes it so that his decisions won’t be affected by distress, because the burst of mana Reinhard detects from the kitchens is great enough to rip apart a modest cabin, and there is no reason it should ever happen inside of the main building.

Nonetheless, it isn't the most surprising thing. What's surprising is the sight that waits for him once he steps into the kitchens— Schwartz turns toward him with a bowl of cream clutched to her chest and offers a sheepish grimace.

“Sorry. Didn’t think it would— do that.”

Reinhard follows her nod with his gaze— and finds the cause of the commotion. One of the ovens, an old and solid piece of equipment powered by a minor metia, is-- well, out of commission would be an apt enough term for its condition. It's remarkable, considering that it's likely that that particular oven is- was- twice as old as Carol is, and never suffered more than a couple of scratches since Reinhard has memory of it.

The cast iron of the outer shell bent onto itself and blackened with thick stains of smoke-- and that still spreads from the oven nook and upwards. He pauses. Even fragments of mana crystals condense enough mana to cause explosions of significant magnitude, so it would be best if he could nudge Schwartz out of the kitchens and take care of the issue. He should come up with an excuse; it's best not to alarm her.

“—That was very expensive, wasn’t it?” The anxiety in her voice makes Reinhard wince.

It was, but that isn't noteworthy. “That doesn’t matter— as long as you aren’t hurt, all is well.”

And truth to be told, they can afford to replace it— though the wait for a new mana stone to be sourced might be quite long, since Gusteko halted trade of the crystals for the next few months.

“I— I really didn’t think it would do that. It’s just—” Her fingers tighten around the bowl she carries. Even in her agitation, her eyes keep that fixed quality they already possessed before- the dark depth of their color makes it so, and the exhaustion exacerbates it— both because of the black circles from the lack of rest, and the pallor of her skin.  Carol did mention she hasn’t been sleeping at all in the last week.

Reinhard lifts a hand to reassure her. “It’s truly quite alright— but I’d like to know how it happened.”

He’s never heard of this happening through normal means; not to a metia that wasn’t conditioned into a fire crystal.

Schwartz fidgets, then points at her fire spirit. It lingers nearby, and it almost seems to judge Reinhard from where he is perched, above a dozen folded towels. “So, you know how he likes to doze off on candle flames and sometimes even into the lit fireplace?”

Reinhard does not know. He should have paid more attention to the fire spirit, perhaps, because what he does detect through his Blessing of Judgement is that the little fire spirit doesn’t match to the same mana amounts he’s registered in the first few days it contracted Schwartz. It's now near to the aura of a proper spirit, now, rather to a quasi-spirit.

That— isn’t necessarily a good thing.

“I realized he’s been getting stronger from it, so, uhm— I experimented a little? Since Miss Carol said there’s a— metia, inside that thing. That there was a metia. I guess.”

"—That's... quite dangerous. I would advise you to be cautious and don't try such a thing again," Reinhard hesitates. It's an unorthodox reasoning as well, but perhaps he should not phrase it that way, at least for now. It should be common knowledge how dangerous a damaged metia is, but perhaps Schwartz's previous home did not have any available to know that. Unease– no, worry makes his gut twist. Maybe— "—Did your spirit ask you to try it?"

Spirits can be mischievous in their own way at times. However, they don't always realize how fragile their contractors can be, and that can be deadly to the inexperienced.

Schwartz shakes her head. "No, I just figured— maybe it eats the energy from the candle flame, and a metia would have much more energy? Does that make sense?"

"—I suppose."

"At least it seems like it worked. I can talk to him in my head now— couldn't do that before," Schwartz reaches out to the spirit with her hand to tap at it with her index finger, all danger forgotten, and her spirit dims, as if considering her gesture. Reinhard— doesn't feel reassured. "His name is Mel—!"

Ah. Reinhard's mouth folds into a smile, despite himself. It is not associated with the most auspicious fate, but the name does convey Schwartz's hopes for it well— it is quite endearing that she would choose to name her own companion after the former Great Spirit of Fire. Of course, it is unlikely it would ever reach the same powers. 

Mel shifts and moves closer to Schwartz's shoulder, brighter and steadier than what Reinhard has seen in the past weeks. Even without a physical eye, he can feel the weight of the spirit's consideration, but none of the interest that usually accompanies it— that is impressive in itself. Most of them find it difficult to look past the favor Od Laguna grants him.

Schwartz glances at Mel and scowls. "—Hey! I didn't feed you to be like that."

Reinhard blinks.

"What are you talking about now– you're mean—!"

