hermidetta

[hermidetta]

—end.

He's A Red Flag For Sure But Red's My Favorite Color

(x)

[hermidetta]

—end.

*⚘ don't rat me out

⠀ [ SPECIAL: RAT Y2 ] ⚘ ethereal ball 2025 ⠀

[hermidetta]

"yes. i mean, no. i mean yes you're supposed to come here with revenge against bern, but no that you did something—w-well, it was all me! just me," she babbles on immediately, only able to stop the verbal stream of consciousness by clasping hands over her mouth.

bernadetta doesn't trust herself to drop them until she shrinks a little more from dorothea's sight, her gaze from green eyes that is so warm despite everything. despite bernadetta.

"um," she peeps, first. swallows thickly, shuts her own eyes then blurts again. "i-i messed up at the—you know, the machine! the artifex! i made a huge fuss, blinded you and, and!"

the tray of sweets she had meant to pilfer sits there abandoned. she's lost her appetite all of a sudden, besides. "i'm sorry... i really am! just make it quick, please!"

this time in lieu of smacking them over her mouth, bernadetta's palms splat across her eyes. "so, u-uh, nothing with fire if that's okay. uh-huh. please and thank you." what on earth is she talking about at this point?

[ ♫ ]  ─  * 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐧𝐨 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬

[hermidetta]

♡!!

no longer accepting / the apothecary hikikomori diaries

●●●●○ | ATTRACTION

●●●●○ | AFFECTION

●●●●○ | INTEREST

●●●●○ | LOYALTY

●●●●○ | TRUST

LOW | ●●●●● | HIGH

Lady Edelgard is our class leader. She's really strong, brave, calm, and everything else you'd want in a ruler. She actually does pay some attention to me... I just don't know why. Everybody else says I'm a lost cause, and there's no way she wouldn't have heard all of the rumors in Adrestia. So I really have no clue why she'd bother with me.

Is it because of my house? I guess that makes sense. Both of my parents are civic servants, and a failure like me is their only child. I don't want anything to do with bureaucratic work, though. Besides... our family isn't too well off because of Father, so even if they say they've given up on me, they're just going to marry me off as soon as they find another gross old man who's rich and desperate enough. Then I'll have to go into hiding instead of "doing my duty". I hate thinking about it. I hate waking up scared and going to sleep still scared. I'm always scared. I wish I could be brave and strong with giant muscles and an axe. Then nobody would try to touch me again... if they even wanted to. I mean, look at me.

I do admire Lady Edelgard. I like her a lot, actually. She's pretty, and sweet, and looks out for others... I wish I knew how to ask her if she'd want to be friends. I just start panicking because she's one of the most important people in Fódlan, or sometimes I'll start staring at her rippling muscles since I can't look her in the eye, so I end up stumbling over all of my words. Oh, Bernie, you're so useless! Doesn't she see? There's nothing special or worthwhile about me at all.

[hermidetta]

bernadetta can still on command as naturally as breathing. she can freeze with her eyes wide and staring right back at any villain who's raised a knife to her throat, waiting for the blade to sink in, waiting waiting waiting to be given that wretched permission.

when yuri catches her wrist, she halts. she listens. not a hair on your head out of place in exchange for not a hair on your head harmed. because that is what bernadetta's rotten adults have taught her, even though they break this promise as they please, cast the blame for it onto her like they would a mutt its bone and ask her to thank them for it. thank you for the tea. thank you for the seat. thank you for teaching me. thank you, sorry. sorry for kicking. sorry for bruising. sorry for speaking. sorry, sorry, sorry. (sorry, like she's the messed up one.)

but if yuri was a villain she'd have bled out long ago. she wouldn't be sitting here beside them. she wouldn't fold her trust into their palms like the handle of a knife, and neither of them would be reminiscing of dreams from a distant garden. the learned fear that leashes her, that makes her paranoid and nonsensical, it would never win out against what she innately gives yuri each time. bernadetta does not have to trust them on purpose; she does not have to think about it. why would she?

so bernadetta does not protest for yuri's sake, but she tightens her lips with a tiny nod and settles back down, gingerly, until she's got just enough of the blanket for her teeth not to chatter. yuri's hand is warm enough around her wrist, besides. whether they let go or not, their touch lingers on her skin more viscerally than the cold ever could.

