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Straight Laced, Chapter XI: To Be A Perfect Heroine…

Description: After the London’s Royal Ballet company’s prima ballerina goes missing within a string of mysterious disappearances among the ballet’s young ballerinas, you finally get your chance to debut in the leading role, taking on the position’s physical toil and immense social pressure. Although this role was supposed to be your grand jeté into the spotlight, it is quickly complicated when these disappearances catch the eye of Ciel Phantomhive — the Queen’s Guard Dog. He is a captious and shrewd man who also happens to be one of London’s most eligible bachelors.

For enough profit for you to secure your freedom for the first time, Lord Phantomhive double casts you as both his accomplice to solving these dancer disappearances and… his pretend lover. While debuting as London’s new prima ballerina, you must perfect a brand new routine: deceiving all of the nation’s polite society while actively searching for a serial killer — all while being an immigrant from France with a dancer’s reputation.

What could go wrong when you realize this off-stage performance of yours may not be an act at all?

Story Warnings: detailed description of gore, pain, and violence, detailed death, smut & explicit sexual scenes, allusions to non-consensual sex, objectification, prostitution, allusions to under-aged prostitution, smoking, drinking, eating disorder tendencies (food restriction, frequent references to wanting to maintain a certain weight, over-practicing & exercising), infidelity, fake courtship, swearing

EXTRA TW: MENTIONS OF suicide (just in terms of the Swan Lake storyline!) And again this is a reminder to read the general trigger warnings. This is a heavier chapter that hits MOST of those warnings and your safety and comfort comes before everything! Please don’t hesitate to reach out to me if you would like clarification about this chapter’s subject matter.

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! It’s been a long time coming for this chapter. I hope this one can finally answer some of the questions you’ve all been having…in more ways than one <3. I hope you find somewhere comfy to read this and get a snack because this baby is over 10,000 words. More than 18 pages, 11-sized font on my Google Docs. Some of these scenes I’ve had in my mind for 2 years!! Hope you love this one.

Happy Reading,

Dan

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MASTERLIST

November 11, 1895

The Royal Opera House’s Backstage, Your Dressing Room

Just as you warned the stubborn Earl, his insistence to speak with you made you late. If you wanted your makeup to be flawless for the final performance, you couldn’t stretch for your usual 30 minutes. And you did want your makeup to be flawless. It wasn’t an option, under Natasha’s leadership.

At least your pre-performance routine was just as ingrained into your subconscious as the show itself was. Every step you took to ready yourself helped you submerge deeper into Odette, a desperate attempt to comprehend the last two days of your turbulent life. Starting with your stage makeup, you spread rosewater across your face to rid it of debris. Natasha used to handle this routine for you, but Ciel asked you to start taking care of your own makeup, purchased by him. It was a precaution he insisted upon, given that Amelié died from a poison that invaded through the skin.

You made careful eye contact with your reflection in your vanity mirror, noting your bitten lips and tired eyes. You sighed, eyes darting to the clip of stationary attached to the corner of the glass. Ciel’s home number was still adhered there, the Earl adamantly refusing to remove it in the event of an emergency.

You pressed your face into a towel, drying it. The familiar smell of rosewater alerted your senses; awaiting the stage was like electricity crackling through your veins, despite your melancholy. Still, your mind was rightfully conflicted, overdrawn.

William Wood was not the killer you had been chasing all this time. Ciel suspected that Natasha was. Gwen had apparently lied to you to harm your relationship. But even still, Ciel once warned you that he was a liar. A manipulator who tended to work people like the game pieces his company manufactured. Only the best were so difficult to decode:

“I care about you more than you know, Y/n.” Ciel always sounded so at ease, so sure. You felt that he always had a perfect arrangement of words sitting on the tip of his tongue, to falsely promise, to serenade. To lie.

“You do not,” you had insisted, ignoring the earnestness in his sapphire eye. It couldn’t be real. You felt a flare of stubbornness in your chest, urging you to shove him away.

“I do.” He refused to blink. Adamant in spite of the weight that his accusation had.

Natasha Wood was one of the only people in your life that believed in you. He didn’t know her like you did.

Before Natasha, you had your mother… Until she died about four years into your studies at the Paris Opera School of Dance. You were nine years old. On top of your enrollment, she couldn’t afford the medication that the doctor’s prescribed for her cough. It had only grown more severe week by week, until she was coughing up blood and her lips tinged with blue. Your father only gave your mother so much money to encourage her to keep their rendezvous— and you, of course —a secret.

“Waste this money on my end of life care? When my shining star of a daughter has her whole life ahead of her? I will not do it,” your mother always insisted. You remembered how her cold hand felt against yours, it was iron, despite being clammy with oncoming death.

After she died, the dance school allowed you to continue studying there, your talent promising enough to be worth fostering. By the time you were fifteen (or fourteen, was it?) you were old enough to make the school a profit through its dance foyer to make up for your free education.

You’d never forget the final rasp of her breath.

Following the curve of your cheekbones, you highlighted your face with a soft shade of pink. The spotlight tended to wash out ballerina’s features. Now, you stared back at Odette, the White Swan. Y/n Y/l/n was the star hidden beneath, but no matter how seasoned a prima ballerina you were, not even you could shove the complete extent of your worries far beneath your costume.

You remembered the shock that pounded at your chest when Violet told you about William quite well, how most of her allegations were true. You thought you knew the owner of the opera house. Could you have been so misdirected by your mentor, too?

Until the second Ciel stopped you from entering the carriage, you had a practiced apology for Natasha waiting on your lips. You were supposed to be so sorry for not telling her about her husband’s infidelity and crimes, for your means of investigating her husband being so intimate. For imprisoning him without her knowledge.

Now? You felt as if you were prosecuting your older sister. Her every word, her every glance. Once it was in search of approval, now, it was for…bloodlust? You couldn’t see it. Natasha could hardly walk without assistance—how could she kill anyone?

Why would she hurt anyone? What motivation would Natasha have? Killing her own cast members? For her husband’s violence against them? It was unfathomable. No version of an explanation would stop bile from creeping its way up your throat–each new explanation that came to your mind was only more vile than the last.

Though, you had to ponder: why would Ciel make such a claim if he was not sure? Your mutual need to solve the case was one of the first feelings you had in common. You should have put aside your pride and joined Ciel to interrogate William, or at the very least, listened to the Earl’s concerns. He had something he needed to tell you, but you simply wouldn’t hear it, too occupied with your own hurt.

It was too late for regret, you supposed. You could only meet him after the show and hope for the best.

Mechanically, you rolled your performance tights up your legs, carefully inspecting them for pulls or tears in your body-length mirror. Satisfied, you slid on your ivory pointe shoes, ensuring they were straight laced and spotless, free of grime. Lastly, you stepped into one of your Odette tutus, this corset flaring into a feathered shirt with gold detailing lining the neckline and bodice. It only felt right to wear for your last Swan Lake performance— it was the first iteration of the costume you wore after inheriting the role from Janet.

Janet’s lifeless face flashed in your mind, painting over that fond opening night memory with a new coat of guilt. The young woman had been a beautiful dancer, and a nice person who provided for her family. And her sick mother’s prescription, you made yourself flinch, dry mouth relieved when you took a drink of Sauternes. You poured yourself half a glass, the previously unopened wine bottle a precaution you tucked in the back or your wardrobe for emergencies. If this evening didn’t qualify itself as an emergency, you weren’t sure what would have.

Perfectly on time, your dressing room door flew open, never following a knock. Approximately 30 minutes before the curtain ascended, Natasha always made sure to lace your bodice for you, always finding fault when another cast member did so. The director pushed the door open with the bottom of her cane, her cool seagreen eyes scanning your makeup, dragging down your figure.

Looking for notes to make, you noticed.

“It is good to see you, Y/n,” Natasha said, her expression unchanging from stormy indifference. You couldn’t place when the director had lost her supportive smile, the warm, yet authoritative way she would request for more—for better—and when a frigid insistence stiffened that inspiring patience. When did fear settle in your stomach instead of admiration? “I was worried about attendance today, after Maisie. Quite a tragedy—she was talented.”

The apology you practiced died on your lips, killed by your surprise and uncertainty. Until now, Natasha never addressed any company losses— she attributed them as disappearances from a ballerina being unable to handle the pressures of the industry. You had assumed she didn’t know better because the press was restricted from covering the mysterious company deaths, the Queen fearing public panic, according to Ciel’s acquaintance in the press. After Maisie Stannard died near the steps of the British Museum’s gala, the press had no choice but to cover the incident.

Therefore, Natasha had no choice but to address it with her employees. It was a loss to the company, now well-known by the rest of the country.

That being said, she certainly wouldn’t reveal that William was currently pacing the confines of a holding cell. All the public knew was that Maisie Stannard was killed—no one knew of any of the other company deaths. William’s arrest was only knowledge of Ciel’s (and his accomplices, of course), the State, and Natasha’s. You couldn’t imagine what the director told the rest of the company in order to explain William’s prolonged, sudden absence—especially after he’d only been back from France for about a week prior to you and Ciel arresting him.

Ciel suspected Natasha of shooting Maisie. Of poisoning Amelié, forcing Janet off of the Tower Bridge–you didn’t even know the gruesome details from Eliza’s body, when they found it. Your guilt for suspecting the currently lacing your feathered corset in her usual meticulous way was so consuming, you forced yourself to think of Violet’s distressed cries to remind yourself of who you were being cautious for. You had to solve this for the victims, their loved ones, preventing any more murders. You had to justify yourself—it was a serial killer investigation, after all.

You would have to touch base with Ciel.

“I cannot imagine who could have done this to her,” you mumbled evasively, finishing off your wine glass with a flourish. You welcomed the selection’s competing tastes of acid and sweet butterscotch, and tried not to lament over the untouched cigar in your drawer. The smoke would have done better to soothe your nerves, but arriving late had limited you.

“A young, beautiful woman, a ballerina who was married to a successful man,” Natasha mused purposefully, “you would be surprised, Y/n. Ugliness lurks everywhere and there are always sacrifices to be made. As Odette, should you not know that? The perfect heroine always does.”

Ugliness lurks everywhere and there are always sacrifices to be made. You were unsure of what to make of Natasha’s words.

Ciel once told you that you needed to make your target speak in an investigation. They already had their agenda—evading you—and sometimes, what they refused to say was more telling than what they did.

Natasha had to be aware of your role in her husband’s arrest; that to some degree, you were an accessory to the Queen’s Guard Dog’s investigation. She was gauging you— whether or not that was in defense of her crimes, as Ciel would have suspected, or looking to get a sense of what Ciel made of Maisie’s death. After all, they’d arrested William, in part, because they believed he was the killer. Was she attempting to learn if they had their suspicions turned elsewhere? If she was their suspect, she would want to know if her cover was still intact.

You needed to control yourself, put on the facade of a sad, yet trusting employee. Blissfully unaware and shallow—the purse dog of a wealthy Earl. Limited, materialistic, uncaring. Almost as if you were reprising the woman you were prior to starting this investigation. In your own way, you could be the perfect heroine.

“I do, of course,” you answered, double-checking the measured bow that Natasha pulled the lace into, each cross section between the eyelets matching perfectly. The director was nothing if not precise, now turning to fasten your headpiece’s clips into your hair, already twisted into a braided ballerina bun. “Odette is too trusting, putting her future in the whims of a man who only just met her,” you admitted, the words making you feel like a hypocrite.

“Speaking on the subject—unexpected ugliness—I want to apologize. I heard about Mr. Wood’s —” you started, deciding that the smartest way to protect yourself from Natasha’s probing was to behave exactly as you had initially planned to. Apologizing would convey the submissive guilt the director would have expected from you. In doing so, you would assure her that there was nothing amiss between you, shielding the fact that Ciel had cautioned you in the first place.

