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that-one-pretty-bitch · 2 years

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𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓋𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒶𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝒾𝓏𝑒𝓈 𝒽𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝒹𝑒𝑒𝓅𝓁𝓎 𝒾𝓃 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝓉𝒶𝑔𝑜𝓃𝒾𝓈𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑒𝒶𝓇n𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝓎 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒~

𝕌𝕟𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕖, 𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕓𝕖 𝕒 𝕘𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙? 𝕆𝕣 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝕓𝕠𝕥𝕙 𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕖𝕟𝕕?

( What if Dion Agriche were to fall in love with a reader like Diana? )

A lost soul,

He lives but hardly talks

He is waiting for her,

The memories flooded his mind, as he remembered her delicate figure, rosy champagne colored eyes and gold hair that represented the sun. She had him wrapped around her finger, there is nothing that she would ask of that he wouldn’t do. If she asked him, he would kill himself for her. He was a moth drawn to the flame, the flame being her aurous hair. She would never be unloved. Everyone he knew adored her. Roxana found solace in her free spirit, nobody could tell Y/n what to do. Jeremy adored the way Y/n approached things with a brazen manner, she was never afraid and never seen without a smile on her face. Her smile was so contagious, her laugh made others lips curl into a silly grin. Y/n was always so straightforward, if she wanted something she would get it, no matter what it took. Maria was enchanted by her and was always present whenever y/n danced. To Maria Y/n resembled a flower fairy, delicate and graceful. Maria adored the way her body moved so elegantly, it was as if the wind and skies were dancing with her as well. She was everything, everyone’s sweetheart. However, he was nothing. He was a man used as a tool by his father and unloved by his mother. He barely ever spoke, he lived as though he were a corpse. He hoped one day he would be able to feel something, anything would be fine, just something. So that he could be good enough for her and not so dull as his mother always told him.

In front of this photo of former times

He, he is not crazy

He believes in it, that's all

He stared at a portrait of y/n in his room with glossy eyes, he had portraits of y/n everywhere in his room. He gently placed his hand onto the portrait and he felt his heart shatter. This was a portrait of y/n feeding him her favorite chocolates and when he was first introduced to lippe tea, that he now drank everyday to feel spiritually closer to her. Oh y/n, you had only been here for a few years, yet captivated everyone's heart, you truly are a cruel woman. He lay down on his couch recalling nights that y/n had spent in his room, refusing to take the bed and sleeping on the couch instead. Her scent still lingered, it was hard to get over her. It had only been a day since he lost her, yet everything was falling apart. Only nine months back, he had been so happy upon receiving the news, he didn’t know that this would have ended the life of his beloved. How the scent of blood had filled the room, the way she laid lifeless on her bed. While the midwife held a small baby in her arms. He lost every bit of sanity he had at that scene, brutally murdering every servant that was in sight before the other residents had to knock him out. It took all of Roxana, Jeremy, Grizelda, Charlotte and the other children’s strength to manage to overpower Dion. The others felt crushed as well. Now who could possibly sing Jeremy to sleep every night? Who could Jeremy complain to about his life? Who would calm him down when he was hurting…. Who would nurse Roxana back to health whenever she went overboard with the poisonous butterflies? Who would Roxana have late night conversations under the stars with? Who would she dance with? Who would calm down Charlotte in an instant? Who would embrace Charlotte whenever she was hurt? Who would kiss all of the scratches better on Charlotte’s face? Who would Grizelda gossip with? Who would be Grizelda’s best friend? Most importantly, who would love Dion, as she had loved him?

He sees her everywhere

Standing, he is waiting for her

A rose in his hand,

Grizelda was the first to learn about the news from y/n, being y/n’s best friend she started to worry when she noticed y/n’s stomach hurt every morning and y/n feeling nauseous most of the time for a few days. So as any concerned best friend would do, she offered to take y/n to the clinic, however y/n could barely walk. Helping y/n up, and slinging her arm around her shoulder in an effort to support her weight she carried y/n to the carriage. Y/n was in a seemingly bad condition when they had reached the clinic. After a thorough examination, the doctor concluded that y/n was just fine, her pregnancy symptoms were simply harsher than what usual people had. Grizelda was over the moon to hear the news, she was going to be an aunt! Y/n couldn’t wait to tell her husband the news, meanwhile Grizelda could hardly keep in her excitement as she swung her arms around her best friend who was still extremely unwell. Both women walked back to the mansion quietly, that's when y/n saw Dion walking towards her room. He had seen that y/n’s appetite had increased the past few days and had brought her some chocolates for the both of them.

“Dion darling!!” She screamed

This was Grizelda’s que to leave, she didn’t need the lovey-dovey couple to make her feel single.

“Yes?” Dion sighed

For someone unwell, she was definitely very enthusiastic.

“Calm down love, what's the matter?” He asked looking her up and down

“You're going to be a father!” she screamed

Dion froze. It took him a few minutes to process the information and when he finally processed the information he went and embraced his wife who had been nervously staring at him. He had gently lifted her off the ground and spun her around with a soft smile adorning his lips.

“I’m going to take care of our child, I don’t want to be like my father,” He said, staring at y/n’s stomach.

“I hope so too~ But I know you Dion, you will make a wonderful father~~ my loveeee~~” Y/n laughed while being spun around.

Maria heard the sound of laughter and walked towards it, she walked in on her son spinning his wife around.

Y/n met Maria’s gaze and jumped out of Dions arms and into hers,

“Mama~~ you're going to be a grandmother!!”

It also took Maria quite some time to process everything she had just said. Maria was holding a rose in her hand and picked the flower up and tucked it behind y/n’s ear. She then strengthened the embrace. “I hope the baby looks like you, i’m so glad to hear this news,” Maria had tears near the corner of her eyes. She kissed y/n’s cheek and skipped off happily.

Later that evening

Jeremy came skipping into her room as well,

“Y/n!!! Fountain told me that you love HIM more than ME the nerve of that guy!!! Hmph… you love ME more right?” Jeremy came in complaining

Y/n was laying in her bed once again feeling unwell, the maids were sent out to get her a comfortable nightgown to sleep in. Suddenly his foul mood turned into worry. He rushed to her side of the bed.

“Y/n! Are you okay?? Why are you laying down?? You don’t look well!” Jeremy was panicking.

“I’m fine…it's just…How do you feel about being an uncle?”

He had just learned how children were made a few months ago, so he was a little bothered and flustered to hear this news…

“I’m going to be an uncle??? HOW DARE DION TOUCH YOU!? I’ll kill him!” Jeremy started telling you multiple torcher methods he was going to try on Dion causing you to sweatdrop.

“Think about it Jeremy, you will be an uncle-” Y/n sighed

“Damn right!! I’ll be the best uncle in existence,” Jermey’s mood switched completely.

Thank god he wasn’t going to murder your husband.

Jeremy’s loud mouth had informed the rest of the Agriche estate and everyone knew the news by the next morning. The next morning when you were busy eating the ice cream Dion had brought you very early that day, Roxana walked in to congratulate you.

“Oh y/n, I am truly fortunate to have someone like you in my life and I feel blessed for once, to know that there will be two of you,” She sighed

“Thank you so much for your kind words, Roxana. Just in case anything happens you’ll take care of it for me right?” Y/n asked

“With my life, I owe everything to you,” Roxana pledged

“You are just the sweetest,” y/n sighed, as Roxana was taking her leave.

Making Roxana Smile ever so slightly. Now all of this was a distant memory.

Apart from her, he is expecting nothing

Nothing around him makes sense

And the air feels heavy

“Please, love our daughter as you have loved me,” Y/n rapidly said, ready to lose her life any moment.

“Y/n…don’t leave me…please…I need you,” There was evident hurt in Dion’s voice, it made y/n’s heart shatter

“I-i can’t believe i’m going to lose you,” He said crying into y/n’s shoulder as she slowly lost her life.

“I will love our daughter, I will make sure she knows what a wonderful mother she would have had,” he sighed, a lovesick smile across his lips

As Dion walked out of the room disheartened and empty killing servants along the way, the midwife timidly handed him a small baby. His baby. He would not kill her, she helped deliver this bundle of joy to him after all. He would protect his daughter with his life, she was the only thing that his wife had left him with and he would make sure to stand by his word. Dion refused to hand his baby to anyone. Nobody had asked for the baby girl either as they were all grieving the loss of y/n.