"i do,"  bernadetta murmurs back. she does not elaborate which part she means—i do trust you, or i do remember, or i do miss it too—because it is her answer to all three, and those i dos to yuri matter infinitely more than the only one she's been kept alive for. the childhood memory, though, brings a small smile to her lips.

"but i knew you'd hear anybody in time. i could always count on you. and i said i'd protect you even if we got caught."  little bernie, protecting her friend. prepared to take the blame, prepared to keep them safe.

in the end, she had broken that promise. she wonders how they ever forgave her for it.

i miss when life was that simple. i wish we could've been happier. two petals on the same wilting stem.

"yuri..."  she lowers her gaze in half parts contemplation, half parts mourning. but bernadetta had mourned for about half of her life and had only come out of it after entering the monastery. she doesn't want to sink back into it.

"a lot of things aren't anymore,"  she agrees, voice a low murmur. "but maybe some things still can be... right? you're here. i'm here. we're still friends. what's so hard about that? and..."

bernadetta stirs then, only to curl all of her fingers on a hand except for her pinky. small, thin, and probably a little chilly—but it reaches out just enough to hook with one of theirs. her face tilts, cheek squished whimsically against the cushion of her other hand. just like all of the times she had turned under the blanket to blink sleepily at little jules.

"...and i promise to still be your friend, if that's okay. and you can still tell me stories, even if they're different and have things that are a little illegal in them, because bernie won't tell on you."  she doesn't crack the joke that she wouldn't be able to, anyway. not with yuri. she doesn't doubt for a second that they can silence whoever they want, whenever they want.

"i'll tell you lots of stories, too. i still won't get you in trouble with anybody, either. i definitely won't. if i do, i'll still— i-i'll just bite them really hard. and we can run away!"  somehow she really does always makes it sound so simple. but does that make it any less difficult to say? maybe it's just yuri who makes it easier. yuri, who bernadetta's heart could never tire of bleeding out for.

"um, i mean... if i'm allowed to,"  she mumbles, far more quietly and halfway into her hand. still wholly unguarded, and yet still so uncertain of herself, always waiting for the world to strike somehow because she's misspoken somewhere, anywhere, everywhere. probably everywhere.  "...run away with you this time. b-but i know you're probably sick of babysitting me, so never mind about that part."

＊ woven back from violence .

anni '24 | heavy armor +1　 ▪ ▪ ▪ 　yuri & bernadetta

[hermidetta]

"h-hey! i'm not that dirty! and mouse bitten?!" two for two, she knew, but she had the dignity to at least sound offended about it. gray eyes flickered up and crossed to where she had assumed grass was tickling her skin. "and a—"

and a spider on her forehead.

a shrill clawed out of bernadetta's throat at once, palm swinging to smack herself right over the face without any thought to it at all, and the terrified noise chipped off to a yelp of pain. as if she hadn't made enough a fool of herself in front of the child already.

a child. still, a child. bernadetta croaked, mustering everything she could to pull herself together. she wobbled back upright from where she had hunched over, all haggardness and no elegance. somewhere on the ground, the unsquashed spider scuttled on its merry way home.

"...the town." she repeated with a wheeze. "there's a town outside of this place. temple?" did he mean the church? bernadetta could not think of any other place for the life of her.

moreover, her gaze finally settled on his appearance: oversized clothes, red eyes, a readiness to react. in fragments, it all stitched together to form a veneer of something larger than he was; a child too small to fill his shoes both figurative and not. and so, at least in that moment, bernadetta was relieved for her unimposing presence—dirty human or otherwise. she breathed again and let his unflattering honesty slide right off of her.

"well," she started, bumbling, "um. i don't want to just leave you alone. i mean, even if you like being alone—i like being alone, too—but...!"

but how could she have missed how the child had flinched? how could she forget why she might have done the same? bernadetta squatted where she was, arms looping loosely under her knees while she sat on her haunches. contemplative, she glanced up at him, and from the shift in her expression it seemed that an idea had dawned upon her.

a hand rifled through the pocket of her jacket before retrieving a napkin-wrapped bundle. she unfurled the cloth, and with it, her spoils: bread slices, cookies, a couple of sweet buns only slightly dented from their travel.