“Twenty minutes to Act One, I expect my company members to be focused on the show. Especially my principal dancer,” Natasha’s piercing eyes flashed, her words dipped in ice, no matter how she tried to inject warmth back into her face. She looked older than she did three months ago, her worry lines more prominent in her fair skin. Exhaustion showed itself in deep bags beneath her impatient stare.

“The Sugar Plum Fairy has the highest jumps, the widest turns. She is the embodiment of grace and poise. I would much prefer you to be spending your spare time on a barre rehearsing instead of surveying my personal affairs. You will be able to continue being my prima ballerina, yes?” She pulled her lips into a wry smile, an expression that was close to pity.

You didn’t expect Natasha to engage with you about her husband’s arrest, but you wanted to watch her. Decode how she decided to evade you, seeing that she didn’t so much as let the words escape your mouth.

Not to mention, you weren’t surprised that Natasha chose to demean your talent. She knew your dedication to managing her opinion of you well, having fostered your need to please alongside the rest of the company’s. All of this to say: Natasha chose to turn the focus of the conversation back to you, denying your disguised request to discuss William.

“Yes,” you repeated, forcing your gaze to fall downcast and self-consciously hesitate to return to meet her eyes. “I do appreciate this opportunity, Natasha,” you added pathetically, watching the director’s warm authoritarianism resettle in her face confidently, reinforced by your obsequious behavior. Her thin lips managed a smile. You had reassured her, and that in of itself, worried you. It proved she was hiding something. “You won’t hear anything more of it from me.”

“Focus is a crucial asset for ballerinas,” Nastasha assured you too brightly given her stormy entrance. She gestured to her cane with her chin—it leaned on your vanity behind you, since she needed both hands to tie your costume and affix your headpiece. You obediently handed the medical accessory to her, more than familiar with the director’s gestures.

“Remember to stop by Polly’s office after tonight’s performance. She wishes to triple check your measurements for a spare Sugar Plum costume. We were hoping to have these appointments finished after practice yesterday evening, but with you here now, I would like it complete,” Natasha said, plucking a stray hair of yours off your shoulder and letting it fall to the floor.

“Of course. I will see her immediately after the performance,” you answered simply, biting back your frustration at her dig. Natasha was subliminally critiquing your decreased amount of time at the opera house. Before Ciel roped you into his investigation, you spent most of your time in the opera house’s studio, fiercely guarding your promotion by rehearsing as much as you could manage. Now, you attended your mandatory rehearsals and classes, but nothing more. Instead, you opted to rehearse in the safety of the dance studio Ciel had Sebastian create for you.

“Do give tonight everything you have, Y/n,” Natasha pressed her weight back into her cane, giving you a final once over before she opened your door, preparing to leave. Each night, Natasha helped you with the finishing details of your costume and circulated through the rest of the company to solve any last-minute issues. “The end of this run also sets the tone for the beginning of Nutcracker season.”

“I will never give a performance that I cannot be proud of,” you replied truthfully, painting on an Odile-inspired devil-may-care smile for Natasha. “Allow me to remind you why you chose me for this role.”

“You know what I like to hear,” she answered, casting a wink at you from over her shoulder. She opened her mouth to speak again, but before she could, Antoine, the dancer performing as Prince Seigfried, interjected with a clear question on his face. Knowing better than to wait for Natasha, you showed yourself to the backstage wings.

In the chaos that took place backstage, you always focused on the excited chatter of the audience and the pre-performance orchestral music from the other side of the curtain to fuel your adrenaline. You could feel their energy, it radiated in waves. For the next three hours, you were Odette, Queen of the Swans, and Odile, the deceptive daughter of sorcerer Von Rothbart.

You could meet their hardships with the same honesty and emotion you faced your own, and step off the stage to put a real end to this investigation.

That was what set you apart as a professional.

Two Hours Later

The Royal Opera House’s Main Stage

This was the final scene of the show. The Lakeside, Odette’s last stand.

You were poised in the air, the music growing severe as Von Rothbart carried you, pulling Odette out of Prince Siegfried’s protective arms. Until this second, your characters had been entangled with one another, dancing intimately in forgiveness. The music had been soft, portraying a delicate, damaged love slowly on the mend as Siegfried pleaded with Odette, guilty of falling for Odile’s ruse at the ball.

Now, the dark stage flickered, illusions creating the look of lightning and crashing drums replicated rolling thunder.

You entered this scene with a heavy premonition in the pit of your stomach, and you allowed yourself to wear that alarm on your face like an accessory to better portray the story. You were just as distressed as your character, the innocent White Swan. Moments ago, she returned to the lake, heartbroken because Prince Siegfried professed his love to the wrong woman. He had been fooled, but the curse still forced Odette back into her swan form, leaving her to mourn her humanity with the rest of the cursed swans. In spite of her forgiveness, the damage had already been done.

The curse may never be lifted. They could never successfully be in love. It could never be—a sentiment that was familiar to you. Even so, it stung like a fresh wound, never seeming to dull night by night.

The lovers shared a brief dance, only to be torn apart by the sorcerer. Now, the prince reached, his fingers only managing to graze hers longingly. Your eyes followed the missed touch, your head jerking upwards as if you were further panicked by the failed attempt.

Now you were caught between both dancers, each hand held by opposite forces. Love and death, Prince Siegfried and Von Rothbart. At this point in the performance, Odette was dancing on the line between her life and death, breaking the curse and succeeding through love or not breaking the curse and succeeding through death.

Ugliness lurks everywhere and there are always sacrifices to be made, you couldn’t keep yourself from thinking over your old mentor’s words. You always thought of Natasha when you danced.

The woman was everything you wanted to be: a self-starter in spite of her immigrant status, a brilliant talent, thoughtful, confident. She had landed a marriage that had appeared loving and fair, and she was still a dancer, in spirit.

The foreboding melancholy settling on your shoulders, your Odette was more skittish than she normally was. She was rather unsteady as the two men guided and pulled her every which way, one trying to hold, one trying to capture. You allowed yourself to feel weightless: it was the best means for Odette’s dancing to look just as induced upon her as it was in the moment. You even allowed your head to fall lazily in line with your neck with every turn, constructing the facade of a woman succumbing to her curse, tired of begging for a way out of the cursed life that held her hostage.

For a moment, you let the tension leave your body, draping lifelessly over Von Rothbart’s supporting clutches. The sorcerer had successfully pulled the White Swan out of her prince’s hand. Odette was exerted within her life. She knew that her curse was permanent, and yet, she craved her self-determination. Her right to love. The right to live as she wanted to, everlastingly.

The perfect heroine? Were there truly always sacrifices to be made? You wondered, flicking your wrists and positioning your fingers as your Odette confidently broke free from the sorcerer’s grip and stepped up the short stairway. Without another second, she threw herself into the lake. The orchestra played dynamically, the swell of music portraying the death of Von Rothbart, the antagonist collapsing and dying from Odette’s sacrifice.

Their deaths left the prince to follow Odette, preferring to die and reunite with her in spirit rather than live without her. The cast of swans—the rest of the company—remained on stage, watching in equal parts awe and horror. Both you and Antoine, the prince’s dancer, jumped into a stage opening that the stagehands kept lined with mattresses to make the short fall as safe as it could be as the group had a final intricate dance number. You realized that this would be your last time getting back to your feet after making that show-stopping jump.

Now, you were made of energy as the both of you ran back behind stage to the wings to make your final entrance for the season. You could never see the audience under the blinding stage lights, but you could always feel it. The opera house always held its breath, the silences between Tchaikovsky’s masterful creations were always punctuated with quiet sniffles from the audience.

Swan Lake was a tragic love story, after all. You would know—you felt well-acquainted with the idea of tragic love. Falling head over pointe for a stone cold, callous Earl without ever meaning to. In fact, while trying not to in the midst of a murder investigation. The very investigation that you felt you were on the precipice of closing.

Would your story end like Odette’s? you wondered. A young woman making her final stand in the face of heartbreak.

You supposed, this performance was nothing more than a storyline. A fable. Nothing to build silly premonitions over, in spite of the danger of your situation.

After your music cue, the spirits of Odette and Prince Siegfried stepped back out onto the lit stage, hand in hand. You shared one last jeté, jumping across the stage in perfect sync, before the audience to show that their plan had succeeded, ending the show in each other’s embrace in the afterlife.

To signify the official end of the story, the stage lights faded out to allow the company to arrange itself for final bows alongside another passionate swell of Swan Lake’s theme from the orchestra. You and Antoine remained still until the stage was completely black, unwilling to ruin the intimacy your characters created for the audience. Lovers who couldn’t bear to be without one another.

Only when the lights flickered back on, the both of you faced the audience to accept their cheering with gracious smiles, wiping away the bittersweet beauty your characters evoked. The rest of the company quickly filed in around you, mechanically dropping into a curtsy on the same note. The minor characters took turns bowing next, including Wolfgang, the prince’s tutor; the Queen Mother, and the four little swans. In order of prevalence, the main characters swept into bows.

Following Von Rothbart and Prince Siegfried, you took five measured steps in front of the rest of the cast and swept yourself into a deep curtsy. The spotlight burned your skin, the hair pins that kept your headpiece fastened dug into your scalp, and your feet throbbed in your pointe shoes. Sweat rolled down your neck and your lungs felt as if there was fire in them, given how hard your chest heaved, but you were elated, nonetheless. A cheering audience was nothing short of a drug. All of these people were here to see you and your company dance. It was an honor, almost enough for you to ignore the disappointed sting in your heart that Ciel would never see you perform in these roles.

Still, stared into the crowd, beaming. You survived. Only now, another confrontation awaited you. One much more dangerous than a bit of acting.

You never thought you would find yourself cutting off a standing ovation on a closing night of a show. This moment, hearing the appreciation and wonderment you gave to legions of people was supposed to be one of the most euphoric parts of your career. Knowing that the hours of labor, exhaustion, and hunger could culminate into a moment this fulfilling. You had just closed a run of Swan Lake as London’s foremost company’s only principal dancer—by all definitions of the word, you were at your prime as a dancer.

But that didn’t matter to you as much, not at this moment. Instead, you righted yourself from your curtsy, blew the faceless audience a kiss, and exited the stage.

You had an investigation to solve, at last. This fitting would be the last step, you were as certain as Odette, though you hoped your ending might be more merciful.

In your haste, you didn’t bother to stop by your dressing room—there was no need.

Polly would have to make her rounds to collect all Swan Lake costumes, anyway, and by going to her office in this ensemble, you saved her the trouble of looking for one of your corsets. Besides, the last you wanted was Natasha in your dressing room to help you unlace it and there was no reason to waste time walking to the other side of the backstage wing. Especially since there was no possibility of Ciel arriving at the ballet tonight.

Entering Polly’s office helped settle your jumbled nerves, at least for a moment. The space never changed; the aging woman was extremely particular with where she kept all of her tools and materials. Each one had its own exact space in her workstation, and nothing was ever a centimeter out of place. As always, the costuming director’s frail shoulders were hunched as she counted silently to herself, measuring a piece of scarlett fabric. She counted to herself, meticulous eyes narrowing before she cut the piece off the rest of the fabric roll with sharp scissors.

“Hello, Miss Y/n,” she greeted you warmly. Her back was to you, but she always knew her visitor before she turned. “Are you well?”