Jeremy was the first to approach Dion and place a hand on his shoulder. Even though he hated Dion, he knew that Dion was suffering the most out of them all. After all, Y/n was the only thing Dion loved and now Y/n was gone.

“C-can I hold her?” Jeremy crocked

Dion looked hesitant but then remembered how y/n had always doted and adored Jeremy, so he reluctantly handed him the bub. The tiny baby had her eyes closed but Jeremy noticed that she had inherited her mother’s beautiful golden hair. Bitterly smiling, Jeremy began to stroke the small amount of hair.

“L-look she has y/n’s hair,” Jeremy said in an attempt to cheer everyone up

Everyone rushed towards Jeremy, Sierra cried harder looking at the beautiful hair, while Maria forced a smile across her pained face. Roxana smiled hoping that she would be able to hold the baby next, after all she had promised y/n she would look after her child. Grizelda had covered her face entirely looking at the baby, she couldn’t believe that her dearest friend whom she shared many wonderful memories with was now gone She would never see her again. Truth hit her really hard, she felt paralyzed as she reached out her hand to touch the baby. Charlotte just hoped that if heaven really did existed, y/n would watch over them.

An absent expression,

He is alone, he often talks to her

He, He is not crazy

“Y/n.. today our daughter opened her eyes and you wouldn’t believe it but.. She has your eyes…your eyes have always been so beautiful. I'm glad our daughter looks like you. You were the only thing I was living for but now…My daughter…I’m glad I met you y/n. Even if we weren’t able to spend the rest of our lives together, I have no regrets for meeting you.” He sighed speaking to a photo of y/n beside his bed. He heard the crying of his baby coming from the cot in his room and he went towards the child, picking it up gently and embracing it. As he pet the baby’s back gently in an attempt to calm her down, he pointed at a portrait of y/n on his wall,

“That's your mother, isn’t she beautiful?” He said admiring the way she looked in the painting.

The baby in his hands cooed and made grabby hands towards the picture of her mother trying to reach for her. Only to feel the surface of a canvas.

“I wish she were here too, she would have loved you dearly,” Dion said, feeling the fabric of the canvas in his hands.

𝐼 𝑜𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒶𝓃𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒾𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝓂𝑜𝓉𝒾𝓋𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝒾'𝓂 𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓇𝓎 :,(

#diana wmmap #wmmap crossover #wtptflob #way to protect the female leads older brother #dion agriche #dion agrece #dion agriche x reader #Maria Agriche #lant agriche #grizelda agriche #roxana agriche #jeremy agriche #agriche family #agriche family x reader #manwaha x reader #manwaha stories #fanfiction #novels x reader

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industria-adastra · 4 months

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[WMMAP] - Magnum Opus: Flipping through a child's eulogy (3/5)

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Summary: It’s strange, trying to get used to a new puzzle piece in her incomplete picture. But Jennette is kind, and with the waves of change alongside her. So Athanasia dares to hope.

But it is not to be.

Note: Sorry this took a while but admittedly this took a lot longer than I expected. Chapter 3 ended up getting split but this is where most of the build-up is for before the anvil really drops in this now 5-parter of LP timeline Athy's moral bankruptcy arc.

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After the disastrous event that was her debut—By the sun and stars of Obelia she had a sister —Athanasia found herself staring, empty-eyed, up at the ceiling. She had no real idea of how she even got herself back to her room, or how and why no one seemed to stop her. If only to bombard her with invasive questions about her as the nobles had done so earlier.

But then again, they were probably all occupied with Jennette, weren't they? A new princess, who looked far lovelier than the forgotten princess in blue. Jennette Margarita, a shining new piece on the chessboard of noble politics.

Athanasia rolls over to stare emptily at the overgrown greenery beyond the window. The glass is one of the only objects still sparkling clean compared to the rest of the dusty rooms in the palace.

Lily must’ve cleaned it earlier.

The garden, as beautiful as it was, was wild and overgrown. How many years had it been since someone took proper care of it? Her body curls within herself, drawing her eyes away.

A cold weight settles itself on her shoulder. Strokes her in a comforting manner with only the brush of freezing air to alert Athanasia to her mama’s movement.

A few minutes later, that cold hand is replaced by another much warmer one.

“I…heard about it. Your debut, that is. What happened during it was…” Lily trails off, unable to find a perfect word to encapsulate this entire situation.

And then, she shakes her head, her resolve strengthening. “But you should know, Princ—No, Athanasia —that no matter what happens, I’ll always be by your side.” Her hand moved to comb through her hair, delicate fingers picking out the hidden ties within her hair. “And you know why?”

Athanasia stays silent, merely turning her head to look up at Lily.

“Because I promised, remember? And you know that, if it’s you, Athanasia, I will always, always, keep my promises to you.”

(Diana takes the moment to let her emotions be known, an all-encompassing wave that cocoons Athanasia in its warmth. Smooth like silk and gentle to the touch, it was all too easy to understand.)

And if Athanasia’s eyes start to overflow with tears, and her body begins to shake, neither Lily nor Diana makes any comment about it. They simply stay beside her. A silent comfort.

With the sudden reveal of Jennette—a potential new heir—everything was thrown into chaos. Both nobles and commoners gossip and whisper, wondering about the royal family. Of changes in relationships and the succession of the royal family. Since Jennette Margarita was older, would whoever married her become emperor instead? (Groups of noble boys sigh in relief, because although they could not remember what Jennette looked like in detail, they remembered a girl who was so lovely and beautiful beyond comparison. Her image buzzed in their minds like a persistent fly.)

But, most said, wouldn’t you think it’s a terribly one-sided battle?

After all, how would the second princess, the daughter of a lowborn commoner and unknown to all, even compare to the lovely Margarita girl?

Rumours fly from the mouths of the members of the most exciting debutante of His Majesty’s age. About Jennette Margarita—now Jennette de Alger Obelia—they would say, sweet and kind and perhaps with a head sometimes up in the clouds, but ever so darling and dear, the new princess of theirs. About Athanasia de Alger Obelia, they’d sneer, gloomy and despondent, who would ever want her?

And so, and so, everyone waits with bated breath to see whether their speculations will be proven correct.

And they would be, time and time again, until one day they’d be pulled from the peak of their euphoria, down into the flames of hell and horror.

When they first meet, it is within the boundary of the Ruby Palace, in an overgrown field of grass and wildflowers and weeds.

Athanasia is practising her magic again, lying under the cooling shade of a large tree. Raven lies nearby, and her mother watches on with interest. The whispers and wailing in her ears have all but stopped after the trainwreck that was her debut, but still, Athanasia prefers the quiet open of this area. Better than the confining, decaying air of the Ruby Palace. Only Lily made it seem alive in there. But today she seems to be busier than usual, so Athanasia has quietly left her to her work.

Her black-blue mana weaves shapes in the air, dancing through the plants, giving energy to some, taking energy from others. It crackles and pops as it does so, staccato beats following a discordant rhythm.

Today is a fine day.

Until, of course, there’s a sudden intrusion in the form of her newly “discovered” older sister. Athanasia immediately stops any usage of magic, wary, but puts on a polite smile in greeting. A question blooms within both her and her mother’s minds as they wonder: What would Jennette Margarita be like in relative privacy?

Unknowingly, Jennette offers a rather positive answer to that.

“Hello! You’re Athanasia, right? I’m so glad I finally got to meet you!” Jennette beams at her, lowering herself to clasp Athanasia’s hands in her own. Athanasia, in turn, fights the urge to flinch away at the suddenness of her actions. She seemed…highly forward, and almost brash in her approach.

But, it wasn’t like this eagerness to know herself, know Athanasia as a person, from her new… sister wasn’t wanted. Athanasia wonders if she could get used to it. Get used to positive attention from a different member of her family (not from the one she truly desired it from).

Warmth blooms, just a little. But it’s there. Maybe she still could. Maybe she could.

Athanasia simply opts to listen, watching Jennette ramble on about her long-lived desire to meet her, watching her grow more and more nervous. Raven, now having surreptitiously moved over to her lap, watches Jennette carefully.