"do, uh... do you want one?" dented, but mud-free and edible—one of which she demonstrated by taking a swift bite out of. "i'm only dirty because i went to get food. and i didn't want to talk to people. people scare me." admitting such a thing to a child made her no less pathetic, but she would be lying if she said she weren't used to it.

*⚘ allegro, agitate

⠀ anniversary '24 ⚘ any +1 ⠀

[hermidetta]

my love, they call her, and bernadetta nearly chokes on nothing as if the endearment were a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of her like a sputtering balloon. it's pretend, she reminds herself—and don't good writers know when to separate fiction from reality?—but it's still yuri's voice. it's still yuri. when has she ever really been completely unaffected by them, even during a sham?

"d-don't be silly! you're the only man i've ever had eyes for..."  but bernadetta keeps her heart in check. she plays along as they move to straighten her veil, willing herself to slip into the role.  "nobody else would catch me like you, would they? it's just hard to, um, see. through this."

it wasn't as translucent as she'd thought a normal bridal veil would be, but nothing about this wedding was entirely normal, perhaps reflecting the real couple itself. a mix of traditional and unconventional, a mix of fódlan and almyra, a mix of love and lies. a mix of petals and knives.

she can only answer their next question with a gentle squeeze of their hand. her arm loops through theirs, and while the music plays, they step forth together. walk slow—deep breaths. they've got her. she is quicker to ease into character when her face is covered the way it is.

"thank you,"  bernadetta murmurs, soft at their ear, head tilted to them just so. "thank goodness it's you." if there is a faint smile in her voice despite her state of dress, it could not solely be from instruction, but born out of some glimmer of truth. she doubts she could calm as easily on any other man's arm.

bernadetta smells expensive flowers, naturally, and her feet brush past what feels like a flurry of petals sprinkled down the aisle. what a wedding. the count would be foaming at the mouth for it to have been real. but upon their stage, the acting couple finally slows; she picks up the soft clear of the wedding officiant's throat, and bernadetta knows when to turn to her groom—when to lower her eyes in wait for them to flip up her veil, bracing herself to be exposed at a timeless type of altar that would never otherwise have her.

the bride and groom have written their own vows, and may begin when ready.  bernadetta hears from the officiant right as the light hits, freezing her gaze from lifting to yuri's face just yet.

we did what?

*⚘ an unmarriageable bouquet

⠀ pearlescent '25 ⚘ sword +1 ⠀

[hermidetta]

she thought she would see pigs fly before she ever saw her reflection in a wedding dress.

"ugh... knew it, bernie. it doesn't suit you at all,"  comes the dejected mumble, fingers twisting into the cloth.  "why couldn't i be the groom? i've literally been practicing how princes act, anyway! brides are supposed to be beautiful... and marriageable, and..."

and everything she would never be. but none of that mattered here; a double was a double. more impressively, whoever the elidure family's hairdressers and makeup stylists were, they were so accomplished at their craft that they had almost made a swan out of the ugly duckling. almost. gone were the dark circles, the self-cut cowlicks, the dull skin and lips and everything else she wanted to claw off in the mirror. instead, there was a glowing woman much like miss elidure herself. bernadetta might have fallen for it on a kinder day.

"well, it's probably fine! it's fake! pretend! and you're wearing a veil over your head anyway, which is just like another bag if you think about it."  a firm nod to herself.  "yeah."

she was used enough to bags. bernadetta surmised, though, that she would never quite get used to someone actually calling her—

"my lady?"  a gentle rap of knuckles against the door startles her spine straight in the vanity's chair.