Without this woman, there would simply be no ballet. In two weeks, she had five variations of Odette and Odile costumes for you each, all perfectly tailored to your dimensions. You imagined that the woman could give Sebastian a challenge in terms of clothing creation and tailoring—she was an institution at this ballet. Typically, no one could manage a lie past her.

You couldn’t settle on how to respond, the silence causing her to turn, standing from her short seat. Polly was short enough to have you looking down at her, somewhat.

“How are you?” you tried for a weary smile, knowing it was thin and unconvincing.

“You look like Natasha, when she was your age,” the woman commented, eying you skeptically. She gestured towards her full-length tri-mirror, and you obeyed, knowing the routine for confirming your wardrobe measurements well. You had to strip from your costume, and Polly took careful measurements of your body, well aware that these corsets had to forcefully enforce a ballerina’s trained body.

You felt yourself redden, uncomfortable with the comment. Until now, Natasha was all you wanted to be.

“All lovesick, is all I mean. Don’t you think William put her through it too? All men do it,” Polly said sagely, helping you unlace the tight knots Natasha twisted your corset into. “Especially with beautiful women like you, who haven’t lived here very long,” she chided, hanging the corset on a wire hanger for you.

“Lovesick?” Your mouth felt dry. Of course you were. You were just as confused about your feelings towards Ciel Phantomhive as you were about your thoughts on the true killer. It might’ve been Natasha. There was a chance, and the thought of such a reality took the air out of your lungs. “I am not,” you tried for another smile, laughing weakly. You always smiled. You always laughed. It was supposed to work.

But with Polly, it didn’t. Your weak smile flickered off, unencouraged by the costume director. Of course—she worked there longer than Natasha did. 18 years, you once heard. 18 years of handling fittings like these for stars on the rise, stars about to implode. Stars in the process of doing just that, leaving disappointment and heartbreak in their wake. An ache for what could have been. You suspected that without Polly’s comforting nature, the company would lose ballerinas much more often due to Natasha’s unfailingly brutal honesty.

In response to Polly’s raised, skeptical eyebrows and set line her mouth fell in, you sighed. Still, her eyes sparkled as if she was amused by something in you. That look made you think of Ciel.

You unfastented your head piece self consciously, “I think it may be Natasha, actually,” you ventured, using one of Ciel’s tactics, at the thought of him. “Share an insecurity, it will create a false sense of intimacy, and they might overspeak. People who feel comfortable with you are more likely to make a mistake.”

“I feel concerned about her,” you made a show of admitting, like you were guilty of mentioning her.

Polly also allowed you to undo your pointe shoes, giving you a spare pair of soft socks for your bare feet. They ached, as they always did after performances—sometimes they throbbed in protest to carrying your weight. At least the clean, soft material was more welcoming than the wood of Polly’s step riser would have been. You stepped up, only clad in your undergarments, but you didn’t mind with Polly.

“I thought she was certainly…spread too thin, but I thought she’s been quite well lately,” Polly answered ponderously. She wrapped her small measuring tape around your waist, pulling it in to match its perimeter. You tried not to think about what you ate that day—there were many more important concerns at stake. Polly knew Natasha better than anyone else, perhaps she knew something you did not. “She wanted me to keep this between her and myself, but I think that more of us oughta know the good news: she started massage and manipulation therapy for her hip.”

Massage and manipulation therapy? That was a practice where doctors had injured individuals strategically stretch and work their healed limbs after a long injury put them out of use. Only, you didn’t know Natasha’s injury was healed enough to qualify her for it—you were under the impression that the director could hardly stand without her cane, much less withstand massage and manipulation therapy. Her mobility was supposed to be almost entirely extinct.

“What use would Natasha have for therapy? I believe she cannot walk or stand without help,” you mused.

“Oh, no, dear,” Polly shook her head, writing your waist measurement on a notebook. She put the pad of paper back down before you could catch the number she wrote down. “She can walk and stand without a cane, and that is all. No running, no dancing, none of that, after what happened. The cane only helps her manage. Now she’s going three times a week to rebuild strength, she told me.”

“What exactly happened? Do you know?” You risked the question, your intuition begging you to press forward. You felt your palms grow sweaty with anticipation. This was what you were missing, you were convinced. One of your biggest uncertainties regarding Ciel’s theory was: how could Natasha manage to kill all of these people without being caught on top of mobility challenges? You tried not to seem too desperate to know, scanning over your curious expression in the length mirror. Polly was measuring the widest point of your hips.

“I tell you this as a warning, only. As something to learn from,” Polly insisted, meeting your eyes in the mirror. You gave her a resolute nod, taking an uneasy breath in. Natasha rarely spoke about her injury, its exact name, the incident that caused it. You assumed she considered it to be a weakness—a failure of hers.

“It was a complex hip labral tear. From over practicing,” Polly told you, noting down your measurement. She continued to repeat the process for the rest of your body. “She was the principal dancer in Sleeping Beauty, recently married to Will. Here all night, all day, few breaks. She was scared, I think, to lose the life she found,” she recalled, painting a fond picture of a dancer not unlike you. Hungry for her spotlight. A moment of appreciation. Wanting to love and be loved by everyone and more.

“But she wouldn’t hear anything about stopping—even after the doctors told her to take the rest of the Sleeping Beauty season on break. She refused,” Polly said, shaking her head. “And then, she tore her hip, ruining her range of motion. They told her if she tried to do anything more than walk, the damage could leave her in a wheelchair.”

A wheelchair. Your blood ran cold, chastened. Natasha was less than five years older than you; not even 30 years old yet. Technically, she would have had half a dozen more years as a ballerina, if she had been more careful.

Still, Natasha’s injury came in her prime. You couldn’t imagine the pain of being in the midst of your breakout role, only to have to stop for an unknown period of time. The thought of having to willingly surrender the euphoria of curtsying to a cheering crowd made your chest hurt. Natasha probably felt as if her life was ending. Dancing was the only part of your life that kept you alive, at least.

“But now, I suppose, she’s rested long enough to start getting help again. And as long as it’s helping her, I don’t mind holding down the costuming fort, so to speak,” Polly chuckled, wrapping her measuring tape around your shoulders. She always liked to ramble when she worked, and you didn’t expect it to work in your favor. You couldn’t believe you didn’t think to speak with Polly sooner.

“And she has three appointments in a week?” You asked, swallowing in spite of your dry mouth and throat. You thought of the calendar you saw at the Yard’s headquarters with Sebastian and Ciel. Where you noticed a pattern. The very pattern that you and Ciel had believed to implicate William.

Thursdays, Fridays, and Sundays. All days where the full cast and crew were at the most occupied with full-Nutcracker rehearsals. These were supposed to be nights where Natasha stayed at the Opera House late to handle costume construction with Polly, influencing every step from the sketches to the final clothing ensemble. Nothing went on The Royal Opera House’s stage without her approval, making her take the time to stay late so frequently.

Unless she wasn’t truly with Polly. William would otherwise have no way of knowing where his wife was if she wasn’t at home—he wouldn’t care to verify where she was, so long as he was confident she wouldn’t be looking for him. The only person in the Opera House after hours was Polly, making only her word Natasha’s alibi.

“Yes! He seems like a smart man, Doctor Wallace. She started seeing him in August,” Polly answered, blissfully unaware.

Unless she was truly pursuing physical therapy— which you doubted this timing — she successfully convinced Polly to maintain this lie for her. Telling the whole company that Natasha was assisting her these nights when she was either on a futile mission to restore her leg or killing her employees.

“So she has not stayed late with you since August?” You could have sworn your heart stopped, in that moment.

“She usually stops in one night a week, at some point. But otherwise, it’s just me. And that’s alright with me, dear, I promise,” Polly misinterpreted your indignation as frustration on her behalf. “More hours is more pay,” she gave you another laugh and wrote down another measurement, blind to your distress.

You felt Natasha’s lies crash down upon another like a house of cards. You gasped, feeling your heartbeat raise in alarm. The world seemed to stall for a moment, hesitating alongside you as your chest tightened with just as much rage as it did surprise. You could’ve sworn your reflection in the three-way mirror was shades lighter in panic.

“Polly, I need to leave,” you said urgently. Still in your undergarments, you pulled a robe off of a hook in the wall, tying it around your waist as you walked. You ignored the costuming director’s protests, her asking if everything was alright. You couldn’t falsely assure her. Not when you felt the sky falling down.

“I have something I need to do now. We can finish another time,” you could hardly recognize your serious tone, it was non-negotiable and about the angriest you’ve heard yourself. Tears brimmed your eyes.

You had to finish this. You couldn’t leave her office without finishing this. No one else was going to die in the hands of this woman.

In fact, you hadn’t thought through your destination until you found your knuckles rapping intently against Natasha’s office door, only several doors down from Polly’s. Technically, the space was William’s office, but he rarely used the space, causing Natasha to commandeer it for her own purposes. You were pleased she did—it wasn’t close to your dressing room, making the private space even more of an oasis free from criticism.

“Natasha! I need you. This is Y/n,” you said, knowing the director was there. She never remained in the foyer long. After she finalized patrons’ payment and ensured that each one was satisfied, she retreated into her office to analyze that performance’s sales revenue. She would stay until she finished adding those numbers to the opera house’s monthly financial records.

“You can—” she started from the other side of the door, but you were wiping your eyes, twisting the knob, and entering before she finished giving you permission. Startled, the director regarded you with irritation hardening her angular features. “Come in… You know to knock, please,” she reminded you, intentionally finishing the statement you interrupted. “Now what might I do for you?”

Being face to face with Natasha made the encounter feel all the more petrified. You felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. It was almost as if you forgot how to put your incensed words into English. You had so many accusations, so many questions to aim at the woman, you couldn’t decide where to start.

“I only… wanted to thank you. Again. For this opportunity,” you said, starting off the safest way you could think of, yet probe her as subtly as you could dare. “I would not be at this point in my career without you.”

Natasha tilted her head, setting her fountain pen down on her desk. You watched her wrestle with her response: acknowledging your gratitude, subtly poisoning your confidence regarding your career, wanting to gauge if you were investigating her, despite your efforts before the show. Of course. She had to be careful around Ciel Phantomhive’s partner.

“Y/n, you have to remember that you find yourself opportunities. Life is not kind to those who wait for opportunity. That is especially important for you to remember with Lord Phantomhive at your side, now. Never allow yourself to rely on anyone,” Natasha said, fulfilling your prediction and criticizing you. How did it take you so long to notice this pattern in your director?

“These rich men...they are never forever,” she snorted bitterly, taking an uncharacteristic drink out of a wine glass. You never saw Natasha drink. “They use you. And lie,” she continued, hesitating before fixing her posture and rising from her office chair. Natasha picked up her cane and used it to help support her as she walked to her cabinet and picked an open bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.

“Though we should commemorate the end of this season,” Natasha told you with a new degree of stiff friendliness in her voice. She poured some of the dark wine into a clean wineglass for you, offering the drink to you. “You worked hard to make yourself worthy of Odette and Odile. On top of this drama that Phantomhive dragged you into,” she said his name like a curse.

“I appreciate that, Natasha,” You accepted the glass, but you didn’t take a drink, wary of the wine’s contents. “I did work tirelessly, and–”

“And you do handle the scrutiny well,” your director continued, interrupting you. “Better than I ever did.” She only could have been referencing the disdain she faced for marrying William Wood, though he wasn’t a noble like Ciel, he was from an incredibly wealthy family. You doubted British elite society would ever treat a foreign ballerina kindly, much less five years ago.

You were silent, unsure of what to say. In just minutes, Natasha managed to gain control of the conversation, grabbling the upperhand from you. It was effortless for her. The woman was the very picture of composure. You couldn’t help but wonder if she considered herself to be the perfect heroine from her own description.