Jennette is an open person, speaking of endless details about herself, to the point where one would think she’d never learned the meaning of the word “discreet”. Athanasia learns about Jennette’s favourite flowers (daisies), her favourite colour (blue), her favourite pastimes, and her hopes and dreams for her newly reunited family.

She doesn’t have the heart to tell her that their father, whilst a good and just man, is not one to offset his work in order to spend time with his children. So she smiles, and answers every question Jennette goes on to ask her with polite, near-perfunctory answers.

Athanasia takes the time to take in Jennette’s features—the brief glances during her debut, marred by her despair, were not enough to form a good image of her within her mind. And Athanasia, as much as she tries, cannot fathom how this is her sister of another mother. Jennette’s hair is brown, a trait inherited from her mother, where generations of their family had been blond. The only thing she can find that even remotely reminds her of their father is Jennette’s jewel-blue eyes, and even then, they gleam with green when the sunlight passes over them.

Jennette’s features are, strangely enough, like a mirage. An aura of magic coats her skin; something lurks, trapped beneath her flesh, thick and sticky yet as flexible as water. It pulls at the light, softening her features and sharpening them at the same time, as if her creator still could not make up his mind on how he wished for her to look. Still, it always tries its best to make Jennette look as physically attractive as possible. Athanasia recognises this kind of magic, having entangled her hands within similar variations.

Black magic. Forbidden magic. Layers upon layers of it, as if it were the makeup of her sister’s existence.

Strange. Should she question Jennette about it? While she’s still chattering away at her? Athanasia mulls upon this decision, unconsciously starting to comb her fingers through Raven’s thick fur.

Unfortunately, it isn’t long before a maid calls for Jennette, pulling her away from the odd Second Princess with distrustful eyes. They do not trust her with her new sister. Evidently, they read too many melodramatic novels.

Now that Jennette has left, her mother comes closer, having observed the entire interaction. And Athanasia sees that her gaze is cold, as they watch Jennette move further away from the Ruby Palace.

She wonders where Jennette lives, if not in the Ruby Palace like her. (Whichever palace it was, it would be one more well-loved than hers)

“Could you feel it too, Mother?” She asks, staring at this icy version of her always-warm mother. “There’s so much magic woven within her, and it’s… different from how the mages of the Black Tower feel. I can barely even feel anything similar to my mana, the royal family’s mana, because most of it—” She pauses, and sees her mother tense, looking pointedly away. Athanasia pretends she doesn’t see it. “Most of it feels like… Black magic. Forbidden, cursed, magic.”

It takes a while for her mother to respond.

“The Penelope I knew—or rather, the emperor told me about—was never magically inclined. Ambitious and beautiful, but with barely an ounce of usable mana to become even a low-level mage.” Her mother still doesn’t look at her. Athanasia is unsure what to make of this strange non-answer.

“So, it’s artificial then? I assume it would be before birth, as otherwise, I believe she would not be quite so… her . But whyever would Father agree to such procedures? I didn’t think he’d be the kind of person to willingly subject his family to such danger. Even if Penelope Judith must’ve asked for it. Especially since our bloodline practically guarantees some degree of usable mana compared to others.” It’s a puzzling thought for Athanasia, an uncomfortable, squirmy sort of thought. Father, the holy Emperor of Obelia, someone who’d sink his hands up to his forearms in forbidden magic? Athanasia banishes that thought as quickly as possible.

Diana cannot bear to tell her daughter what the voices have told her, what her memories are telling her. That Penelope Judith had only lain with Claude’s brother. That Jennette was unlikely to be his daughter. That Claude knew this and yet was more welcoming to his own niece than a daughter he had with someone he had so desperately claimed to love. So she chooses her words carefully, measuring them within her mind before allowing them to fall from her lips.

“...I think, Athy, that—” Diana’s face is unsteady, a crack in the glass as she abruptly stops. “—that when it comes to people we love, we may not always know them as well as we think we do, because there are so many facets to a person.”

Vague, vague, vague. Her mother’s answer is vague and does little to calm her with its implications. But Athanasia doesn’t want to argue.

“I know.” That is all Athanasia says in reply, and that is all she leaves it to be.

(Hate was so easy to cultivate these days, when one’s emotions were connected to those of others.)

Such blissful ignorance is something she wants to keep her only child cradled safely within, if only so she would not be further hurt. She descends to wrap her arms around Athanasia, her only treasure, her most precious beloved child.

They sit in silence together for a little while longer. Yet, Athanasia notes, as she looks up at the darkening sky, it seems like a storm would come. And soon.

Jennette Margarita…no, Jennette de Alger Obelia is an enigma to her. An enigma through her very existence and how she is. How she treats everyone.

An older half-sister she’d never met, with a personality she’d never gotten accustomed to. She is a cheerful, sunny girl in contrast to Athanasia’s dark and gloomy disposition. Forceful in her own ways like a gentle force of nature. Athanasia doesn’t think she’s a particularly bright girl, not instinctively picking up on how and why the servants and guards react like so depending on which princess they’re encountering. Jennette didn’t seem particularly well-read either, having seemingly been kept within an isolated bubble for a large part of her years. A bubble that was tailored to how her previous guardians saw fit to design. A bubble that she accepted without much thought.

Athanasia had torn apart her own bubble a long, long time ago.

But Jennette is kind. At the very least, she treats her with the desire to become close. And perhaps, that is what draws Athanasia toward her, like a moth finding another source of light to hold onto. A little bit more affection to have and consume, another island in a sea of apathy. She isn’t sure if she’s being too greedy, coveting another pair of warm arms and a warm smile.

(Athanasia remembers a face as solid and cold as ice from years ago. With another member in the family, one that he clearly cared about—with the unceasing flow of new baubles and fabrics given to her—would he welcome her now? A girl who’d do her best to repay his love and attention with all her being?

She doesn’t know the answer until one fateful tea party.)

Meeting her father again for the first time in years is not as much of a happy affair as Athanasia thought it’d be.

For one, her tea sits cold on her plate, and Athanasia also finds that her appetite has long left her. There is no mention of any of her dedication to the country and her studies, nor her desire to be useful to him. No, her father simply ignores her in favour of Jennette. Watching her, though not with familiar warmth.

It’s an emotion entirely different from her mother’s, and something about it makes her feel cold. The awkward silence hangs like a sword on a thread, as Jennette nervously nibbles on her snacks. Not even her typically sunny demeanour can defrost the ice lingering in the air here.

At least Mother is here, gently squeezing her, just enough to feel her warm-cold presence. Athanasia wonders why she hasn’t shown herself to her husband, pushing away memories of derisive whispers about a low-born dancer with more grace in her pinky toe than in any of their entire beings. Her fingers fiddle with one another, now wishing she were in the royal library instead, studying to be better.

At last, Jennette takes the plunge to end the awkward atmosphere.

“F-father!” She practically shouts, “I-I’ve heard that Athanasia is quite good in her studies, so maybe there is something she could help you with?” Sweat lightly lines the side of her head, glistening. Her hands fumble about with the polished silver utensils.

The blatant plead for them to interact is so evident, that it would have been more subtle to plunge a sword into his gut. Athanasia barely keeps her muscles from reflexively cringing. But at the very same time, a bit of hope dared to bloom. Perhaps her father simply needed a little prompting.

And it seems like he did, because right after, he turns to her, the same look of apathy still on his face, but he is looking at her and Athanasia’s mind runs through hundreds of imaginary conversation starters.

“Is that so?” He says, deceptively light before his next words. “Athanasia…” Pausing, he appears to be contemplating something. “...so that was your name. And what an amusingly arrogant one it is. Who’s daughter were you, to have thought you’d be able to live up to such a name?” Cold like always, he fixes the full force of his icy gaze onto her, pinning her down like a butterfly specimen to be thoroughly examined. He eased himself into a languid position on his chair as best as possible, waiting, demanding her answer.

Her mother’s arms tighten imperceptibly, just as Athanasia feels a twang of disappointment at her father’s blatant forgetting of her beautiful, wonderful mother. It clashes with the rush of emotion that sears through her veins at having her father’s full attention on her (though not because of her).