"o-oh! uh— coming!"  she springs to her feet and narrowly avoids tripping on the veil.  "um, let's see..."

bouquet, check. garter, check. a dagger slipped into each of them? well, naturally.

all that remained, then, was for her to push through the door where the real lady elidure's handmaiden was waiting to flip down her veil and guide them both out.

the groom and his attendant should be on their way out, too, is what bernadetta hears. she is briefed more along the way, clinging to the other's arm and floundering alongside her, how the most opportune time of ambush ought to be during the celebratory sword dance—but to keep an eye out at all times just in case. why swords were still allowed was beyond bernadetta if they were worried about security, but be it far from her to question others' wedding customs. they had even mentioning cutting the cake with one.

there is a pause from the handmaiden, followed by some fiddling that bernadetta feels her do to the bouquet in her grasp—it wouldn't do their ruse any good to have the amateur's blade jutting out, now, would it?—and then the other woman continues in a lilt so lifeless that bernadetta's convinced she's being underpaid.  "when the band starts playing, you'll walk down the aisle together... there."

"where?"  the false bride's neck twists left and right before remembering that she can't see a thing through the veil.

"there."  then a gloved hand splays across her back, lightly pushing bernadetta forward. bernadetta stumbles on her own, of course, and lands with a muffled squawk into a third person's chest.  "okay. good luck."

the handmaiden's voice turns its direction, muttering something about starting the music to a fourth person who bernadetta can only assume is the "prince's" attendant. which means...

"um... yu—"  her head lifts. her friend's name almost slips from her lips in a whisper, and not that it would be their real one either way, but an act is an act. bernadetta catches herself in time.  "—yuliy. d-dear? i mean— is that you?" / @aubins

*⚘ an unmarriageable bouquet

⠀ pearlescent '25 ⚘ sword +1 ⠀

[hermidetta]

fiancé.

he called himself her—

"WHAT?!"

bernadetta's indignant squawk has even the shorter guard blinking. all eyes on her, though, and the amateur makes a quick save. she battles the rusted hinges of her neck as she forces it to tilt into her beau. the rat king is ridiculously taller—she won't entertain that she might just be tiny—so when the princess presses her cheek against him in a bid for passable affection, it flattens against the plane of his chest instead of against his cheek or shoulder. ew.

"WHAT! a pleasure! to be here! with my"—blegh— "fiancé! who was, um, fashionably late. i-it's about time, gregory! way to keep a girl waiting!"

the heart palpitations nearly make her faint, and not in a rose-tinted way. it was a nightmare, through and through, not dreamy at all. not even if her sham of a date was tall and muscular. and not that bernadetta had wanted to notice the second part, but if someone would just wear clothes without half the fabric bitten off like he'd been attacked by rabid hounds— (little does she know that he is the rabid hound)

but that was hardly the point. no, what mattered was that gregory von varley had enough of the devil's luck to cover both of their dues. so miss varley, tugged flush against mr. varley's side, attempts to smile wide with her teeth since she can't lie through them for shit.

and speaking of. his smarmy grin wins out against underpaid labor. the taller guard relents. the shorter one yawns. and bernadetta hates to say it, but credit is due where it's due: the rat king's good, and not just because she's bad. he hadn't given a single flinch, blink or stutter.

could lie for a living, she notes, and probably does— nope. still not bernadetta's type. but did his undercover name really have to be gregory?

"wait," the shorter guard calls as an afterthought, and bernadetta's limbs seize up, screaming guilt from head to toe. "... everybody gets one of these."

much to her relief, he only fetches a bracelet from the nearest of five crates before strolling back up and handing it off to gregory.

"huh, look at that." he yawns again, not even pretending to sound interested. "matching turtles for the happy couple."

great. now they even matched. the guard sends them off with a dismissive pat to their backs.

still too stiff to loop her arm through the rat king's, bernadetta settles for pinching what she thinks is the cuff of his sleeve. she starts by tugging him in several stilted steps that gradually unwind to a frantic scurry the further inside they get.

he was accompanying a prey animal if there ever was one. bernadetta's head perks tall to attention; she throws glances left and right in rapid succession, but satisfies herself with the conclusion that her biggest danger was only right next to her. her fingers unpry from his sleeve, and immediately she scrambles back from him like she's been bitten.

"there! all done! so, remember, if anybody asks,"  she stresses through gritted teeth,  "miss varley had nothing to do with anything anywhere."

phew. she upturns her nose with a grounding inhale, then settles back down, with just a lick of renewed spitfire in her eyes.

