#I`m still alive hewo

[doli-nemae]

Feminine urge to make a pixel adventure game with my Sparrow in RPG Maker

I`m wondering if this is just another impulsive idea that will go away soon oR IS IT NOT

[ligiawrites]

Year 8:42

Hewo, players of LtGBtK! :3 I was feeling awful and wanted to change it around by writing something. SOO, here's a little scene to introduce you to Princess Melike Jal Yvanson, Mathias and Mandra's sister. I’m planning something special for her, that’s why I used the 2nd person here hehe. ;)

You'll see a little more of her in the new Extra Story I'm preparing for you. <3 I hope you have fun!

You can also see this post in my Ko-fi page, here!

YEAR 42: 8TH C. - 4 years before the beginning of the main story

You're in Safira again, and you can swear this place smells even worse than the first time you visited, back when Father was still alive. 

Before you stepped through Master Curio's portal in Opala, Curio warned you to be ready for the big changes in the city in the past decade. He told you about Lady Isobel, Prime Campesinata Eudiko, Commander Carlos, and all that had happened during the Mage Insurgence. He also made sure to repeat, again and again, that "the Triumvirate is now controlled by the Mages"--and thus, that you'd need to be "very careful since your mother sided with the Nobles, you see."

He could as well have used laymen's terms and called you "Liwike," as he used to do when you were five. But Master Curio often simplifies his speech when talking to you, so you're not so unused to it. He, your older siblings, and even your servants seem to think you are too young to understand the kingdom's political complexity. To them, you are too innocent and even a little doltish.

Most of all, they think you're harmless. Everyone does—everyone but them. Mother, or course, and that one Guard that found their way into your family.

Harmless. Right. You scoff when the word shows in your mind's eyes, thorny and laced with contempt.

Not that it isn't a welcome disguise, of course. Like the jewels you wear, the dresses you buy, and the mask you choose, they serve a purpose. A purpose that, despite your own tastes and passions, has nothing to do with the smell of burnt mana in this damned city filled with sordid dreams.

A purpose only Mathias's Guard suspects and only Mother knows about. 

Sharp, cunning, glorious Mother.

"My lady Ambassador," a man says, entering the room. He keeps his head low--one knee bent under his weight, his arms opened in a very traditional, Safiran greeting. "Lady Isobel is ready to see you."

"Why, thank you." You give him a sweet smile and bend your knees in a curtsey, lowering your body half as low as his. 

The man's eyes go wide.

"My Lady, please! It's uncouth of a princess to bow to a servant!"

You chuckle and shrug. Your words are echoed by Mother's voice in your memory. As she said you should, you clasp your hands behind your back and give him an even wider smile.

"Oops. You know how Opala is. Mother always says I was raised too close to my siblings and to our sweet, sweet Guard." Your fingers move slowly out of sight, weaving a web with the words you're saying. "It's appalling! There's no social etiquette in this Castle, my nanny used to say. Poor Nanny Oedka." You chuckle and see the web curling around the man's head; the ethereal, purple fabric covers his eyes and ears, leaving only his mouth free. “The only person in the Castle I like better than her was my brother’s Guard. Almost a sibling to me, I should think.”

The man smiles back as if remembering something. "Oh, of course! The Hatchling Knight! We've heard stories about them."

Success.

"Good stories, I hope?"

The man lowers his eyes. There's hesitance in his voice--Hesitance! even with your web!--when he says, "Not... not always, my Lady. Some in Safira are afraid. Some wonder what they'll grow to be. I heard the Prime Campesinata say maybe they'll be a sky dragon. Commander Carlos believes in a plane-eating horror. 

"And I don't think I can reveal what Lady Isobel said about The Guard and Crown Prince Mathias, My Lady Ambassador. It's too dark and too awful to be repeated, and it involves the old practices of the heinous druids of the South."

Your façade cracks. 

Your mouth dries, your nostrils flare, your heart races. Your fury is such, bile threatens to climb up your throat, boiling and churning your inwards in a way you’ve only felt few times before--all of them during Father’s reign. 

"Oh?" You swallow hard. Your vision clears, and you struggle to smile again. "Is that what they say about our sweet Guard? I can assure you they're nothing like that."

The web hardens and shatters like glass. The man's eyes widen; he pales while his legs give into his weight. He supports himself in the stone pillar at his side and slides down. Shaking.

"M-my... my Lady, I--" He clasps his hands on his lips. His eyes water.

You school your sneer and paint your expression with renewed sweetness. Once you crouch to level your eyes, you pat his head.

"You don't have to worry. We're friends now, and a friend would never tell on someone she appreciates, would she?" You prop your chin on your palm and chuckle. "Oh... no! Don't cry, please. My heart breaks when I see a man crying. Your secret is safe with me, I promise."

You see something glimmer in his eyes as he wipes his face on his sleeve. An immediate connection. The trace of affection you've come to recognize and take advantage of back home. 

You also see fear in there, but that only makes you like him better. He seems like a smart one.

You smile, and the man mirrors the gesture, if only a bit uncertain, after a few heartbeats. When you pat his head a second time, he leans into your touch like a thankful, very-good pet. 

There's so much relief in his expression, you almost feel sorry for him.

You sigh and help him up, holding his sweaty hands in your cold ones.

"I'm Lady Melike, and it's a pleasure to meet you, friend. What's your name?"