The hiss from the change in temperature about the spirit might be unintelligible as words, but the meaning is difficult to mistake for anything positive. Reinhard hides a chuckle behind his hand. "Might I make the guess that he's upset?"

"—He says he doesn't trust you." Schwartz's eyes go wide at the words, and she pouts.

Reinhard frowns. It does not matter how the spirit feels about him, but that brings Mel's ego from uncommon to unusual– no, to rare. It should feel at least some measure of goodwill towards him, due to his Divine Protections. While it is not odd for a spirit to be possessive of their contractor, discounted what makes himself well-liked by the spirits, Mel just gained the ability to talk and put concepts into words— this process has been fast as well… faster than normal.

Mel glows brighter, and the mana around him grows thicker— until Schwartz swats at him with her hand and the spell disperses.  

"Yeah, don't. Sorry about that—"

"—It is of no consequence. Something like that wouldn't really have effects."

Even if Schwartz’s actions strengthened him, Mel is far from a threat. 

She bites her lower lip. "—It’s still mean.”

Schwartz draws her shoulders together, head lowered and eyes on the bowl of whipped cream in her arms, and stands still for a long time, so still that Reinhard has to restrain the impulse to reach out as to check she’s breathing, or brush his fingertips along her furrowed brow. With her features turned downward like that, the shadows darkened her eyes to black ink.

Then she looks up to meet his gaze head on, and the moment ends. 

“—Here—! I couldn’t finish the cake because, yeah, no oven, but maybe it’s still good like this—” Schwartz shoves the bowl forward until it hits his chest, then pats the apron pocket and freezes. Her eyes grow large– hit with the realization, perhaps– and her cheeks turn pink. “ —But probably not without a spoon. Sorry. I can— I’m gonna go. Get one. And coffee maybe. One second—”

Before he can open his mouth to stop her, she turns and dashes to the opposite end of the kitchens. Mel doesn’t follow, but his light dims while he hovers in the same spot in midair.

Then Reinhard’s mind processes the words, and he blinks— coffee ? Could she mean coff ?

A sliver of warm, dim light underlines the bottom of the library door. 

Reinhard hesitates. Nobody should be awake at this time of the night— even Lady Felt, who does nothing but show reluctance to sleep, retired a good four hours ago. Everyone else in the mansion would have done the same before her. His Blessings would have alerted him of true danger, but nonetheless, it would be best to take a look, just in case something is amiss.

His fingers close around the doorknob, and he pushes the door open. 

Schwartz sits on the sofa on the right corner, book in hand and legs curled against her torso. 

“—Reinhard?”

“—My apologies. I didn't mean to intrude.”

Schwartz shakes her head. “I’m just— I’m doing homework, more or less. I need to learn to read better— and, this is your home. So.”

“It doesn’t seem like the most appropriate time for reading exercise.”

Her index and thumb thug at a lock of air. “Guess so, but I couldn’t sleep— sorry.”

Of course, Reinhard already knew that. Perhaps he should have approached this with a more light-hearted question. He nods. “It is no fault of yours— but I admit it’d be reassuring if you could at least rest, even without any sleep.”

Schwartz smiles, but there’s little mirth in it. “It’s better if I keep busy. Laying in bed like that— it’s not for me.”

She falls silent, closes the book and places it between her side and the sofa’s arm. Whatever happened to her during her time in the mansion might have awakened old wounds, to affect her to this point. In her first days at the Astrea Estate, Schwartz had been wary of sudden gestures and to outsiders, but her sleep schedule didn’t seem irregular back then. Reinhard might be wrong and this relates to both the day in the capital and the latest events combined.

But unless Schwartz talks about it, he has no way to guess which.

“—I understand,” Reinhard doesn’t. He’s never been so ill or shaken as to lose sleep to this degree, not even as a child; however, Felix impressed upon him the importance of sympathizing in the past, as well as how important it is to listen, so he shall try his best to help. “ —If you wish, I would be glad to listen. Or help you, in any way I can. ”

Her smile softens. “I— don’t think I can talk about it. But thanks.”

A line creases between her eyebrows right after, and Schwartz’s lips part as if she means to say more, but at the same time it troubles her to do so.A blush makes a return on her features; Schwartz— blushes often. He noticed as much, but doesn’t know why. 

“—Can I ask you something? Even if it’s weird?”

Reinhard nods. He has to admit, her reaction is peculiar, and makes him curious— she never had problems talking to him before this.

Still, she hesitates, and bites her bottom lip. “You promise you won’t think I’m a weirdo?”

“I don’t think I could ever think lowly of you.”