"a-and don't even think about throwing another rat at me again this year! i mean it! i've got my eye on you, gregory! if that's even your real name!"

it's what she's going to call him from now on if she doesn't hear otherwise, at least. it's a small step from rat king, even though she'll probably still be calling him that, too.

*⚘ don't rat me out

⠀ [ SPECIAL: RAT Y2 ] ⚘ ethereal ball 2025 ⠀

[hermidetta]

"Bernadetta?" the last he saw of her, she had poured over their set of outfits with a passion that paralleled unrest. she was a measure that played half way off one page, and onto the next, unfinished for reasons he wished he could express in a well-rounded way. even so, the alternative was a narrative that neither had the hand to write. "I thanked you profusely in the past, but I shall do it again, now that I have your attention."

"thank you. that is, for this." he gestured at the sea foam that dressed him in ribbons. "you have the finest hand of Adrestia, and I walk with no fear, knowing this is your work at play." she was, after all, a star child. well loved on wishes and the precarious way a wish was made.

"though I meant to give you this as a thank you earlier. on the same trip we bought the materials for our outfits, I procured something for you too."

he pressed a mirror compact into her hands, with an anchor cushioned within it. "thank you." his eyes crinkled in fondness. "and, I do hope you know, you are beautiful tonight as well."

"huh? oh! ferdinand,"  she chimes, spirits relatively higher after having recharged with her sweets. if she is still lugging around a certain box, despite its gift draping freely over her shoulders, nobody but maria should bat an eye over it.  "i'm just happy you like it. i'm not a professional tailor or anything, so..."

he catches her, he thanks her. he is ever kind, words dignified and full of heart. the word beautiful even falls from his lips, and he is always so sincere when he speaks that bernadetta nearly believes it. she wants to. she would wish on all the stars to. because it is maybe the second time in her life, she thinks, that anyone has ever thought to call her that word unprompted. not because she flatters him first, not because he is padding her from self-inflicted persecution, but just because he might have thought so, all on his own.

she wishes she were able to look into the mirror he gives her and see whatever he might have seen in that moment. what he might see, in general, if he is so generous as to tack on the words 'as well'.

they are not lost on her. something in her lowered gaze softens.

"c-come on! you're really flattering bernie over here, heh-heh..."  yet she can't help how her lips curl, giddy and sweet. maybe she doesn't believe anything good of herself yet, but maybe ferdinand von aegir helps draw her a bit closer.

in that moment bernadetta is able to count her blessings. she is able to feel love for her class, for her eagles who choose to care on purpose—even though it's her. her gaze drifts to the anchor, fond smile still grazing her lips. it's only right that she catches his fingers to place a turtle in them, too.

"you know what? you're kind of like an anchor, yourself."  she finds herself saying.  "the black eagles just wouldn't be the black eagles without you. things in general just wouldn't be the same without you. have i said that already? i've probably said that already. but, um, it's true. so i guess what i mean is—"

bernadetta takes a breath and puts all of her courage into meeting his eyes if for only a second.  "thanks, ferdinand. for everything."

[hermidetta]

she's tired of a little more than priestesses and doctors—water and all people and stupid feelings, more like—but doesn't say as much. shez, who's always been nice to her aside from that initial little scare, hands her a towel. it flutters over her head, and bernadetta scrunches her fists around in the cotton to soak up whatever's left in her hair.

"thank you! um, for the towel. but also the compliment," bernadetta's voice dwindles at the tail end of her gratitude, hands wringing behind her back as she shifts shyly in her seat. bit by bit she's improving, hopefully, at not rejecting praise or raising paranoia from it.

"bernie's been okay. aside from, well." she rolls her wrist, lightly gesturing to the sky. "but you look nice, too. and... happy? n-not that you shouldn't be happy! uh, you know—really happy, i mean."

bread boy birthday party purgatory theory || bernadetta & shez

ethereal ball 2025

[hermidetta]

there's nothing you could have done. the words settle over damp skin and seep through, into fractured bones, into the sockets that pop and dislocate when yanked just so—ruin and rot made even easier when a child's soft tissue is still so pliant. in her first few months at garreg mach monastery, everywhere she went, the million dollar question sat thick on her tongue: why don't you hit me? five words that quivered precariously, suspended in her gut right next to her heart, but never took shape or sound outside of it. whenever i mess up, you just let me try again. she had almost asked yunaka a few times, too.

she expects it, she expects it, she expects it. sometimes bernadetta still really expects it. not as constantly as before, but still. maybe 'before' never should have existed. it should have never hurt in the first place. they are words she should try to cling to, if only to honor the person they came from.