Was Natasha manipulating you now, too?

“I try my best to ignore them. They do not and will never know me, so I should not concern myself over what they believe,” you replied noncommittally, forcing yourself not to break eye contact with your director. The air was tense. You felt as if she could see straight through you, and right into the real reason you were there.

Natasha hummed begrudgingly, “it is big of you to know that, and so young. Not too long ago, I would have done anything to live your life.” Her smile unsettled you, and at this point, you trusted yourself more than you did her.

“Why don’t we toast?” the director asked, picking up her glass in one hand and again, using her cane to help her walk to you. “To your career. Your partner. Your success.”

“Fine,” you agreed hesitantly, tapping your wineglass against hers. You watched Natsha take a short sip of wine, but you couldn’t force yourself to do the same. There was no way for you to know it was safe.

Naturally, Natasha had been monitoring your hesitation, her smile—which started out thin enough for you to feel suspicious—wavered. “Is there something wrong?”

Your eyes darted to the office door behind you. Suddenly, you deeply regretted your impulsivity. You might have been out of your depth, confronting her without a plan or any support. This was what Ciel had feared when you were arguing with him about your plan to trap William: a situation where you were in danger with no easy way out.

“No! No, of course not,” you said unconvincingly, painfully aware of the symptoms of a long day beginning to encroach on you, as well. Your feet still throbbed, despite being in Polly’s soft socks, made specifically for aching feet. Your eyelids were heavy which was no surprise, since you hadn’t had proper sleep in days. Especially not last night— how could you have slept after Maisie? “I simply…do not feel much like drinking.”

“You? Not wanting a drink?” Natasha replied incredulously. “Come on. Have a toast with me. Why are you being so uptight with me, now? You do trust me, don’t you? I am your director,” Her long nails tapped on her glass, her face molding into hurt.

It was one sip. What was one sip? The wine bottle was already open—it seemed to be the only open selection in the cabinet. How would she only poison yours?

You paused, realization dawning on you. She was manipulating you.

You wondered if Natasha guided you into that line of thinking as she so often did, pointing out when a corset appeared tight on you to motivate you to eat less, asking you when the last time you considered cutting your hair was to inspire you to cut it. Telling you to enjoy Ciel as a subscriber as if sex work was your choice. All you ever wanted to do was dance.

“Are you the one killing us, Natasha?” The question slipped out between your lips before you could stop it. Tears welled in your eyes, and you couldn’t keep the tremor out of your voice. You stared down at the wine in your hand, a tear streamed down your cheek and made a ripple in the blood-red liquor. Your face felt hot.

“What are you asking me?” Natasha’s questioning laugh was hollow. She finished off her drink and left the empty glass on the desk. She was being clear: this was your last opportunity to drop the question.

“Did you kill the missing ballerinas? I mean they’re dying in other companies too, but m-mostly…this one,” forming words felt impossible. You didn’t know how you were controlling your tone so well.

She laughed again, tones of disbelief making the sound sound rough and condescending. Her eyes were ablaze with rage and disbelief. “After everything I’ve done for you, you accuse me of murder?” Her knuckles were white, fingers tight around both the cane and the glass in her hand. “I have half a mind to kick you out of my company right now for this insult!”

This was the only way, you braced yourself. You thought of the victims you were avenging, not of the danger that stood in front of you. And if you died, you were fairly certain Natasha had no way to evade the consequences. There was a backstage full of company members. You trapped her.

Still, you need to commit to guiding her rage. Natasha was too logical for a mistake. Her emotions needed to overtake her.

“I’m not sure why I just asked that, I’m so sorry,” you lied, “we can just forget about this,” you suggested, backing up towards the door. Your hand reached from behind you to blindly search for the doorknob, only for Natasha to put all of her effort in swinging her cane in the slim space between your fingertips and the doorknob.

You scrambled away from the swing—and from the doorknob, unfortunately. In your fumbling, you dropped your wineglass on the floor. The glass shattered on the floor, its contents spilling in a burgundy pool around the fragments. Only in socks, you stumbled on the spilled liquid, making it easy for the director to usher you away from the door. You struggled to stand back up, feeling the full impacts of your performance and the miserable way you treated your body, compiling and attacking you with just as much vengeance as your director did.

You were decently certain that all you had to eat that day was a quick slice of quiche and some fruit. That fuel ran out well before your performance’s intermission and was nothing but a distant memory to your body, now.

“No,” Natasha’s face was devoid of all kindness. In looking into her cold eyes, you had no doubt that she was a murderer. Not anymore. “You asked for honesty. How is this for honest?” She locked the door, continuing to back you further into the wall by the cabinet she took the wine out of, driving you away from the exit and further into the office. Silent tears fell down your face, but you refused to let her see you sob.

“I liked you, Y/n. I thought we were kindred spirits in a world of weak, spineless, nobodies, who want to try to become dancers when they cannot even stand up straight,” Natasha snapped. She didn’t bother using her cane to walk, merely holding it like a weapon. But she cast it aside once she had you against the wall—not unlike the submissive position her husband forced you into in your own dressing room.

You were approximately the same height—if anything, Natasha had a centimeter or two on you. She still had a bad leg, even though she could clearly walk, but clearly, she had a deep wealth of lethal knowledge.

“I never would have thought you would be one of them,” she continued, casting her cane aside for a pocket knife that she fished out of her skirts. You were strangely calm, despite the panicked, rapid pace your breath came and the hot tears that still spilled down your face. “But if it’s you or me, I will always choose me.”

That wine had to be poisoned. You thanked your instincts.

“You have made that outstandingly clear, Natasha,” you retorted. “You even managed to put yourself before your own interests by screwing yourself out of a career!” you yelled back at her, channeling your rage. Every time she snapped at you, each time she disparaged your dancing, the way your body looked, each time she prepared you for a new patron. “And now what’s left of you is nothing but a bitter woman past her prime. And that is your fault. But y-you take out your f-failure on us!”

“And you? You’re an ungrateful bitch,” Natasha hissed back at you, sliding a thin pocket knife against your throat, causing you to cry out. So close to her, you could smell the wine on her breath and her eyes looked bloodshot. Her pupils were dilated.

You needed to find help. Soon, if you wanted to live. Continuing to taunt Natasha in her office would surely end in your death. While such a sacrifice would surely be enough to convict her, you hoped to see it through. You, in your own way, were the perfect heroine. You knew there was a sacrifice to be made, but if you could help it, you hoped to live.

Swan Lake was only a story, after all.

“And you plan to try to kill me in here?” you asked, gasping as she pressed the blade deeper into your skin. You could feel the painful sting across your nerves, down to your fingertips and as pressure against your windpipe. “H-How will you… get away with it?”

“Shut up,” Natasha laughed again, catching on to your efforts to disregulate her. Painfully smart, she was.

You tried to speak again, but Natasha pressed the blade harder to discourage you. You were at a loss, having allowed yourself to get here by storming in with no plan. Fueled by nothing besides rage, betrayal, and regret.

She looked pleased, content with the way she had managed to turn your attack on her into your demise.

Until there was a knock at the door.

“Mrs. Wood? Is Y/n in there with you? I have been looking for her— I must escort her home.”

You would know that voice anywhere, anytime. No matter what. It made goosebumps erupt on your arms. Ciel had come to the opera house in search of you, despite your best efforts to push him away. Despite your best efforts to convince yourself that he was lying and he didn’t care for you, or anyone, save for himself. The accusation felt shallow, now that a real narcissist had you at knifepoint.

“Ci—!” You started, only for Natasha to shove her hand against your mouth before, forcing her to let go of the collar of Polly’s robe, which she had balled in her first to keep your neck close to her weapon. You had both of your hands to fight her knife hand, trying to pry the small weapon out of her thin—frustratingly strong—fingers. Your arms shook with effort.

“No, Lord Phantomhive, she is not here!” Natasha called over her shoulder, allowing you to use one of your hands to push her face further away, hoping her body would follow her head. You had no combat experience, limited to knowing choreographed fighting on stage. “Why do you have to make everything so difficult?” She mumbled in your ear, hardly having stumbled from your efforts.

The doorknob rattled as Ciel likely realized it was locked.

You had to get her off of you. Well aware that your arms were locked in a stalemate with her knife, you brought your knee up and dug it into her stomach, causing her to curse, holding her stomach in surprise. You used her surprise to push her away and take steps towards the door as quickly as you could manage, only for Natasha to catch your wrist and pull you back.

“Ciel, please!” A sob that had been building in your chest ripped out of you as Natasha pushed you back into the wall, only this time, you were poised on the wall next to the door.

“Y/n!” It sounded like Ciel kicked the door. “On behalf of Her Majesty, let me in there this instant, Natasha!”

“Get him to leave, or I will kill you. Here,” Natasha whispered, taking hold of your chin to force you to look into her eyes. This was the face that 11 ballerinas saw before they died. Natasha’s bloody hatred of you looked just like William’s, irate and predatory. You had no doubt that the woman would kill you.

“Y/n, do what you must to get her off of you! You can handle her!” You heard Ciel call to you, now that he was decently sure that you were with Natasha—against your will. “I need to break this door open. I don’t care if it’s your bloody director’s office—”

“Why are you doing this to us, Natasha?” You whimpered, repeating the question when she refused to answer. You felt blood bleed down your neck where she pressed the blade, but you couldn’t stop asking. You deserved to know. It didn’t feel as if she was pressing hard enough to kill you—you suspected she wanted leverage over Ciel.

“Why are you hurting us?” you demanded. “Why, why, why?”

“Because I should still be the prima ballerina of this company! Like the rest of you ungrateful whores! My husband should want me in the way he wants the lot of you! I should have my applause! My life back! Give it back!” Natasha yelled, slamming your back against the wall by your shoulder. Black spots danced in your eyes, from your exhaustion. Your head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

“I want my life back! You don’t deserve my life! I’m brilliant. Bloody brilliant. The lot of you—you’re nothing, but me? Me? I am a real ballerina. You all are nothing, useless little rodents you all are! In spite of my best efforts to teach, you all can never just learn!” tears raced down Natasha’s face, as well.

Her words, her tears, ignited a fresh anger in you. You worked most hours out of the day for this woman’s approval, only for her to feel this much contempt—no, resentment, towards you. She tore you down at every step, masquerading it as support. And blamed you for her vitriol. From an injury she brought upon herself.

“I took nothing from you,” you rasped, “none of us ever did. We all worshiped you. And you kill us for it. You. Are. Deranged.” you said strongly, in spite of your pain. You used the rest of your strength to curl your hand into a fist and push it forward, aiming for her nose to stun her. Ciel, for emergency’s sake, took the time to show you how to throw a proper punch. You made certain your thumb was untucked and….

Immediately, your hand erupted in pain, starting in your knuckles and expanding outward. You felt her face yielding to the force more vividly than you thought you ever could, the sound making a dull thud. Clearly, however, Natasha was in more pain, the shock causing her to drop her knife.

Natasha swore in, presumably Russian, and doubled over. She held her face, recoiling with pain. You caught blood dripping down her lips, coming from her nose. Her face immediately swelled.

Before she could recover, you unlocked the door, revealing a panicked Ciel. He seemed to be bracing himself to kick it down, his left leg braced into the ground while he was aiming to drive his right heel into the bit of wood next to the lock. Of course, he knew how to kick a door down. You couldn’t keep yourself from laughing at how absurdly good the Earl was at everything.

You felt delirious, looking at Ciel with your director behind you, bleeding. Because you punched her. Because she was the serial killer you had been looking for all this time. The seriousness on Ciel’s face made your smile crumple, re-recognizing the importance of what had just occurred. You hadn’t stopped crying at all, your face was soaked with tears as much as it was with sweat.