“—’Kay. Good enough, I guess—” Schwartz inhales once, deep and slow, her bosom raising with the motion. “—Can you do the thing you did back at the shack?”

Reinhard tilts his head. That— is far more vague a request than what he expected. “Thing?”

“Yeah. You know,” Her right hand waves back and forth as the color brightens on her cheeks. “That thing. Remember?”

“—I apologize, but I don’t understand.”

Schwartz pouts and wraps both of her hands around his. The warmth of her palms startles him, though he masks the reaction without any issue. It is quite fortunate. If Reinhard reacted in a way that could be mistaken for discomfort, she could have backed away. He– doesn’t want that. Her hands are quite tiny— they barely close around his fully.

She pulls his hand until it rests in front of her face, palm open. Oh.

“What you did back then to make me fall asleep. Can you do it again?”

Schwartz wishes for him to drain her mana. Reinhard hesitates. “Are you certain—?”

“—I wish I could sleep. Just for a bit.”

Her request is understandable in light of that. Nonetheless, had it been directed to anyone other than himself, Reinhard would have rejected the possibility— draining mana from someone could hurt them, and she appears to have already been subjected to mana manipulation in the past. However, from what Carol mentioned Schwartz has already gone without any sleep for more than a week now, which is  also dangerous to her health.

Reinhard lowers his hand and turns it upward, squeezes her palm in his. If there is someone who can do it without any risk, it’s him. He doesn’t want to let her down when she’s suffering. “—I understand.”

Schwartz squeezes back. 

“You should lay back. You could fall and hurt yourself.”

“I doubt that. I’m sitting down, and you’re right here,” She huffs. Then her head tilts to the side like a bird, and she smirks, then pats the spot beside her. “Yeah, that’ll do. Come on.”

Reinhard sits. 

“Okay, I’m ready. Let’s do it.”

Schwartz turns towards him with her eyes already closed. It feels somewhat strange to see her like thatIt makes his heartbeat pick up as well, though it doesn’t feel unpleasant. His hand brushes against her eyelids. Reinhard focuses. Her mana begins to flow to him in a trickle, and his instinct tells him to open the connection with his defective Gate, to take all of it— no. He crushes it down. That would harm her beyond repair.

Reinhard drains the mana for a couple seconds more, then stops. It should suffice.

Schwartz’s eyes blink open. “—Is it done?”

Her hands shift to her mouth to cover a yawn. 

He restrained himself more than he did last time, to avoid any chance of damaging her Gate. It should take her a few seconds more to fall asleep, compared to the instant effect from last time, and from the way Schwartz sways in place, it seems to be enough. It’s a relief. Schwartz’s hand moves to his chest and her fingers around his shirt. 

“—Thanks—” 

With that, she succumbs to sleep, and slumps downward— first on his chest, then lower, as her grips loosens, until her shoulders and head lay on his legs sideways, in a position that mirrors how Reinhard himself rested on her lap a few short days prior. This time, it’s his own face that heats up in a blush. He stills. It’s irrational to think he could wake her after the mana drain, or that she would notice  being moved to another position, yet he is loath to disturb her.

Her hair spills all across her back and his legs. Reinhard’s hand stops a couple of inches from her head. Lady Felt ordered him not to touch her hair again in such a situation; Schwartz said it’s alright to.

He forces a breath out, slow and even.

“—Mister—!”

Reinhard jolts back as if he’s been burnt. That– does not happen often. “—Why are you here?”

Meili shrugs. “I wanted to explore, but you and Miss Carol don’t like it.”

That’s correct. Even though they accepted Meili’s presence in the mansion, both of them would have preferred her movements restricted for a while longer. No matter. Reinhard can make sure nothing happens, regardless of her attempts. It would be shameful not to avoid such a trivial issue.

She walks closer, and plops onto the cushion beside him. “—Were you reading to Miss S.? My Big Sister reads to me when I can’t sleep, but she’s not very good at it.”

Reinhard tilts his head. “—You should go back to bed.”

“ —But that’s soo boring,” Meili glances down, and without hesitation pats Schwartz’s head, then her eyes brighten with interest. Her tiny hand lifts a section of thick, black hair until it brushes against her skirt as well. “My Big Sister has the same hair, too. I braided it for her aall the time—! Do you think Miss would mind if I did that for her?”

“You— shouldn’t do that right now.”

Meili blinks, and looks down at Schwartz’s face. “Why not?”

“Well—”

But before Reinhard can find a reply, Meili’s next words push him off-kilter again. 

“Hey, Mister, can you do a lace braid—?”