"anyone?"  she half croaks, face unconsciously tilting into yunaka’s palms.  "me...? even though i'm me?"  and for a fleeting moment she thinks about the little noble boy who would've been her fiancé, the one she'd never met. the one she doesn't know how she wronged so wickedly for him to bemoan her horrors to his parents, begging them to abandon their arrangements, leaving count varley no face and indirectly bruising his daughter's.

it's so hard to believe. maybe bernadetta's skin has been stitched over her lessons, too, except the sutures are still there. maybe she can pry them back open and scrape out what she can. but how much extra pain will that take? how long will that drag out? she doesn't know if she's worth it, but yunaka makes a compelling argument. she's always, always advocating somehow for bernie.

"professor..."  a wobble ends up slipping into her voice. how could it not? yunaka is the amazing one, yunaka is so sweet. she could have triple the scars that bernadetta gets a glimpse of, each with its own elaborate crime, and she'd still be the best in bernadetta's eyes. she'd still feel safe. bernadetta's bitten, judged, and fled from others for far less. "you're so nice to me. you're probably one of the only people who'd tell me such kind things."

she can't help but duck her head, hiding her face. the hands around yunaka clutch a little tighter if only to hide their faint tremor. because yunaka hugs her like she has worth as a human and not just property, even after she finds out. even after she sees. could there ever be someone who'd do the same? someone who could slip their hooks into bernadetta's heart. someone she loved who could actually love her, too, even though she wasn't beautiful.

"sometimes,"  bernadetta begins to confess, burying her face back into yunaka's shoulder.  "i’m just too terrified to get closer to people, even if i want to. not just with the person i like, but friends, too. if i do, father would…"

a gulp. (a garden. a girl. and right then, right there, the softest sniffle.)

"... my father might hurt them. he's done that before. s-so… professor yunaka, you're such a good person. but— but you probably shouldn't be too nice to me. or let others find out that you know me." is what she says, but each sentence feels like another needle in her palms. nails to shut her own coffin so nothing bad can get out. "i don't think i could live with myself if he gave you any trouble. you’d definitely be mad at me then, wouldn't you? you would! and i'd be mad at me, too."

*⚘ jack who's he...?

⠀ continued. ⚘ ethereal ball 2025 ⠀

[hermidetta]

[ A REGULAR GROTTO ]

Being by the sea, there are numerous small caves and grottos carved into the stone walls by time. Even scattered as they are on the edge of the sand, the number of guests ensured that one would not be alone for long- if at all. If- and it was less of a hypothetical than an inevitability- one wanted to have a moment of peace, they may find better luck in searching the cliff sides.

And so, Elffin does. The rumored grotto with the ability to see soulmates, of course, would be swarmed with those hoping to catch a glance, but there are others, and he slips into one, smaller, to find some solace.

He is not the only one there, he finds.

“... Good evening, Bernadetta.” Tired, he settles into a seated position near the entrance, though that does not stop him from observing basic politeness. “Would you like a charm?”

bernadetta, who cannot tell one grotto from the next, is fine being alone either way. where she oft finds peace is not in people. it is in solitude, in art, in untampered nature—and the viscount's territory had no shortage of it.

high in the oghma mountains had lived the reclusive daughter of house varley—what fitting terrain for the legends spun around her. but she did not always dream of high walls to hide behind, she did not start out a hermit. the sea, for all of its vast, terrifying unknowns, had been just as beautiful in her mind. bernadetta hums while exploring it. she ogles the plants and the starfish. she giggles as a crab scuttles by. and it is peaceful, at least, until the call of her name startles her a foot in the air.