There was some of your own blood smeared on your chin and cheeks from Natasha’s hands—you could smell the iron, you could see Ciel’s gaze investigating the stains to ensure they weren’t open wounds. He had already sized up the cut on your throat the moment he righted himself and pulled you into him, away from the director.

Immediately, you were safe in Ciel’s warmth, shuddering as he put his wool jacket over your shoulders. He was speaking to you, but you could barely bring yourself to register his words. Ready to collapse, your head heavy and gloomy. You hadn’t noticed you were shivering, and yet, he did. Ciel let you hide your face in his neck, the height difference between you was always minimal.

Sebastian stepped inside from behind Ciel, a pleasant smile on his face.

“Sebastian,” Ciel snapped, knowing the butler was behind him without turning around. He had his stare fixated on Natasha as some company members moved to restrain her, despite her cursing and thrashing. Ciel had made a scene in demanding the door be opened, and Natasha must have been loud enough for onlookers to hear. “Take care of this. I don’t want there to be a media scene. Find us in Y/n’s dressing room when you’re finished.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Sebastian replied. “Very well done, Miss Y/l/n,” he said, his dark eyes sparkling. He put his hand on his heart and bowed to Ciel, but this was the first instance he bowed to his master with you standing next to him.

You could have been persuaded that you imagined it.

“Ciel…” you spoke as he guided you away from the rest of the company, the arriving officers, and Natasha as she protested her arrest. You felt weak. Almost empty for idolizing a woman who hurt you and so many others. Who thought so little of so many who thought she was the template to success.

Natasha and William hurt you all, and without Ciel, you never would have come to know that. And he had warned you. But you didn’t listen, when you needed to.

“Thank you for coming here, anyway. I appreciate that you would…come. After everything,” you said, the apology was difficult for you to say, but needed. “I cannot know why you would be so kind to me, but you saved my life again.”

Ciel took your arm in his, more than aware that you were exhausted. “What do you mean you cannot know why I would be so kind to you?” He asked, an eyebrow raised at you. “I thought I was clear earlier today: I want to be with you. And I should apologize, too, honestly.”

“Mutual forgiveness and we can have another talk, later?” you requested, settling into your chair. Ciel locked your dressing room door behind the both of you for privacy’s sake. He pulled out your First Aid kit from under your vanity to start caring for your neck.

“Mutual forgiveness,” he agreed, settling down next to you.

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reilliane · 2 years

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Septem (ii) ⊱⊰ Genshin!Various

✤ she/her - ✤ words: 8k

PART 02 OF 02 - [ PART ONE ]

✤ An Academy built to hone and prepare gods-to-be and blessed mortals for the world beyond — isn't it a dream come true, when a blank Vision greets you in invitation?

✤ kaeya, chongyun, mika, diluc, bennett, thoma, venti, kazuha, xiao, heizou, scaramouche/wanderer, aether

“Ad Astra.”

To your astonishment, the rays flashed even brighter, they've become so blinding that you had to close your eyes.

Only when it has dimmed to a considerable degree are you able to blink and adjust your sight, feeling an incomprehensible frisson in your chest.

Is this what magic feels like? You ponder in awe as the [c] light of your Vision beats at a steady rhythm, like a heart. It floats back down to your waiting hands.

“Septem Academy welcomes you, [Surname] [Name].”

The Sustainer smiles, golden eyes appearing even warmer than before as she beckons the four behind her to make way down the carpeted center of the gathering hall.

They do as she says, following shortly after you tail along.

“As you have just recently enrolled, the classes may be too advanced, so until you've caught up, you will stay at the Hearth and learn at your pace until it's fit for you to attend class in the campus. I will have the professors know and send in the syllabuses. Of course, you are free to enter the campus library to study if you so wish.”

Down an enclosed corridor that's only lit by torches with seven respective flame colors, you cannot help the wonder that blossoms inside. Eventually, enormous double doors are reached at the end, opening on their own to reveal a brightly illuminated room.

It is circular and open spaced—a huge gazebo, if you will. In between each marble columns stand seven tall mirrors, each accented and arrayed accordingly.

A moment is needed for you to notice that beyond the place is the celestial body itself, the skies. Rolling clouds complement the azure canvas, touched with a ray of the sun.

You wonder if the eventide will be just as majestic.

“Now, unveil your Vision.”

A sense of nervousness and excitement causes your fingers to tremble in the slightest, unwrapping from the Vision that now thrums with life. The glow of white dies down, eventually marking out a detailed insignia that has your eyes widening.

The Sustainer lifts her hand, and with a voice that commands the heavens, announces.

“Ab intra—”

— Kaeya/Chongyun/Mika

“Hearth Cryo!”

Crystalline snowflakes burst from nonexistence, languid with its descent that commemorates the arrival of another student acknowledged by dichotomy—governed by resolve.

It's cooling, in fact, the entire hall has been engulfed by a passing blizzard, not too much to the point of turning blue... but heavens, that was cold.

You let out a shiver at it.

After informing you that the corresponding Master has been summoned, the Sustainer vanishes into red cubes, followed by the rest of the cloaked figures that disappear through their respective mirrors after a bode of farewell and welcome.

The very moment they have gone, the mirror's surface in front of you—that's adorned in silver thorns and deep blue roses—starts to be enveloped by frost. You fear that it'd burst into shards, so you take a wary step back, only to gawk when a figure passes through with ease, frost clinging onto her body.

It billows away without even needing to be brushed off, as though they're mere fairy dust. The woman hums at you, mien coming off as captious that you instinctively straightened up. She cocks an eyebrow, looking almost bemused.

“If you keep on gawking, I'll have no choice but to vow vengeance upon you, so I suggest you start moving pronto.”

You stiffen. “Yes, ma'am!”

Shoot, I can't afford to make a bad impression right away-!

Far from being prepared at her promise of vengeance, you scurry forward, Vision in hand, towards the mirror that she gestures to. You begin to worry for yourself almost immediately, but held back from thinking too much — just be rational, and you'll do fine!

Passing through the frosty mirror, you land on soft snow, upheld by a sturdy grip on your arm. “Dear me, Eula, were you frightening the newcomer again?”

“Be quiet, Kaeya. The sooner she gets here, the better.”

Hearth Cryo's gateway is in the form of a wooden archway at the end of a forest. The winter is seemingly endless and the snowfall is heavy, though the cold isn't as biting as you thought it'd be.

Looming in the distance is a fortified castle, mighty and lonesome, it exudes the impression that it is built to defend its inhabitants from the bitter cold—or perhaps even something more?

Eula thankfully enlightens you more after catching the curio in your gaze. The Hearth isn't always in a winter stasis. In fact, it mirrors the real world the most out of the rest of the Hearths, which she mentions is always in an 'impossibly good weather'. Hearth Cryo goes through the usual four seasons, it just so happens that you manage to land in winter.

You do not know what to expect of the hearthmembers, so you're somewhat blundered when you get to see them all for the first time. They are all so... different.

You suppose that it's understandable—after all, wasn't this Hearth acknowledged by dichotomy? When you come to introduce yourself, you also did not expect their thorough introductions. Kaeya merely says that it's what makes them as tight-knit as a Hearth; everyone being so different, yet similar in the one aspect that they face significant contradictions. To an awful, almost upsetting degree.

Really, the sentimental bomb is too big of a drop, you feared they saw the glassy sheen in your eyes. You eventually understood then, that the castle sort of signified everyone's defense from the ghastly paradox thrown to them by fate.

“Heh, interested in me, are you? Oh? Don't tell me you're getting emotional over everyone? You're amusing. They may not express it well, but I'm sure that your arrival has brought some warmth this winter.”

Kaeya Alberich—you question why he's in the Academy despite already having such a nice grasp of his Vision, and he only laughs. He says that the reason is solely because he's part of an exchange program, and officially belongs to Aurum College—an educational institution for the 'magicless yet gifted'. In other words, he hailed from Khaenri'ah, a far, far away nation.

He is on his way to graduate and be a part of the Knights Brigade there, until he was suddenly blessed with a Vision. Thus, he has been sent here to master the element until it is time to return. He has a fellow Aurum student, apparently, one in Hearth Geo.

Despite being such an enigmatic man, sometimes he doesn't seem to have a filter with his words at all, bluntly stating that other than the reason for mastering his Vision, he wants to find out how the 'blessed mortals favored by gods' actually act like.

It isn't surprising; you know that the people are torn between liking and disliking the ostensibly 'biased' concept of being granted elemental magic. Everyone has dreams of their own, so why isn't everyone blessed with magic?

Kaeya enlightens you of everything that goes about Aurum College and how he personally views 'blessed mortals' in your free time. He finds some to be a bit uptight and insufferable, but nothing drastic at all—for deep down, magicless or not, everyone is human. Save for the Hearthleaders, of course. When you jokingly asked if you're a part of the group that he finds insufferable, he only gives a charmingly annoying smile. Darn him and his flirty tendencies... if Rosaria was around (and that one man from Hearth Pyro) then he'd be forced to spill!

“It's just me... ! I- My deepest apologies, I didn't mean to scare you. I give the place a thorough look over before turning in for the night. Mm? Well, believe it or not, the castle's supernatural activity spikes in the evening... even the campus'.”

It completely blew past your mind that Chongyun patrols the castle halls in the dead of night, so when you got a little peckish at midnight and aimed to grab some snacks from the distant pantry... you nearly shrieked upon spotting a terrifying blur of blue zooming past like a ghost.

If not for the candle he held nearby, you would've screamed and alerted everyone! Poor Chongyun looks just as spooked as you are though, but was much better in concealing his surprise. Shenhe, his aunt, unfortunately caught the both of you like deers in headlights.

Rosaria and Shenhe frequently joins him in this trip, see, and so they catch you wandering the halls late in the night some time again. They invited you along and you agreed! A late night adventure it is! They might have an old-fashioned way of exorcising things, but they're geared with literal ghost hunting equipment! Chongyun once expressed resigned amusement when you eagerly waited for him to explain what all the whatchamacallits do, saying you remind him of a friend.

He also says that this duty is something that he must see through until graduation, for there really are spirits roaming around in the night that needs to be exorcised or appeased lest they cause trouble. He mentions that they are ancient souls that were defeated in a long forgotten war... ooh, shivers.

At nights when you get drowsy in the middle of your 'trips', he'd gladly sit with you somewhere and let you take a nap as he tells ghost stories (and about his other friends from other Hearths). Sometimes he'd even carry you back to the castle if it feels like you're going to sleep the whole night away. He won't be able to look at you in the eye without turning into a tomato the next morning, though!

“[N-Name]... ? I noticed that you were struggling in your subjects earlier... so, do you- um-! Will you let me help you? Only if you want to, of course, I'm not coming off as demanding am I? I really only want to help- I- I'm rambling!!”

Mika is such a sweet bean. You made the mistake of calling him as such and he became putty, unable to construct intelligible sentences and even glance you without squeaking.

He becomes a completely different person when it comes to learning, however, almost like he's possessed with a spirit of vigor! He's talented in all classes except for communication-centered ones... he tries his best, though!

Along with Ganyu and Layla, he asks to tutor you after noticing the struggle to catch up with the rest and looks utterly relieved when you accepted the offer. Eula teased him about it in your presence and he fainted, literally, so you had to take him to the campus infirmary. He woke up midway and when he realized that you were carrying him there... fainted again.

Seriously, you thought he has a weak heart! Kaeya couldn't stop laughing about it, much to sweet Mika's embarrassment. It's safer to actually let it happen than to come to his defense, Ayaka once did so and the blond could only malfunction further.