Suddenly, a rush of noise fills her ears, phantom memories of blood and death coming back from long ago. It is vivid and hazy in her mind’s eye, overlapping multiple perspectives into one as she steadily gazes back at him.

Yet he is always covered in blood.

Athanasia tastes blood on her tongue, blood in her throat. Feels it on her hands, soaked into her dress. She blinks and it’s gone as quickly as it appears.

(Mother doesn’t seem very happy)

She tries to keep her voice even. “Diana of Siodonna, Father. I’ve… I’ve heard that she was a beautiful dancer.” Even so, her words are spoken haltingly, chosen carefully.

At that, she could see his eyes narrow in sudden hostility, something dark flashing across them. One of his hands moves to tightly grasp her chin, moving her face this way and that. The pressure hurt, felt as if it could fracture her delicate bones.

Yet his next words fracture her heart.

“Diana? I’ve never even heard of that name.”

He wishes (demands, really) for her to refer to him as “Your Majesty”. With that, the distance between them widens ever more. Was “Father” not respectful enough for him? But she acquiesces to his request (again, more of a demand). Because he is her father. Because she loves him (and all he stood for).

She loves him like a daughter to her father and a worshipper to her idol.

But Athanasia finds that it’s becoming harder to reconcile reality with her idealised images.

And yet, she clings to thin threads of hope anyway.

Diana feels the rage of the others within her boil and bubble, caustic and cutting, as she notices Athanasia being brushed off again and again by Claude. Something screams deep within her, louder and louder as it becomes increasingly clear that he remembers her not. She learns to hate from others, learns to hate through circumstance and with the help of the negativity entwining with her. It’s an addicting feeling that’s all too happy to grow as she watches Claude take their daughter for granted again and again.

Sometimes it feels as if their consciousness merges in and out. Although most of the other women hated her terribly in the end for being the favoured one of the emperor, they all could understand the feeling of being abandoned, being treated lesser by someone whom you adored. They could understand how love and like could curdle and sour into hate.

Diana had gambled on their love, on her judgement of his character…

And it turns out that she’s fumbled the roll all along.

Sometimes, Athanasia thinks she hates them both—her father and Jennette.

Her father for how he underestimates her, practically pretends she doesn’t exist, the easy affection he gives so freely to Jennette even as Athanasia strove to reach his heaven-high standards. Could he not see her desire to help him? Could he not see how much work she put into her studies, no matter how she tried to convey it to him—whether it be through pathetically desperate verbal questioning about his interest, or her showing off as best as she could her ideas on how to perhaps help her Empire prosper more.

Jennette, for how easily she gains her (their) father’s affection. She fails miserably at certain subjects, stays happily within her own enclosed bubble without a care for the outside world, and yet. And yet, and yet, and yet—

(Athanasia can’t really blame her, not really. Because Jennette is kind. Because her father has more important duties than an attention-starved teenage daughter. Because the fault is probably all her own. Good with books, terrible with people, better with ghosts. What a mess .)

He couldn’t even bother to spare her a single glance. What did she lack? What did she not have? What did she need, who did she need to be so he’d gaze at her like Jennette?

Why couldn’t they be together as one happy family?

(Why couldn’t he be the father she wanted him to be?)

She caresses a thorny rose, admiring its beauty, lightly gliding her skin on the thorns.

Not a second later, Athanasia pricks her skin on them.

It leaks blood, slowly, surely, before it clots.

She stares, watching. Wondering. Ruminating.

Ijekiel Alpheus. He is Jennette’s fiancé, and Athanasia listens for words that slip through the cracks. Jennette loves to talk about him. The girls at every tea party held in the palace love to gush about him, plying words of flattering praise on Jennette as thick as honey. It often feels over-excessive.

Perhaps they envy her.

(But who wouldn’t? With her perfect life and perfect personality, it is easy to love her and even easier to hate her.)

Ijekiel is Jennette’s childhood friend, their affection for one another having been fostered since day one. She wonders if he is the white-haired youth she saw on that day. He had worn his charm like a well-worn mask, gently guiding Jennette towards His Majesty. Beautiful and handsome, all soft edges and a princely demeanour.

He must be. House Alpheus is the only white-haired, gold-eyed noble family she knows of in Obelia.

Athanasia meets him on a summer day. A maid eagerly rushes to Jennette, telling her of her fiancé’s arrival. Her sister brightens with excitement and proceeds to drag Athanasia back to the palace to meet him.

Her mother has opted to stay and relax with Raven back in the Ruby Palace. Lately, Mother feels tired through the threads that connect them. Athanasia briefly hopes the rest will do her well, before allowing herself to be pulled in the rush of emotions Jennette visibly emits before they enter the doors of the Emerald Palace.

For some reason, Athanasia always thought the colour would suit Jennette well. Better green than blue.

(Better to be in any other family than—)

When they arrive, Ijekiel has his back to them. He’s been waiting. Clothed in white and gold, Athanasia cannot help but wonder if it is an intentional choice of House Alpheus. She supposes it lends a more ethereal quality to Ijekiel, whilst also being easy to match with their hair and eyes. It certainly looks more intricate and fine than her pale blue dress.

“Ijekiel!”

Jennette lets go of her hand to practically leap onto Ijekiel’s back, arms wrapping around him tightly as she beams. Athanasia opts to stand back, a couple of steps away, allowing space for the pair, waiting for him to turn to meet her.

The first thing she notices is that his eyes are like unpolished gold.

Yet as they finally lock eyes, jewel blue meeting dull gold, Jennette’s happy words “This is my fiance, Ijekiel…” fade into the background, and those eyes appear to sparkle as if wrapped in a Mesmer. He smiles gently and moves to place a kiss just above her hand. As he does so, his gaze feels like it’s attempting to see through her for what she is. It is a strange sparkle that has lit within his eyes.

“A pleasure to meet you, your highness.”

Something about him changes at that moment.

And it is all too strange that such a gaze would cause her to feel flushed below her clothes. Would cause her breath to hitch and a feeling of breathlessness to rush over her. Maybe she overworked herself this morning with the spells, growing flowers willy-nilly for both Lily and Mother. There’s nothing else that could explain this.

As always, Athanasia opts to ignore unwanted feelings.

(She cannot have him; a terrible choice for a first infatuation)

On a summer’s day, they meet again for the second time. This time, it was by complete accident. Whilst walking back to the Ruby Palace from one of the Imperial libraries, Athanasia finds herself nearly walking into Ijekiel. Thank goodness for Mother warning her just in time before they could collide.

Immediately, she reacts with a “My apologies, Lord Alpheus.” He bows in return. A beat of silence follows soon after, and as there is no reply, she continues with “Were you looking for Jennette? I believe she should be finished with her dance lessons soon…” Shifting her books to her left arm, Athanasia snaps open the pocket watch on her side. “...In about five to six minutes or so.”

“No worries, Your Highness. And, I’m not here for Jennette today. I simply felt like visiting one of the royal libraries.” Ijekiel replies, smiling. Then something appears to catch his eye, and following his gaze, Athanasia looks down to see her books. More specifically, a theorem that was published by Roitz a few years ago. Bound in dull brown and without much decoration, Athanasia wonders why it is this book that catches his attention specifically.

“Is that…?”

Athanasia is quick to reply with her own query. “Lord Alpheus, do you recognise this?”

“Yes, is that not Roitz’s book on the intricacies and differences between black magic and forbidden magic? I have read it before on a whim. However, there’s not much I can do with such information, seeing as I am not a mage. Although,” he looks back up into her eyes, “speaking of mages, I do not suppose it is much of a surprise that Your Highness reads such things.”

Her own blue eyes stray away from his intense gaze. “If I may, Lord Alpheus… I don’t believe that is quite true, mage or not, it is always good to know more. Especially with matters concerning magic. Knowing the differences could perhaps help one determine how best to solve problems concerning magic, or even identify signs that may appear with black magic usage. Sometimes, knowing can make all the difference in things. Please, do not presume that something is useless to you because you have yet to think of a use for it.” And somehow, without realising, her gaze shifts as she speaks, staring down at the sparkling gold of his irises.