"ah! wh-who's calling me?! you can't prove that i did it! you—" wild, darting eyes finally settle on him. "oh. hi, elffin."

just like that, her shoulders slouch back to their regular hunch. bernadetta steps gingerly across the sand, over a few shallow puddles before nearing the craggy entrance. she picks a random rock beside him to perch upon, and a hand reaches for one of her own charms.

"here you go. i have a turtle," bernadetta chimes. "i think they're cute. oh, it'd be so nice to just carry around my room on my back..."

[hermidetta]

it's about that time of the night again, when the party winds down, when some guests get their second winds and others their seventh drinks. bernadetta is neither. she finds herself underneath a table of snacks, just as she had done the ethereal ball before, a slave to her social anxiety but even greater her sweet tooth.

for someone who always has her gaze downturned, bernadetta can identify an alarming number of people by just their feet alone. from slippers to boots to clicking high heels, though, it was not only the shoe but right down to the gait. the sway of a drunkard versus that of a dancer. bold steps overcompensating for drab soles. steps that left sand for who'd been to the beach. she notices all of those details and more. the tablecloth fluttered just a few inches shy from the ground, and through this small sliver of the ball she continues to watch. bernadetta gets her fill of it that way. she doesn't belong in that world enough to exist anywhere in it.

familiar white ribbons snag her attention while she's halfway through a sweet bun. without thinking much about it, bernadetta sticks her hand out from under the tablecloth and taps at the ankle.

"dorothea? do you need stealing yet? i've got a criminal record, so it's probably now or never." / @encantresse

*⚘ TELL CONFESS-A-BEAR NOW. NOW!

⠀ bernadetta & dorothea ⚘ ethereal ball 2025 ⠀

[hermidetta]

peach sorbet. off the warmer, her periphery gathers. bernadetta makes a face between anguish and revulsion, but maybe she can pretend to poke at it until the rest melts into soup. thanks, hubert.

"huh? o-oh. uh, princess bernie's crafting room." she clears her throat and forces herself to sit up, adjusting her little cape. "... the mysterious wheel they found was unmanned. princess bernie was nowhere in sight. but as the heroes stepped forward, the toes of their boots clattered against several items—scattered about, like shells across marble—and as the sound drew everyone's attention, their eyes would find obsidian husks, dark as night."

bernadetta stuffs a hand in her pocket and stirs through it for anything worth using as props. there's only one thing she finds. sure, what the hell. she fishes out a fistful of little turtles and casts them onto the sand in front of her.

"every time the dragon would molt, princess bernie pilfered a few scales in secret. she grew her collection, hoping she would someday find some use for the magical scales... but was it too late?" a sharp breath.

"—NOOOO!" and bernadetta plops flat on her back again, eyes reverting to their earlier haggardness. "the heroes received no answer but the wretched maiden's scream. for deeper into the chamber, which led to the cellar, princess bernie had already been bound to a chair. the dragon had begun the torturous process of making her its vessel."

she glugs down some more of her coconut water before mumbling: "um, next."

@hresvelged

[ ♫ ]  ─  * 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐞

toaball2025 mini | live from fauntleroy's house, it's SNL!

[hermidetta]

time spins back if only in that small moment. there, hand in hand, with no cares to count save house staff eyes. they go to the garden; they become children again. bernadetta scurries along with yuri, crouching and peeking behind them once they scout with her cheek pressed to their upper arm. bright, wide eyes peer up at their face, at the finger to their lips, and she keeps her grinning ones sealed tight until they say the coast is clear. she can always rely on them. she trusts them, always.

after the two slip indoors, she can't stop herself from giggling—a soft, giddy sound behind both sets of fingers. tonight she's capitalizing on her nefarious streak.  "what can i say? bernie's unstoppable!"  why, she may as well be the second smoothest criminal at the ball.

as for the first, well. bernadetta glances at yuri against the wall and answers her own question. she is seized by the instinct to reach up and fuss the hair out of their face; she almost does until they open an eye, catching her staring, wiping the silly smile off her face to give way to deer-like surprise. her head spins in the other direction, followed by a tiny clear of her throat.