He hides away in the archives of the castle, busying himself with maps of Old Teyvat that he was so engrossed in and charting possible maps of the regions beyond by reading available information. Regardless if it's on paper or in his tablet, his works are guaranteed to have intricacies. It is an interesting thing that he does that you're in awe of. Now, if only you know more about him other than his love for such things... maybe he'll eventually open up?

You've asked about the whereabouts of your Hearthleader, but even your fellow hearthmates know little about her other than the fact that she's undergoing 'executive training' under the current Archon of Snezhnaya and won't be back until months later.

Everyone doesn't really get together like most hearths do, no special and fancy celebrations other than what is already tradition, like New Year's and Christmas. Not like it matters, for everybody already is close to one another even if it doesn't seem like it.

They all are present for every breakfast and dinner—and everyone even goes to campus together! They're such a sweet bunch, Eula comments that she'll have ants all over her what with the found family dynamic. Everyone knows she's just as glad, though.

... That is, if the Hearth is in order.

There will be a blizzard outside and everyone by the fireplace will be engaged in light banter, bundled in blankets.

“Hydro Seniors are at it again with Dendro, did you see them almost sparking another debate in the cafeteria?” “I certainly did. Ayaka, your brother has a sharp tongue when it comes down to it, doesn't he?” “Indeed... he doesn't intend to cause harm, however. In fact, I believe he fancies the academic rivalry that's proceeding.” “At least your brother doesn't mean any harm with it, unlike Kaeya who likes to pick up a fight with Ragnvindr... Eula, how are you not punishing him for this?” “Rosaria! Hey now! That's no fight. Diluc and I are merely having a wholehearted conversation.” “Even if I did, it's not like he'll stop. Leave him to it, vengeance will be served soon, anyway... ah, Ganyu, Shenhe, how are things going on your end?” “Certainly well! I've managed to work around the stress of so many papers so I had some decent sleep lately.” “But you were awake yesterday night until three in the morning? My nephew and I saw light in your room while going about the castle.” “Yes... we heard some grumbles, as well... we thought it was a spirit until we realized that it was just Ganyu fussing over her projects with Layla.” “S-Shenhe, Chongyun, shhh... !” “Lying won't work at all, you're caught red handed~” “It could not be helped! I was helping Mika research about something, too, so-!” “Ganyu, that was supposed to be a secret!” “Wow, I need some wine for this- hey, Kaeya!” “Everyone, tone down! I cannot believe you all started falling apart and [Name] hasn't even been here for a full week yet! Mark my words, vengeance will be-!” “Yes, yes, Master.” “Alberich... !”

— Diluc/Bennett/Thoma

“Hearth Pyro!”

Balls of fire spew from nonexistence, blistering with its heat that commemorates the arrival of another student blessed with resolution—governed by cathexis.

Oddly enough, they aren't burning hot at all. The heat that it carries is tender, like the cozy warmth from a fireplace, it's utterly comforting. It very much feels as though you are being gazed upon by a kind sun.

A girl with pretty pink hair passes through the mirror to your left, nodding in what you can assume is content as she takes in your appearance. “[Surname] [Name], correct? I'm Yanfei, I'll be guiding you to our Hearth.”

“It's nice to meet you,” you return her nod as you walk closer, examining the mirror in great detail. It is coated in gold, with fragments and shards floating about in a bright scarlet glow.

“Same here!”

Rubies, maybe? Or firestones?

Catching the awe in your gaze, she giggles, proud. “Pretty, isn't it? Our Hearth is even prettier! Come, let's not keep them waiting any longer. Everyone's pretty excited that we're having someone new, you know?”

Ah, that's good to hear. It's comforting to know that they're all open to someone who has practically appeared out of the blue.

“Alright, then!” you return her smile, letting her go first before following shortly behind.

Warmth is the very first thing that welcomes you, tolerable and actually faint, like you're bundled in a blanket. The next thing, is a bright light that nearly blinds you had your eyes not adjusted.

A series of greetings are soon heard, all with varying levels of excitement.

Yanfei isn't kidding when she said that Hearth Pyro is really pretty. An extravagant, rustic-style mansion (goodness, you think it's even bigger than a mansion) stands before you. A column of arches draped with crystals line up to the front porch, with enormous trees bearing gold and scarlet leaves seen all about the place.

Also, was that a pheonix flying by just now? Alas, there is little time to be astounded, because you're hearing calls from all sorts of directions.

Your hearthmates' smiles are blinding (save for that well-composed man at the back and that twin-tailed girl's... devilish grin-) as they gather around, tugging you to the mansion as if you're someone they knew from long ago. Their cordial behavior is uplifting, you can't help but be put at ease.

Right then and there, you just know that there won't be any rainclouds over your head—not when everyone is a ray of sunshine. You didn't even think it was possible for so many friendly people to be in a single place! Is this what a good world looks like?

Hearth Pyro already feels like home. There is just something about it that carries such comfort. Not to mention, the hearthmembers' personalities. They even threw you a welcome party!

They are the friendliest out of all the Hearths and you aren't surprised. You also learn that they host most of the school events, serving as emcees and even mediators for clashing Hearths. Which, again, isn't surprising at all.

“Good morning. I take it that you had a good night's rest? Oh, I'm an early riser, I just got back from the campus, here are your papers. Don't be nervous to ask if you need help understanding something.”

Diluc Ragnvindr, he's the heir to a hefty inheritance and is the next company head of Dawn Winery in Mondstadt. Familiarity did not strike a chord until you heard his surname and you almost freaked out. His father has commissioned you once to bake the sweets for an event, how can you not know of the Ragnvindr name? Though you've never met the son- until now, that is.

He's just as surprised, but admits that he's heard of you from his father. Along with the reveal of his name comes with his reason for studying in Septem; despite already having his future set in stone, he has revealed that he plans to be high in the ranks of the Favonius Brigade, as well.

Thus, if he isn't occupied with studying or other affairs pertaining to the wine industry—he expressed distaste in wine itself, which is surprising—he can be found in the campus' or the Hearth's barracks. If that 'annoyance' in Hearth Cryo is around the campus, then he won't stay and linger there anymore. If he's nowhere to be seen, then best to assume that he's holed up in another extravagant meeting outside the Academy.

You do wonder how he's able to stay at topnotch shape despite having at least more than five responsibilities, though. And when he finds out, he just chuckles, saying that such stresses are necessary if he seeks to see the fulfillment of his objectives.

Since he is more than aware of the weight of stress, he's extra heedful of everyone, always saying not to push themselves and take a rest. It's become a part of his routine to give aid—knowing that you will not ask him for help even if you clearly need it—and make you your preferred beverage in the mornings.

“Oh shoot, [Name], I'm sorry-! Oh go- is it- is it that hot?! Heck, of course it is, wait here, I'll go get the med kit! Then I'll treat you to the cafeteria to make up for it!”

You knew that Hearth Pyro is too good to be true, you just knew that there had to be something—or in this case, someone—that counters the good. And that's, ladies and gentlemen, bad luck in the form of a poor student, Bennett.

When Amber once told you to watch yourself around Bennett because you may get hurt, you didn't believe her- how can a sunshine bring you harm?! Yes, you ate those words the moment he spilled the coffees he was carrying onto you.

It was a disaster at the table and it was only six in the morning! Luckily, no one was awoken by both of your screeching. You've never heard someone apologize so quickly after slamming his head unto the floor (how is he not bleeding from that!?). Quick to defuse the situation, you tell him it's alright, he can't control his bad luck.

He means well, you know it, so how can you hold a grudge and be petty? Such a poor sweetheart! He makes up for it by buying you snacks from the canteen whenever he can, sometimes even staying up to keep you company. Movies? Movies!

Bennett has a heart of gold and you admire how he keeps his head up in spite of his bad luck. He does not stop trying, does not stop dreaming. You told him this once and his face glowed as red as the Vision strapped to his belt bag, spluttering incoherent sentences one after the other until ultimately—accidentally—knocking your pencil case off the table and- well, there goes your papers, too...

“Hey there! You didn't come down for dinner, so we all assumed you were busy studying. I brought you your meal! Oh, and I had the same professor when I took that class, I'll get my notes for you real quick, okay?”

Thoma seems to have a lot of time available despite being a full-time student in the Hearth- how the heck does he manage keeping track of his straight A's while maintaining the dorm pristine?

The chores are meant to be divided so why does he do it all?! When confronted about it he laughs it all away and says that everyone should just focus on whatever it is they're doing and leave the work to him, which is unacceptable! So, to sweet Thoma's chagrin, Diluc took over the cooking with Xiangling, Yanfei and Hu Tao were in charge of handling written affairs, Xinyan and Bennett dusted away the furniture, whilst Yoimiya and Amber tended to everyone's equipment weekly. Dehya is in charge of ascertaining the extracurricular activities delegated by the Council (Celestia) for the Hearth.

Thoma said that it was fine, but everyone knew how much he appreciated it despite him reasoning that it felt much like he's sinning(!?)—which resulted to laughter. He learned to ask for help eventually, much to the relief of many.

That doesn't mean that he's let go of his tendency to try and take a step further when it comes to helping others, however. He pins his focus on you whenever possible and you're truly thankful! After helping you settle in the Hearth, he accompanied you to the Atelier, a place where you buy other essentials. He even treated you to dessert and insisted that you need not pay him back!

He's an angel and everyone concurs. Though rivalries between Hearths are ineludible, no one ever sought him out to a magic battle or anything of the like. All students tolerate—if not like—this man. Goodness, even the professors are fond of him, what's his secret?!

Hearth Pyro is in charge of Septem's ceremonies, be it from the hosting of Spring Festival or the Magical Cotillion that's held the night before New Year's, everything falls in their hands. This entails that they have full authority over the themes and games, a lovely specialty of those in the Hearth.

Sadly, because of this, there are very few instances where everyone can take a breather, for the academy has frequent celebrations. Even so, this does not dampen everyone's spirits, because who says planning can't be fun?

It may not be to some, but this is Hearth Pyro, fun is its core!

Besides, the Headmaster said that if there are any leftover mora from the budget, it can be used by the members of Hearth Pyro however they see fit. A kind of compensation for all the work, without a doubt.

And oh, where that money goes... (karaoke, field trips, weekend getaways, a special tour in the Ragnvindr's Winery!?)

Additionally, since everyone is working and planning in one place, the opportunity for a huge slumber party is thrown, solely for members of the Hearth only!

With a movie playing in the background and pizza boxes open, everyone bundled in duvets on the floor and typing plans, ah, what a night!

“December... ah, we've to arrange the Magical Cotillion, right? How d'ya suppose we go about the theme this time?” “Not yet, Xinyan! We have Winter Cradle to go through first. It's taking place at the 15th... ooooh, what shall we do to make this exciting. Maybe another ghost event~” “Ah, I completely forgot about that! It's a good thing that it only takes up three days compared to Spring Cradle... you have any ideas, Thoma?” “Oh, oh! What if we have every Hearth participate in a cooking competition? We can have outsiders as judges! Don't we need to raise something for charity as well?” “You're just using this opportunity to cook, aren't you.” “Diluc!” “Well, Xiangling's idea doesn't sound half-bad. I don't think we ever hosted a cooking competition... in December.” “Hahaaa! That's 'cause things like that fit more in the Summer! But hey, a lil' deviation won't hurt anyone now, would it? Besides, if Thoma's handlin' it then no one will argue!” “We can be mellow with the second game for the next day, then. How does Elemental Trace sound to you, Yanfei?” “Dehya... isn't that the free-for-all game where you have to hide your Hearth flag and Leader while the enemy tries to capture them both? Should we allow element-infused paintballs this time, Yanfei?” “H-Hold on, how is that mellow-!?” “I don't see a problem with this at all, Dehya, a great idea! Don't worry, Amber, Septem is far from being mellow, anyway! Now, for the appropriate punishments for the losing teams... Headmaster asked us to try and strengthen the Hearths' camaraderie with one another, yes?” “I don't like where this is going...” “Winning Hearth is exempted. Losing Hearths will pair themselves up and room together in each other's dorms for two weeks.” “This is going to result to chaos... If Dendro and Hydro end up pairing together...” “Well, all the more reason to win, don't you think? We can ask the twins for help this time, we should make it complicated, hm~”

— Venti/Kazuha/Xiao/Heizou/Scaramouche

“Hearth Anemo!”