It takes a while for him to speak, and Athanasia thinks he looks almost pleasantly surprised, were it not for the rapid change into his normal, genial smile that leaves her wondering if she’s hallucinating from years spent with the supernatural.

“...Yes, you’re right, of course.” Ijekiel’s head subtly shifts to look beyond the marble pillars of the hallway. “There are things I feel thankful for now, even if I grew to despise them in the past.” He’s looking back at her, and Athanasia feels as if Ijekiel isn’t exactly talking about books and knowledge. Unexpectedly, she feels herself flush, red hot on her cheeks. His gaze always feels all too intense whenever she’s caught in it.

At this, his smile seems to grow a little more genuine, before he leaves with a light bow and a, “If I may excuse myself, Your Highness.”

The faint scent of wildflowers follows him.

Athanasia thinks, staring at the place where he was, that it’s not the end of their meetings, mostly due to their respective statuses as future in-laws. Although as she looks at her Mother’s amused gaze, Athanasia hopes that by the next meeting, she could at least stop feeling so strangely flustered every time she meets Ijekiel.

Her mother shows her little reprieve after that encounter. As it turns out, Athanasia appears to have found a new muse to draw. Sitting beneath the old tree with Raven and her mother once more, Athanasia allows her mind to wander in content silence. Thus she pays little attention to the wildflowers unfurling next to her, nor the fact that Ijekiel’s features are starting to form upon the paper.

Unfortunately for her, Diana—her mother—is a rather keen-eyed woman. And thus, her sparkling pink eyes zero onto the familiar handsome sketched features with a speed rivalling the Arlantan hawks. As she does so, her lips softly curl into a teasing grin at her new discovery.

“My, my, Athy, who’s this?” Leaning in, Diana peers at her daughter with that very grin, as Athanasai practically leapt out of her skin. Raven, deciding he’d rather be an observer rather than a participant, takes this time to move over to a warm patch in the field.

“Ma‒a! You nearly gave me a heart attack! Couldn’t you have warned me somehow before you decided to comment on my artwork?” Athanasia exasperatedly said, slowly calming down her racing heart.

“Weell, my darling daughter,” Diana begins to say, pinching at one of Athanasia’s cheeks, “I’m simply ever so curious as to this mysterious handsome individual you’ve started to draw. Who, by the way, looks ever so similar to one heir to House Alpheus.” Her cheshire grin grows ever wider as Athanasia slowly realises the implication, relishing the deep lobster red suffusing her pale complexion.

“That’s a coincidence,” she explains tartly, wishing the ground would swallow her up whole, were it not that the lack of air would kill her. “Besides, it’s not a crush or anything of the sort that you’re implying, Mama.” Athanasia spits out the word ‘crush’ as if it were something diseased.

“I never said it was a crush.”

“That—! Well, you most certainly implied that I have a crush on Ijekiel!”

“Did I? I only wished to know who you were drawing, Athy,” Diana replies, looking like the cat who got both the cream and the canary. “But now that you mention it… Do you have a crush on him, Athy?”

“I do not have a crush.” Athanasia pouts, crossing her arms, “And Mother, you should remember that this is Jennette’s fiancé we are discussing. Any feeling of the amorous kind should not, and will not, exist.” Her voice is hard at that reminder. However, who was truly being reminded here?

At that, Diana’s expression softens into a sympathetic look.

“Oh Athy, it’s perfectly alright and normal for you to get a crush at this age.” Diana places a comforting hand on Athanasia’s hunched shoulders, coaxing her daughter to look at her. “I know you care very much about Jennette, but you’re not betraying her or anything like that by getting a crush on her fiancé. Besides, you’re not acting on those feelings, and that’s all that really matters, Athy.” Her fingers gently comb through her daughter’s golden tresses.

It’s a nice, normal thing for her daughter to get a crush.

She thinks, sadly, that Claude would have been a rather endearingly protective father.

Athanasia thinks they run into each other quite a lot, enough that she can no longer truly call it a continuing series of accidental encounters. It’s one too many times with too short breaks in between for her to call it such. At some point, she’s starting to wonder if “accidental” is intentional. But with both her desire to ignore most thoughts about fair-haired, handsome Ijekiel and to prove to her mother that this was most certainly not some crush on her sister’s betrothed, Athanasia kicks such thoughts into the abyss of her subconscious.

So obviously, the next time she carries a thick romance novel out of the library to read in the comfort of her room, Athanasia has to be nearly bowled over by Ijekiel as she rounds the corner back to the Ruby Palace.

She stumbles back in shock the moment they collide, thankfully managing not to trip over her feet. Ijekiel appears to be completely unphased, the only sign of collision being his slightly shifted clothing. Athanasia envies that calmness—just a bit.

Just seconds after their collision, Ijekiel smiles, moving to lightly bow towards her, his right hand clasped over his breast.

“Your Highness, what a happy coincidence.” As he straightens up, Ijekiel’s eyes roam over the book Athanasia is perhaps not-so-subtly trying to obscure. “May I presume you were coming back from the library?”

“Y— Yes, Lord Alpheus. I was. And may I presume in return that you were on the way to meet Jennette? May I recommend that the next time you come visit her, you start from the left, instead of the right? It takes a longer time to get to the Emerald Palace if you go this way, Lord Alpheus.” Her fingers curl tighter around her novel, desperate to not let Ijekiel see the embossed blurb, lest he guesses the contents of it. (He need not know just how passionately the main couple express their feelings for each other, and he most definitely need not know in what specific manner they normally do so)

Suddenly, it feels as if they are far too close for comfort.

(She can’t quite understand why she’s unwilling to let him know about this, wanting to keep the image of a refined, scholarly princess in his eyes)

He takes a step closer, and for a scant second, Athanasia’s breath catches in her throat. It’s still a perfectly acceptable distance, she mentally reassures herself. It’d do her no good to have her mind so scrambled by such a little thing as the decreased distance from her future in-law.

(Her very handsome, future brother-in-law, her mind supplies in a rather unhelpful fashion. Athanasia wonders if there was a spell to get your mind to shut up when it made unnecessary comments about other people.)

Smiling, Ijekiel makes the world stand still with just a few words.

“Actually, Your Highness, I was looking for you.”

“What?” It’s only by the grace of all those years spent holding back that allows Athanasia at least a semi-dignified response to his reply. She blinks and very nearly stutters on her next words. “You… You were looking for me?”

Suddenly he’s far, far too close, and Athanasia nearly leaps out of her skin with surprise, blooming red on her cheeks. Her arms loosen their death grip on her novel, allowing Ijekiel a clear view of her guilty pleasure. So unfortunately for Athanasia, within those few seconds of embarrassment for her, Ijekiel quickly sees what she’s not so subtly attempting to hide from him.

“Oh? That…” He smiles gently like always. But this time, there is a musical lilt to his tone, a subtle quirk to his lips.

Much like a cat who caught the canary.

Athanasia does her very best to ignore both that damnable smile and the airy weight of her mother’s arms settling comfortably around her.

“Is there something you’d like to say, Lord Alpheus?” She knows her tone is just a tinge too sharp, too snappy in its execution. Athanasia stoutly refuses to believe such reactions could be, in any way, related to her feelings towards the Alpheus heir. Just like how, right now, she is stoutly ignoring her dearly beloved mother’s giggles.

Underlying those words is a challenge to him; daring him to say even a single unneeded and unwanted comment about her choice of literature. Her eyes narrow slightly as she stares up at him. Curse his older age and thus his taller height. It is much, much harder to channel an ice statue when one is forced to a lower vantage point.

“Oh, nothing, really.” Or so Ijekiel says, even when the corners of his mouth curve none too subtly, right in front of her. “It’s just…”

And really, some form of luck must be on his side today. Because at that very moment, a gust of wind has the audacity to simply blow past right behind her, allowing Ijekiel the perfect opportunity to further invade her space. Which he does, leaning in to gently tuck away locks of hair from her ear, giving unrestricted access for him to whisper, ever so softly…

“You enjoy such a charming spread of genres, Your Highness,” his breath tickles her ear, and Athanasia hopes to all the holy powers that be that Ijekiel won’t see the brick red she’s surely become. “I myself am also rather fond of reading. So perhaps you’d be able to give me a good recommendation that we might both enjoy together?” At that, Ijekiel leans back, and his golden gaze fixed on her face, waiting for her reply.