"yeah, maybe, if it weren't saltwater! bleck..."  she thinks she'll be able to taste it for a week. wringing out their hair sounds like a good idea, though. bernadetta raises her arms to bunch hers when the faintest whiff of melted makeup gives her pause.

the makeup. there, in the dappled glow of lanterns and moonlight, she glimpses spots on her limbs where normal skin begins to fray into scar tissue. her face falls minutely, movements resuming with just a hint of lethargy. because they don't bother her, they're old news—it's just a sobering reminder that she can surround herself with all the flowers she wants, but she'll never be the same again.

bernadetta shakes off the thought and wrings out her cowlicks with a resolute huff.  "you know, i hate thinking about my hair. but it's times like these that i'm glad it's shorter. doesn't take long to dry, keeps people away..."  it won't be back to its full fluff for a while, but her fingers jostle through it. she tries and gives up on blowing all of the stray strands out of her eyes.

still, it doesn't stop them from twinkling again when they spot a plot of aquatic bladderworts.

"ooh!"  no, maybe she is not exactly the same as before—but what won't change is the warmth in her gaze, the excitement and adventure when she sees what she loves. heedless of the weather, of darker memories, of everything else, she skips to the plot and glances back to yuri.  "look, look—i like these a lot! oh, if only we had a marsh at the monastery... i'm sure they wouldn't miss one or two... heehee!"

·⠀❥　april showers, may flowers.

[hermidetta]

just like that. but it's less because she's alone and more because above all else, bernadetta absolutely cannot afford to get busted for her job gone wrong. though, for the guy she had really been targeting with that loaf, the rat king takes his botched assassination in far more stride than expected.

after all, that could have just as easily been him sprinting to a different type of throne two moons ago. maybe he's just that smug, or maybe he gets a sick kick out of living life on the edge. in every possible way, every combination of stars and every storybook spin on rat kings and princesses, this man could not be her real match. never.

he wasn't even her type. tall, confident, some 'king' of the underground who was also likely to live there, with a mark by his eye that she'd never forget, and probably a wanted criminal in at least two different countries?

yeah, right.

"e-embarrassment?!" bernadetta sputters in tow, easily dragged by the rat king's strength. "i'll have you know i'm just fine with being alone! love it! wouldn't trade it for the world!"

maybe she's laying it on just a smidge too thick.

"but as long as you don't snitch, we'll be even! square! settled!"  win-win, as he's said. she's heard that bad guys hate squealers, besides.

the princess, though, doesn't put two and two together as quickly as the king. finish the job? which one? either way, she blurts back to him—

"um. i am NOT doing that."  that was an entirely different degree of crime things. she hasn't graduated to that level of assassination yet, not to mention the rat king's muscles could snap her spine if she tried head-on, and fauntleroy is as innocent as any rich boy with an obscene amount of dough gets. even if silencing him would be reassuring.

"i'm cutting my losses and lying low! and—shh, shh, wait!"

it takes a slew of hurried hops from the mouse just to match his taller steps, sand kicking beneath her heels, and this was just the hungry wolf's easy saunter. she doesn't dare to imagine how fast he'd actually get on the prowl, on the hunt. there are grits and maybe bits of seashells in her soles that she'll have to shake out later, but bernadetta discards the discomfort along with the rest of her dignity as shore thins to cobble and they finally face the grand entrance.

bernadetta shushes mr. plus one with a finger to her lips, and were they not already in sight it probably wouldn't have been her index.

two guards man two wagons. one for weapons, the other for gifts. bernadetta had been cleared earlier; they either remembered her as an awkward accessory to a prominent seafoam couple, or the squawking freak who tripped and nearly choked on her own scarf. but then, that just left the unidentified rat king.

"hold! who's this?"  asks the taller of the guards.

to that, bernadetta makes a half-hearted sway of her wrist, which is clearly being held. because doesn't this guard know that's how dates walk with each other?

"oh! him? him. o-of course you mean him, heh-heh! he's... um..."

... ... ...

great saints and apostles, she doesn't even know his name. (another item on the laundry list of men who are not bernadetta's type.)

"him, yep. he's my..."  nudge, nudge. bernadetta's knee pointedly bumps the rat king's, and her royal nose scrunches at him. say something.

*⚘ don't rat me out

⠀ [ SPECIAL: RAT Y2 ] ⚘ ethereal ball 2025 ⠀