Glowing feathers materialize from nonexistence, delicate with its descent that commemorates the arrival of another student blessed with ideals—governed by freedom.

You are unable to be in awe for much longer, for just as you are about to caress a feather that droops nearby, excited murmurs flood your hearing.

The Sustainer vanishes into red cubes after giving you an almost strained smile, followed by the rest of the cloaked figures that disappear through their respective mirrors after a bode of farewell and welcome. Well, one of the cloaked figures, a tall one with a molten gold Vision clipped at the front, rebukes.

“Do not tow the new student in your Hearth's knavery, let her focus.”

“Hey! Don't tell me what to do, I'll have you know, my Hearthmembers know when to behave!” responded the one that is now standing before you, huffing as the taller figure disappeared through his mirror.

You blink, stupefied. Ah, that was a warning and implication, wasn't it? Does it mean that the Hearth you've been sorted to often attracts trouble-?

“Hehe~ Hi there, [Name]!” wow, he has a beautiful set of eyes, “I'm Hearthleader Barbatos, but you can just call me Venti. I'm glad to have you as our newest addition!”

Venti is relentlessly shaking your hands with a bright grin. Although his visage leans more onto the cute side, with the way he winks at you, you're led to believe that he can be just as boyish if he wants to.

“Likewise,” you nod, unable to stave off the smile that tugs on your lips and he cheers. Immediately, he tugs you towards his mirror, one that emanated such a pleasant breeze that you can't help but sigh.

The Hearthleader catches onto this and puffs his chest out in pride with an even bigger grin than before, saying he's thankful that you liked the winds he's personally conjuring about. It's baffling, to suddenly know that he's been using his magic all along.

He laughs, his hand halfway through the mirror.

“Don't worry, I'll make sure you master the winds just as well, now, are you ready to go?”

You nod and he hums, taking a step inside. “Okay, you ready to fall out of the sky?”

“Yes— wait what-!?”

He pulls you inside, ignoring your demands for clarifications as he yells, “Here we go!”

Eyes snapped shut, your screams clash with his guffaws. Pride left forgotten, you cling onto your Hearthleader—as embarrassing as it is—as you both quite literally, fall out of the sky. The race of your heart drums in your ears as the wind envelops your freefall.

Upon Venti's insistence, you pry your eyes open and—woah. It doesn't even occur that you are still free-falling as you take in the breathtaking view; Hearth Anemo consists of large, floating islands, with the dorm itself standing on the biggest and central island.

The sky is the bluest shade there is, the clouds are as fluffy as cotton, and the cool wind never stops from breezing by—hold on, did a dragon just fly past?!

The sight of the entire place prevents you from noticing the hold your Hearthleader has on your waist, steady and gentle in your descent upon the lush, viridescent grass, where the rest of the hearthmembers wait. A kind blonde lady steadies you the moment your feet are on the ground, giving a lightly reprimanding look towards Venti, who only giggled.

With the way Jean—the Hearth Master—lectures him about your entry, you're led to believe that this is how everyone else is welcomed. An elfish thing to do, certainly, but you can't start to deny things—not when you learned to enjoy it. Albeit only in the last second.

The members of Hearth Anemo are... interesting. Aside from the ladies who are very well-mannered and decorous, the men, on the other hand... hm, is unique the word? They're a colorful, rowdy bunch, exhibiting lax with a touch of differing rascality.

“[Name]! [Name], what'cha doing- eh!? You're still studying? But you already passed your assignments, didn't you? Let's go do something, pleaaaaaaase! It's a Saturdayyyy!”

Most of the time, Venti does not act much like a Hearthleader, commonly found sprawled out on the sofa snoring away with his headset blaring music. He doesn't even make it into his room! By far, the most lenient out of all known leaders, as commented by Heizou.

Do not let it sway your belief that he's incapable of being earnest, though! He has his fair share of formidable moments, surfacing especially when it comes to matters regarding the nation he'll rule over soon, or when he seems to be reminiscing about something. It unsettles everyone—even Scaramouche—to a certain degree whenever it happens.

He may be high-spirited, but he's Menace #1. It is because of your dearly beloved Hearthleader that you grew paranoid enough to lock your bedroom door. The very morning after your welcome in the dorm, you wake up screaming because of a huge, huge dragon pushing his face to your window—courtesy of Venti, of course. It took only a matter of seconds for the rest of your hearthmates to scramble into your room, wielding questionable kitchen utensils from a whisk to a frying pan despite being half-asleep.

You cannot bring yourself to look at them in the eye because of embarrassment and Venti is just obnoxiously laughing away as if it's a daily occurrence! Sucrose shyly empathizes with you, saying that everyone practically went through the same thing and they've all forgotten to warn you about it last night.

Safe to say, you make sure to lock your room and windows after that, for though the Hearthleader manages to pull pranks even outside the safety of your room, you won't let him bother your sleep any longer! This results to him pawing the outside of your door as if he was a cat begging to be let in.

“The winds are lovely, aren't they? Their caress is comforting even in the eventide. Ah, yes, I can spend all afternoon basking here in solitude... feel free to stay, I do not mind at all.”

Whenever you feel stressed, burnt out, or just failing to be in the right spirits for the day, you seek Kazuha out. He just bears this kind of aura that doesn't fail to allay whatever weight is in your chest. Maybe it's the way he's always so at peace? Maybe his sweet smile?

He comes to you after the small party in honor of your arrival, ever so graciously asking if you'd allow him to help you settle in the dorms and with your studies. Why in Celestia's name is he so kind? Thus, for all that he has done, he has the honor of taking the first bite of the cake you made as thanks for everyone's pleasant welcome (all except for one).

Sucrose joins him in teaching you from time to time, and with their help, you easily manage to get a hang of the classes. Kazuha turns down your offer of payment each time, saying that it's only right for a fellow hearthmate to help another. Ugh, really!

When you aren't busy or being badgered by the rest of your hearthmates, he invites you to go out with him during the weekend, visiting his home nation whenever possible. He can't stick in one place, he says, so he finds the time to go out—it explains why if he's not helping you in your studies, then he might as well be deemed a missing person. Imagine your surprise when you find out that he likes taking naps in the middle of class, yet, his grades are excellent...

He's pretty old-fashioned, too, being all chivalrous and poetic you nearly thought he belonged in Hearth Hydro. You can't forget when he welcomed you in the dorm with a kiss to your knuckles. Kazuha is a sweet man, but with the way his eyes twinkled almost devilishly, you believe that he has his own hidden side of mischief.

“What are you doing out here at this hour? You need-... me? I don't need to tell you anything. Huh? You're a fool, sacrificing slumber just to what, stare at the moon? Wait, you... want me to join?”

He seems to dislike you, avoiding eye contact and sneering when you accidentally brush past him. This led to you steering clear, not liking the idea of burgeoning whatever enmity there is. It's not until you overhear Venti lecturing him about his 'rebarbative shyness' that you start assuming; maybe he's not that bad. Jean and Heizou backed this up, saying that Xiao does think nicely of you... only, he doesn't know how to express that.

You want to believe them, but it's hard when the student in question is glaring from across the breakfast table! Your muted tussle with him is peak entertainment for the rest in the Hearth, though. Scaramouche doesn't have the slightest bit of filter each time he laughs sardonically at the predicament—and that only worsened the glare on your person!? 〒▽〒??

Things change the night you wake up from a nightmare. Disfavoring the idea of heading back to sleep, you bundle yourself with a blanket and head out of the dorm into the comfort of the winds. You take the opportunity to walk around the entire Hearth, past the bridges connecting floating islands and mountains.

His presence surprises you as he, quite literally, jumps from the precipice of a mountain. The winds slowed and aided his descent, but holy smokes, how are his knees okay?! Your terrified expression causes him to scowl and... reprimand you for staying out so late? Huh? Is he concerned?

When he learns that you're awake because of nightmares, he grows silent, as if he can relate. His face turns pink when you invite him to stargaze as a way to pass the time. He vehemently refuses—but gives in after your silence, even lending you an earphone so you can listen to music! And so you both pass the night gazing at the night sky until you wake up to see the stupid grins of your hearthmates. Xiao may have avoided you out of embarrassment, but everything's good now, really!

“A trace of flour in your hair, an aroma of chocolate, hm, something tells me that you're quite an expert in baking sweets... oh, I'm right? Aha! But of course, my intuition never disappoints me. Say, will it be too much to ask you to bake something? I can help you out~”

He goes by the name of Shikanoin Heizou, but you know him as Menace #2. This man actively engages in pranks with Venti and is one of the main source of the Hearth's ensuing chaos, be it within the dorm itself or during competitions. He may not be a fan of physical confrontations, but he loves being subtle and 'harmless' when he messes around with other Hearths.

Contrary to his impish nature, he becomes pro-faced when he's in his specialized class, criminology. And in spite of still being a student, you hear that he has already made a name for himself outside the Academy. (Venti tells you that it's only because Heizou gets in the way of police officers, though.. and manages to catch the criminal before they can).

He's rather fearsome, what with his intuition and intellect. He gives off the impression of a slacker—and he does slack around, so how is it that he's still in the top of his specialized class, clashing with a silver-haired rival? Heizou once offered to teach you, with a price that he didn't bother elaborating on. Yeah, you didn't want to risk anything, so you turned it down, much to his laughter.

He, much like Venti, has a habit of dragging you around places for no reason. You're fine with it, until you both somehow ended up stumbling into a completely different mirror—and into Hearth Electro, where a silver-haired Master (is he that rival?) was a second away from enacting 'judgement' for crossing without notice.

To your complete horror, Heizou is only laughing as he tugs your wrist, dragging you along in your run/escape/hunt to find the portal that transports you back to the Paths Chamber. By the time you've both landed in the safety of the Hearth, he's still laughing. He promised to take over your chores for a week, though, so all's good and well. (Until he drags you somewhere again.)

“Winter Cradle begins weeks from now, it's a competition between Hearths, I expect you not to drag us down lest those pyromaniacs think up of some absurd punishment. Well? What're you gawing at? Move.”

Oh he hates you, alright—no, he despises you for sure! How do you know? Because when you came up to greet him during the welcome party, he sneered and told you to kindly [REDACTED] off and leave him the [REDACTED] alone, smiley face :)

You shouldn't feel too down though, assures Jean. 'Cause even if Scara 'hates' everyone, he'll learn to accept and 'tolerate' your presence in the Hearth. Yeah, you think it'll be a long time from now, so you try not to talk to him unless it's necessary.

Menace #3. Pushing people's buttons and riling them up must be his life mission, but unlike Heizou who doesn't mean any harm, this guy means it and is absolutely blunt when it comes to his comments (insults). He revels in seeing people pissed off and it has once led the Headmaster to confine the whole Hearth in their dorm for two weeks.