“I—” Athanasia’s first attempt at a response falls flat, leading to seconds of hanging silence before her mind formulates a proper answer. “I would be willing to compile a list for you.” Athanasia pauses, before hastily adding, “ And Jenette.”

“Right.” Gone is the light tone previously in Ijekiel’s voice. Jenette’s name is a clear reminder to both of them.

Again, a silence casts its shadow over the two. But there was a reason why Ijekiel was so beloved by the upper crust’s women. A reason why Jenette was so clearly smitten with him.

“Perhaps we could read the book you have now together, Your Highness? Just to help you gain an early start in compiling that list, of course.”

Athanasia hopes to high heaven that this wasn’t the reason why he was so liked.

“Absolutely not!” Athanasia’s face is red with embarrassment, heat practically radiating off her cheeks. There was no way she was going to let Ijekiel Alpheus of all people know that the studious Second Princess of Obelia liked steamy romance novels. (Even if it was highly likely he already knew what exactly she was holding in her arms)

It’s clear that her sudden outburst of honesty surprises and amuses the Alpheus heir. Frankly, he isn’t doing much to conceal the mischievous twinkle in his eyes, nor the tug at his lips. At that, Athanasia’s lips twitch in displeasure. Why on earth she’d been so fascinated with him lately must’ve been due to the amount of work she’d been giving herself recently. (That was not to say she didn’t notice how that twinkle made the gold in his eyes shine like stars, enthralling in the way beauty always was)

“My, Your Highness, I’m surprised that someone with your work ethic would be so quick to turn down an offer to increase task efficiency.” He teases her, knowing full well why there was no way she would read this book with him.

Athanasia returns his tease with frosty politeness, hoping he’ll drop the matter and leave her alone to read in the sanctity of her room in peace. “I’m simply worried it would detract from time you should spend with Jennette, Lord Alpheus. Moreover, as both a girl and her sister, I’m quite sure a perfect list will still be made with only my input.”

(Her mother is no help at all, only watching and offering not a single piece of advice)

“Ah, but perhaps you have forgotten, Your Highness, that I have taken care of Jennette in the past. Would it not be more helpful to have my input to supplement yours?”

“That…”

“...Is it because of my presence?”

“No.” The blurted answer is quick enough that it shocks both of them. It’s honesty towards a question that should never be asked. Despite this, Athanasia continues to blush, eyes only pretending to look straight at Ijekiel. “...I simply think that you would not be interested in such reading material.” She later tacks on lamely.

But for some reason, it’s enough to gain a wondrous smile from him—In fact, Athanasia suspects he might just be beaming. Her heart beats uncomfortably in her chest.

“I see,” is all he says at first. “But Your Highness, I trust that whatever you read has its own value, whether it be for one purpose or another.” With that, he bows, ready to take his leave. “If you are not ready to show me such literature, I’ll at least help with the list for Jenette. So if I may, Your Highness, I’ll get on to that promptly.” Up he rises, and Athanasia can’t help but stare at his now retreating back.

What an immensely forward thing to say.

All of a sudden, not even ten paces away from her, Ijekiel stills. As he speaks, he does not face her. “And, just one more matter, Your Highness. If it’s not too presumptuous… Might I say that red is a lovely colour on you?”

But for Athanasia, it’s much more preferred this way. After all, who knows what expression he had whilst saying so? Nor did she desire for him to see that lovely colour on her again.

“Your Highness, I’ve recently read through Galera’s thesis on the nature of time. May we discuss it together?”

Ijekiel had almost certainly planned on this, seeing as there was no one near them for perhaps miles around, and also for the fact that they were conversing in a clearly abandoned garden that no one in their right mind would enter.

It’s no matter if she’s caught off guard, as Athanasia has long since gotten used to reacting to unexpected variables on the spot. “Lord Alpheus, you must understand that I have yet to read that particular article. Furthermore, I do firmly believe that you would have a much more enlightening conversation with someone from the Black Tower.”

However, the sound of her mother snickering from behind is very much not helpful.

“But Your Highness, I find that I would much prefer conversing with you. You’ve shown to be capable of viewing a wide range of perspectives that I feel are quite uncommon.” At that, Athanasia involuntarily flushes, remembering their previous meeting. “It’s no matter if you haven’t read it yet, as I’ve also brought it with me. How about we go over it together?”

“I…” There is an expectant, honest wish in his eyes, and Athanasia can’t help but look away.

Her mother gently caresses her from behind, giving a silent nudge to accept his offer. “You’ll be family soon,” she whispers in her ear. “It’ll be good to get along when it happens… And above all else, Athy… It’s alright to savour moments of fleeting happiness.”

Fleeting. Right.

This time, she meets his eyes.

“I don’t suppose you have anything for the next few hours?”

And his smile is as dazzling as the sun.

Jerk, was, perhaps, not a word Athanasia thought she’d ever use to refer to Ijekiel. But sometimes it feels as if he’s purposefully trying to ruffle her feathers. There is simply something about the way this— this young lord reacts to her polished politeness, the way he engages with her, the way he pokes and prods (in a manner he possibly believes is subtle but is truly more like a slap to her face).

(For goodness sake, she’s not some beloved romance novel protagonist)

It is hard to do so when the Alpheus heir keeps on challenging her like so.

(And they dance around and around, three steps forward and two steps back)

By their fourth and later meetings, Athanasia finds that many conversations with Ijekiel often slip into a subtle battle of knowledge, wisdom and wit between them. They talk around each other in circles, debating and discussing. They prod each other for opinions as politely and bluntly as can be (it was likely Ijekiel took at least some pleasure in watching her flounder—he’d already admitted it before). Sometimes though, it feels as if they’re speaking two entirely different conversations to each other. The only clue Athanasia has as to what Ijekiel does not say is exactly that: what he does not tell her explicitly.

More often than not, Jennette cannot get much of a foot within the proverbial door of their rapid-fire conversations. More often than not, Athanasia has to remember to pull back, to introduce topics that Jennette can give her opinion on. And she feels guilty, looking at how nervous Jennette is at giving opinions on things she can barely understand. Because Jennette’s fiancé is the only person remotely near her age that she could interact with on such a level, the only person around willing and able to interact with on such an academic level, Athanasia clings to him—to that connection to another being who might truly enjoy her company—through such conversations. She wills herself to ignore their countless other conversations that don’t involve an exchange of knowledge; pushes away the way he teaches her to dance in a pair; shuts out the times they sit together in comfortable silence, Raven as their feet and her mother humming by her side.

(Because for all she reads, all she understands and absorbs, her father hates the sound of her voice, hates the audible reminders of her existence. What Athanasia learns from those numerous, painfully awkward tea times is that Jennette is persistent in making them get along, and their father is persistent in pretending she does not exist—knowledge does not matter if no one wishes to appreciate it. The unread and discarded proposals Athanasia sends to him via a third party time and time again only serve to hammer in this unwanted truth.

And Ijekiel wanted more than her knowledge. Was it truly a wonder that she’d wish to stay with just him, if only for a few seconds more?)

She should not.

(Ijekiel is her sister’s beloved fiancé. Jennette is her beloved older sister, and she is the apple of their father’s eye.)

She does anyway.

As another prompting question about Archimedes V comes from Ijekiel yet again, Athanasia cannot help herself, allowing her to be swept away by the currents to another place—perhaps the edge of a waterfall.

(She’s not acting on her feelings if she’s answering his questions and thus engaging with, and subsequently bonding with her future brother-in-law… Right?

It’s not a question Athanasia truly wishes to answer.)

The next few years go by like the clouds drifting across the skies, and she and Ijekiel only become closer. Her mother gives no protest to any of it, even telling her that it is “only a small bit of happiness, which wouldn’t hurt”. Within her embrace, cocooned in her warmth, Athanasia can find no argument against such a sentiment.

One day—a day she will consider a very long time ago—under the gentle shade of a tree, surrounded by nothing but wildflowers, Ijekiel confesses a secret to her and her alone.

“Did you know, Princess, that when we truly first met, I thought you to be an angel?” Ijekiel smiles, looking up at the unclouded sky, away from her and her seeking eyes. “You should know that you’re very beautiful, Princess. It was almost inhumanely so, to me… Until I got to know you better, of course.” He chuckles, as if remembering a particularly humorous memory. “You became less like an angel—less of an idea in my head—and more like my friend, Athanasia. And yet, knowing you as you are now, I find myself preferring this tangible version of you, rather than the shallow idea I had before.”

It feels as if it’s something she shouldn’t have known. Something that shouldn’t be said. And yet, she made no move to interrupt him at all.

Ijekiel looks back at her now. As the sun’s rays bounce off his white hair, Athanasia privately thinks that, between the both of them, she is not the one with the angelic beauty. She watches, entranced, as his hand nears her own.

His first touch is warm.

Slowly, he brings her hand to his lips, his golden eyes gazing at her behind lowered lashes as he does so. And just as Athanasia thinks he will kiss the air above her hand in greeting (but what for, she dares not continue that line of thought), he gently turns her hand to expose the insides of her pale wrists.

“Athanasia… I’m truly glad you were born.”

And so there is where his lips ever so lightly press, a butterfly-like kiss.

It’s a golden memory that Athanasia would take to her grave. Even if she immediately yanks her hand away, watching as the sun’s rays disappear. Watching the understanding dawn upon his face.

(Ah, she’s already flown too close to the sun)

Not too long after that incident, Ijekiel gifts her a blue songbird—a bluebird, to be more specific.

“Consider it a symbol of our friendship,” he says. Nothing about his expressions betrays anything, save for the way he doesn’t meet her eyes, the way his smile is so picturesque. But their roles have been set, their paths already paved, and there’s no other direction but forward.

So Athanasia gives a fairytale-like smile in return, and focuses only on the merits of his gift.

It’s a pretty bluebird, and she’s sure Raven will love it too. Her mother is already cooing in her ear about how cute it is, and how generous it is for Ijekiel to give such a gift. Athanasia never told her what happened on that sunny day. And she never will.

“He must treasure your friendship very much, Athy. And, oh my, don’t you think the bluebird looks a little like him? Maybe it’ll stop you from sulking every time you can’t immediately discuss a book with him.”

Athanasia ignores her comments in favour of concentrating on Ijekiel.

“Thank you,” she says in turn, smiling, “I’ll take good care of…”

“It’s a boy.”

“Him. I’ll take good care of him.”

They both watch the little bluebird hop around, gazing at its new surroundings with curiosity.

“Do you already have a name for him?”

“Not really, I was thinking that it’d be better to give you the honour of doing so,” Ijekiel replies, before cheekily adding, “Even with your dubious naming skills.”

Athanasia’s cheeks colour, before she hastily gets out, “My naming skills are not dubious. The names I give are perfectly suited and reasonable.”

“Hahaha, alright alright, I concede—what are you going to name him then?”

“Well,” and at that, Athanasia places her hands firmly on her hips, “I was thinking of Bluey. It’s a name that suits his colouration, and it’s also a very cute name.”

“Alright, Bluey it is then.”

“Hey, what kind of answer was that?” But they’re both grinning, and they both know that Ijekiel won’t legitimately protest against the name, no matter how much of an “opinion” he has about her naming skills.

Athanasia hopes that he’ll treasure this memory as much as she does, forevermore.

On a day like any other, Athanasia opens the doors to her room to find her beloved Bluey dead in his cage. His feathers lie scattered in a bloody mess, and it’s clear that this was someone’s handiwork. Even so, it doesn’t feel real. Any moment now, Bluey will hop around and chirp and sing, delighted to see her again.

Athanasia cradles him with shaking hands, making no move to stop Raven from sniffing around the crime scene. There's a gasp from behind. Mother?

“Oh, Athy…” When a warm, heavy weight meets her shoulder, Athanasia knows that it's someone else.

Lily.

“How could anyone do this?” She laments, voicing out unsaid thoughts. “This isn't right. I must go see the Emperor. He should do something about this.” At that, Lily rises to storm out the door, only to be caught by the skirts with a single hand.

“No.” Athanasia’s tone is firm, resolute. “He won't— He doesn't need to be bothered by such small issues.” The words are like razors in her mouth. “I’ll solve this issue myself.”

“But Athy—”

“No.” A princess’ words are final. “But,” and here is where her voice softens, weakens, “could you stay by my side tonight?”

“Of course.” Lily’s hands are gentle on her hair, but still, Athanasia can't bring herself to look at her. “You didn't even need to ask. I’ve promised you before that I’ll always be by your side, Athy.”

At night, soothed to sleep by her nanny’s lullaby, and her mother's smell of roses, Athanasia dreams. She dreams of the flowers she’d made, dreams of how vegetation would translate to flesh, blood and bone. She dreams of sinew, muscle and thread. She dreams of a pulsating heart in her hands, too big to be useful for now, but that is what magic is for—to make the impossible become possible.

She dreams of her mother, unconditionally forgiving.

( Everything will be alright, Athy. You don't have to do it alone. Just leave it to Mama, ok? )

She dreams of a world, where all wrongs are made right.

When she wakes, it’s as if she’s been possessed. With a firm stride, she moves to crack open the book that started it all. With a loud thump, it lies open on a new number, page one-thousand-twenty. It’s a page Athanasia has never seen before. But written across its pages is exactly the guidance she needs. Her fingers run through the crimson-streaked pages, feeling the bone-like indents of the letters. Perhaps it’s simply her imagination, but Athanasia likes to think that, at that moment, she’d also felt a pulse.

The smell of decay hangs in the air. Against Lily’s protests, she’d placed Bluey back into his cage instead of disturbing him any further.

If she could conjure new life, then surely, Athanasia could also bring back the old? Her eyes scan the procedures, the needed ingredients to channel intent out of precaution. A nail drags across the paper, and she mentally takes note of every single detail.

“Did you find something interesting, Athy?” Her mother’s arms curl around her neck, heavy as a noose.

“Yes.” She replies, turning to gaze at her slumbering bluebird. “I think I’ll need some thread, Mama.”

Perhaps it’s a trick of her mind, but Athanasia feels as if there are fewer staff members in the Ruby Palace, as barebones are the structure of the staff here already. But since she relies mostly on herself and Lily, Athanasia doesn’t pay too much mind to it.

There are other more important matters to turn to, such as Bluey’s recovery. He still needs the stitches, or else he’d fall back asleep within a blink of an eye.

She strokes his soft feathery head, before the crash of breaking plates forces her attention elsewhere. Her hand stills. A lone maid stares at them, eyes wide, mouth slack. Honestly, it’s a confusing reaction to have. Furthermore, didn’t she know that such loud noises could disturb Bluey’s recovery?

“Hey,” the informality tastes foreign, but welcome. “Come here.”

The impertinent maid doesn’t move.

“Come here. That’s an order.”

Hesitant, and awkward. Her etiquette lessons come to mind—a princess should not have to speak the same order twice. The chair screeches from the force of her pushing back, and in one, two, three and four strides, she’s caught that shaking arm and dragged the maid into her room.

The doors shut and lock with a finality.

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melevesxence · 1 year

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rose-scented candles

Felix Robane x Fem!Healer!Reader

level — ii

thesis — Felix always seems to be hurt, and the reader can hardly keep up with all his medical needs, resulting in a late night healing session

Felix tightened the bandage wrapped around his injured arm with a slight twitch of his eye, his definition of a wince. He was camped outside the healer’s tent at midnight, half because he knew he was going to be scolded the second he stepped foot in there for the fourth time that day, and half because, well, he might just be hopelessly in love with the healer.

While Felix was having an inward crisis beside your tent flap, you were sitting inside with flickering candles spread throughout your tent. Peacefully. Happily. You might be in the middle of a war you likely wouldn’t return alive from, but that didn’t stop you from savoring the small moments of peace and quiet you got through the usual clamor of the healing tent.

Priorities.

You hummed a simple tune under your breath as you stood up from the cot you had just cleaned and went over to your desk, which had been left untouched for quite a long time while you were busy tending to patients. It had just been gathering dust in the corner.