Though he butts head with Xiao a lot, it pales when he's up against that one ginger in Hearth Hydro. He'll be incessant with his goading and comments, but will stop when intercepted. When you went to stop him from picking a fight with Hearth Dendro's Buer—aka their Hearthleader—he only gave you a scowl before backing off. You received Jean and Venti's endless thanks afterward... and you end up being assigned as Menace #3's mediator slash personal 'i'm so sorry for him, he doesn't know what he's doing' speaker.

You don't realize that aside from some of the set rules in Septem and Hearth Anemo, he only listens to you—and Kazuha points it out during dinner. It isn't surprising to see Scara explode, but what catches everyone off-guard is seeing his red, red face. From then on, it isn't hard to notice how pink his cheeks go even if he's scowling at you. What's up with him?

Hearth Anemo has a tradition of spending time together. Happening at the end of each month, everyone will race around the whole Hearth, going through the main islands and the tiny other floating islets before leaping off the land and taking flight, sometimes crossing portals to other Hearths.

Sounds absurd? Well apparently, everyone has their own manner of 'flight' save for Heizou, Kazuha, and Jean (very swift runners), who channels Anemo on their feet so they can leap higher and jump from floating stones to another.

During your first race, Venti had you join him on the dragon during flight, alongside the runners whilst the rest fly along. Xiao and Scaramouche are arguing in mid air, whilst poor Sucrose and Faruzan—who are seated on a winged cube and prism—almost go deaf nearby.

It is incredibly relieving to just take to the skies and you saw the way everyone smiled—except for a certain someone—when you expressed determination to master the winds so you can fly alongside them next time.

“Hey, does anyone know where [Name] is? I've been searching for her all morning..” “Heh, maybe she's got enough of your face, Hearthleader. Didn't you wake her up with that dragon of yours again?” “Scaramouche, how awful of you to even assume such things! My dear hearthmember can't possibly be annoyed of me!” “No, I think he's right for once.” “Not you too, Xiao!” “U-um, if it helps... Master Jean and I saw her with the representatives in charge for finding the venue for the Magical Cotillion earlier..” “Hm, so she's with those from Hearth Pyro?” “No, Hearth Pyro is currently busy with Winter Cradle, so they asked some help in searching for a place-” “You guys! Kaveh just posted: #outwithnewstudent! #busydayahead #scoutingtonsofplaces #septemlife #alhaithambailedagain. She's with this Kaveh guy, the Ragnvindr, Hearthleader Morax, Mona, Cyno, and Alberich.” “Thank you for informing us, Heizou. What an odd line-up... so every Hearth has one representative. But I suppose it'll work out just fine since Kazuha went with her-” “Kazuha's with her!?” “What is with all this noise! I can't focus on my research if- hey, where are you all going? Woah-! Ah, Master Jean... they're all gone..” “... Well, since the boys left, it looks like you can focus on your work now.”

— Aether —Bonus: Lumine [Platonic]

“... Null.”

The reveal stuns the four in cloaks, whispers and murmurs arising that does little to satisfy your confusion. Null? Does this mean that...

In all its incadescent glory, the glow of your Vision remains a still white, obstinate and unchanging to other known seven colors. I don't have a place here?

“This is most surprising... who would've thought that we'll have another case like this?” concern blooms upon discerning the conflict in the Sustainer's voice, who then gazes at you imploringly.

“I would like to apologize, dear, but as you do not belong to any known Hearths, you will...”

You stiffen. Ah, I know that coming here was too good to be true.

“... Be living at the campus itself.”

Wait—

“Excuse me?” you splutter. “I thought that- doesn't null mean nothing? How can I ever... with this?”

The white Vision that holds no insignia of any element proceeds to pulse as though it is your heart. It draws in the rest of the cloaked figures, whose whispers entail something about 'twins' and with you as another addition to the cryptic 'element'.

It ignites a sense of hope inside. Are they implying that you aren't the only one granted with the blankness of a gift?

Almost like the fair woman is attuned with your train of thoughts, she places a hand on your shoulder. “Before your arrival, twin siblings have come to grace the Academy with a similar conundrum, and their Visions...”

You, along with the four figures, flinch at the way cracks litter across the case of the gift- until it bursts- and disappears as though it wasn't there in the first place.

“... Much like yours, shattered and vanished,” she then takes your hand and turns it over to view the rhombus mark that has just recently appeared. “Then in its stead, a marking of sorts came.”

A four pointed star luminescent with pinks, blues, and violets glow on your palm, bright and telling.

The Sustainer dismisses the group of four shortly as you marvel at the enchanting sight of the prism-like mark. It's beautiful.

Alone with the golden-eyed woman, she leads you out of the Paths Chamber and back into the halls, threading across the grand interior of the Academy. No one is around, but you seem to hear the faintest sound of little children singing—well, you think it belongs to children.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you see a handful of tiny creatures wobbling about with equally tiny hats and a fixed smile. However, they scurry to hide whenever you try to catch them.

Eventually, after passing the many, many sections of the campus and heading up several floors through a hidden staircase that only appears when you step onto it, you reach the peak of the Academy itself.

Who would've thought that a living space will be here? Despite technically being a loft—a large, beautiful one that stretches throughout the whole floor—it feels homely. If not for the blessing of sight, and if you relied on the atmosphere alone, you would've believed this to be the house you grew up in. Preoccupied with marveling over the place, the sound of the names being called flies past your ears.

Well, until the Sustainer is tapping your shoulder and you're turning to set your eyes upon twin siblings.

“Someone else is actually just like us! Glad to meet you, I'm Aether. It gets a little lonely around here, Lumine's getting sad 'cause she doesn't have anyone to speak to other than me because it's not permitted to sleep over at other dorms- hey, stop hitting me- but it's the truth!?”

Somehow, the range and utility of elements come to both siblings with relative ease, unlike you. For this very reason, Aether helps you out with learning how to get the hang of each of them. This carries on even after you're finally permitted to learn in the campus, and he becomes some kind of guard whenever someone makes you too uncomfortable. The attention of being able to wield seven elements is suffocating.

In a surprising turn of events, this guy actually has the guts to skip class. Not often, but he does so if he feels like the day is too 'bland' for his tastes. He still aces his exams, though. The twins appear like role model students, but do people know that they're sharing food in the middle of class? No!?

In potionology, a class he excels in, he concocts the best of brews with little to no side effects at all. For the fun of it, he sometimes brews a potion that somehow works as a meal—it's strange, but hey! You and Lumine are starting to live off of it when spending all-nighters, much to his utter concern. You both need actual food, not potions! o(≧口≦)o

Curses! You really thought that he's the sweetheart between the twins, but he has a devilish side to him, huh? He just adores waking you up in the morning in a bunch of ways. Once, he teasingly roused you from your sleep whilst being close to your face (you couldn't face him for hours), and one time, he sent you flying with Anemo!

Overlook his antics, however, then he really can be quite the sweetheart. Moments when you feel down, he'll give you a tub of ice cream. He goes out of his way to make sure you have the maximum amount of comfort in the 'dorm', and will not hesitate to help you with literally anything.

“I'm relieved to know that it isn't just us. Do you need help with something? You can count on me, Aether's a big dummy anyway. Let me tell you, he was just as bored as I am, he simply didn't want to admit it- hoh, so now you're hitting me!”

Although the dorm is spacious enough to accommodate the addition of another room, you bunk in with Lumine, to her excitement. Initially, you thought her to be mellow, but she's pretty high-spirited! The very night you arrived, you're both up so late in the early morning that if Aether hadn't barged in with a scolding session, it's a certainty that you wouldn't have slept at all.

It never deters either of you from doing it over and over, though. It has become so thrilling pretending to be asleep when Aether comes in to check if you're resting, and laughing silently when you get away with it. If you're lucky enough, you can even rope him in!

If Lumine manages to wake up early (a rare occurrence), she will save you from her brother's impish rousing. If not (an almost daily event) then you both can chase him for the sudden ice bath that woke you up and drenched you whole.

Lumine is the one to be a helping hand in your written studies, contrasting her twin, who guides you with your magic. She can be pretty strict, but all is well, for it's through her teaching that you are quickly able to have classes in the main campus.

She understands the stuffiness of being in the spotlight just as well as Aether does, so she diffuses any escalating situation that will stress you further, especially in class. Ah, and she is aware- more than aware of your escapades, how can she not? Ask her to join next time! (And so, three 'null' students are nowhere to be found in campus from time to time...)

The twins are pretty popular among the student body all because of their atypical ability and kindness. Now that there's a rumor about a third student being able to wield seven elements, oh dear.

They like to hold each of your hand as you go down for class, a very heartwarming sight for many. As the time folds on, however, you notice that Aether is giving some of the students a smug look... ah, one can only wonder why. (Lumine slaps her head and says that you're terribly dense.)

Leisure time with the twins is heavenly! You do all sorts of things, from movie marathons, to baking tons of desserts, playing video games, leaving the Academy for little trips- everything! Tight-knit as ever, mess with one, you mess with the two! So everyone knows not to, at all costs, get on their bad side...

During event games like the Seasonal Cradles in which it'll be dorms against dorms, you three have the luxury of either participating or sitting out. It's fun! You can't forget the Halloween event when Hu Tao and co approached to ask for help in scaring the students, ah yes, that was golden.

By the time a semester has passed by, these twins are knowing of everyone's warranted fascination about you. Quick, let one of them snip a photo of you three together and just post it in social media... nuh-uh, you're their precious dorm mate- uh, hearthmate, um- loftmate?? Be jelly, suckers!

You expected to be sorted to a Hearth, yes, but right now? You are perfectly fine and elated to be with the twins. Will not have it any other way!

“I think everyone's leaving for their homes this semester break?” “Mhm, what about it?” “Hooooo~ That means the whole campus and the Hearths are all for ourselves! Should we go have some fun?” “Lumine, I don't think we can just enter anyone's Hearth without permission. Plus, [Name]...” “Actually, I haven't seen any Hearths yet. I'd like to visit, but I don't want to intrude on anyone's business.. I don't know everyone as well as you two, either..” “Okay let's do it.” “Brother, I didn't know you can be this down bad for-” “We can also ask the Council for a gate pass so we can travel outside if we want to!” “Oh, that's a great idea!” “Quit ignoring me, you two!”

A lot can happen in the span of five years.

Your life at Septem Academy may have just begun, but with the way things kicked off at a great start, you’re relieved to say that maybe the adventure really is just beginning, as well.

Ah, but before all that, perhaps you first need to catch up on learning how to utilize your newfound magic.

a/n: so~ it's revealed that kaeya/albedo are exchange students from the distant college in Khaenri'ah! holy smokes, they came from so far :'))

also added a bonus hearth! well technically not a Hearth, since it's just Aether and Lumine- but there's MC now. they are referred to as nulls because of the plain white glow that they have on their chests (in this case, MC's hand) and the obvious lack of elemental sigil. still, they're op DSADASK

whenever i'll make more works for this particular au that will be tagged "m-septem", MC is always sorted similarly to the twins, as a 'null' student. unless stated otherwise, ofc! and boy i have a lot of scenarios for septem.

@cherryflushz @e7t3 @scarlet-halos @lordbugs @nebulaera @annoying-and-upset @hanniejji @applepi1415 @tjjjrsj @azirajane @hey-comrade-hold-stil @limelightsuperhero @chloeloe @loptido @windyventi @nejibot @ganyuqrt @justrinnn @yasunamilk @alana5021 @coco-goat-milk @lunastarjay @bambambunny @aryllechan @epioneemersyn @uwu-dreams @yvechu @mininji @o0soup0o @koi-chairowo @www-rosalesluvsyou

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