Upon seeing the letters sealed with wax that were sitting on the dusty top, you sighed somewhat dreamily, picking them up and shuffling through the letters you vividly remembered exchanging with Felix, a knight on the battlefield. Foolish as it is that you both decided to become lovers amidst a dangerous war, you couldn’t help but laugh as you opened one of the letters and examined Felix’s scrawly handwriting.

You had exchanged the letters for a rather silly yet sentimental reason — to make it seem like you weren’t both involved in the war and to deflect away from the sinking prospect of death.

It wasn’t as if both of you didn’t know what it would cost to enlist, but you certainly didn’t know you’d meet someone who’d make you feel like you do with him.

“Maybe I should’ve put ‘Love, Felix’ instead of ‘Sincerely, Felix.’ Guess I just felt a bit awkward back then.”

You screamed as Felix seemingly appeared out of nowhere behind you. Not knowing who it was nor willing to take chances, you shoved the “intruder” against the wall, whipped out the dagger that was hidden in the folds of your gherkin, and held it to his neck.

Felix threw his hands up, his bandage falling off at the motion, just adding to the fear in his eyes. “Hey, hey, it’s just me!”

You yelped, jumping back and releasing your death hold on him. “Oh my god, Felix, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

He chuckled, wincing all the way now. “I don’t think okay is the right word.”

“Is that blood?” Seeing the dark red seeping through Felix’s linen shirt, you immediately scrambled over to the many piles of supplies lying on the opposite end of your tent for bandages and disinfectant. “I told you to just go rest!”

Felix smiled, albeit it was likely just to hide the pain, your stomach still flipped ever so slightly when he met your eye. “Yeah, yeah, sorry. We just have so much to do, and this little era of peace is the perfect time to do it.”

“Era of peace,” you scoffed, tearing a bandage into jagged pieces in exasperation. “This is the third time today, Felix! Is getting hurt a joke to you?”

“Fourth…actually,” he corrected in a small voice, but fell silent at a particularly cold glare from you. You flopped down on a cot, dragging Felix down with you as you lifted up his shirt to see a long slash on his already bruised and beaten torso.

He looked away just as you looked up at him with saddened eyes.

“Just…take care of yourself,” you murmured in a cracking voice, and Felix couldn’t bring himself to even look at you any longer. “Don’t tell me you opened up the wound on your arm too…”

He did, and you quickly got up, even more desperate now, and sat down again, this time behind him. You reached around his body, making sure you would be touching enough of it for your healing mana to transfer the maximum amount, which surely wouldn’t be that much after a long day of healing.

And you were tired — a welcome, plausible excuse.

Golden light sprouted from your fingertips as you closed your eyes and led your consciousness away from the chaos of the world. Felix watched your fingers tap steadily against his stomach as his heartbeat picked up.

Badum. Badum. Badum.

He really couldn’t tell if you could hear — no, feel it bouncing around in his rib cage. He cursed to himself silently.

Get a hold of yourself, Felix! You aren’t some hormonal teenager who explodes when a girl touches him!

Gulping nervously even though he’s done this with you hundreds of times, he shut his eyes as the bright, golden orbs got to the highest intensity and flashed away, all in the same second. He felt the cot shift as you leaned back and sighed.

Felix opened his eyes and peered back at your figure, leaning towards you and wiping a few drops of pearly sweat off your forehead. You met his eyes, and in that moment, it dawned on you both.

Rose-scented candles lit the small tent, making the floating specks of dust swirling around you look like nebulae of gold. The air was thick as you stared at each other in comfortable silence. Felix’s broad shoulders were framed by the soft light, his shirt still lifted ever so slightly, and his eyes glistened under the shadow of his long lashes.

No doubt you were both thinking the exact same thing.

And no doubt indeed, as you pounced on him, wrapping your arms around his neck and encasing his lips in a kiss. Felix jumped slightly on impact, but didn’t protest, allowing you to pin him down on the cot while you felt out his lower lip and bit down. He let out a sound that made your stomach drop in excitement.

He turned his head eventually, gasping for air with flushed cheeks and heavy eyes. His gaze was still focused on you, however, seeing what you would do next.

“Maybe I should reserve this cot for you.” You chuckled softly, your hand pinning both of his above his head, near the metal headboard while your legs straddled his healed torso. “What do you think?”

“What are you implying there, doctor?” He teased right back, but since his voice was still breathy and his cheeks are redder than a tomato, you both knew he hadn’t sold it enough.

You laughed, leaning down towards his neck and whispering in his ear, “Why don’t you stay here tonight, Sir Felix?”

Felix’s breath hitched, and you made eye contact once again. The corners of his lips lifted up in a smile.

“Why not?”

#wmmap #manhwa #fanfiction #felix robane #wmmap felix #fluff #felix robane x reader #x reader #who made me a princess #wmmap fanfic #fanfic #wmmap x reader #x fem!reader #melevesxence

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stalpra-and-100-fandoms · 1 year

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Little Voices in My Head | Who Made Me A Princess [Part 1]

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿୨˚̣̣̣͙✧- ⚜ -✧˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

Before I begin, I want to say two things: Hi, it's been a while. I hope you all are alright. And this story doesn't take place in the canon setting of WMMAP. It takes place in the world of Emperor's Treasured Son, an amazing fanfic written by Celena Noelle. Please read that before proceeding. My story will be diverging from it from chapter 15 onwards.

Also unrelated but the fancy dividers will look weird on mobile, so, if it happens to bother you, please read on pc/laptop.

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿୨˚̣̣̣͙✧- ⚜ -✧˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

Even after so many years, Claude was somehow still distant towards Athanasia. At times, it even felt like he was being cold to her. Athanaris tried to talk to him about it, but Claude refused to address the matter.

However, Athan could almost understand. Claude, being as protective as he is, didn't like how his son took hits for both Diana and Athanasia.

Nevertheless, he tried to bring it up whenever he could, once mentioning that Athy was as much his child as he was. At this, Claude only stared at him blankly. "Father, please don't tell me you don't consider her your daughter!" "Athan, I think it's time for your lessons." "Father!" "There now, you don't want to be late."

Powerless in this situation, Athanaris left the room, huffing.

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿୨˚̣̣̣͙✧- ⚜ -✧˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

Athanasia, on the other hand, was trying to brave it through and prayed that she'll be alright. Knowing how "The Lovely Princess" ended, she was scared that the plot was just recovering itself after 7 years worth of filler. (counting from when she was 5)

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿୨˚̣̣̣͙✧- ⚜ -✧˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

The last straw fell on a completely unremarkable afternoon. The emperor and his children were in his study when he noticed that someone was waiting outside the room. Claude opened the door with magic and said with venom, "I will not have anyone eavesdropping in on my precious break time. Leave. Don't show your face unless I summon you." Athan was absently listening while reading a book and Athy was looking at the door while all this transpired. But as soon as she turned her head back, she saw the emperor looking at her as well.

Only then did it occur to her that those words might apply to her as well.

"Oh my goodness," she started, causing her brother to raise his head, "I completely forgot about my books by the window. I need to get them," Athan offered to help but she politely declined and sped out of the room.

Athan realised that for the first time, in all the years he's known her, Athy's emotions were natural and honest. And she was honestly frightened. He glanced toward his father to get a clue but all he saw was a nonchalant face looking at the door.

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿୨˚̣̣̣͙✧- ⚜ -✧˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

Athanasia ran to her chambers and dropped onto her bed, clutching her pillows and heaving slightly. Surely this means nothing, right? Maybe Papa's in a bad mood today. He just needs to have some peace of mind. After all, he hates nosy people-

She then recalled the startling lack of maids on her way to the Emerald Palace. Am I already being neglec- no, no, no, slapping herself a bit, she decided to ask Lily who was in the next room to hers.

"I heard that Alpheus House requested an audience with His Majesty. They brought a young lady with them this one which is why some of the maids were- Your Highness, are you alright?" The girl had turned pale even before Lillian could finish.

Gripping the back of a chair, she implored in a faint voice, "Lily, can you tell me her name?" Unsure still, Lily replied hesitantly, "I believe they introduced her as Jeanette Marga- Athanasia!"

The princess had collapsed in the chair.

Athanasia could only think of one sentence and it was forming in her mind at a painfully slow pace. ‌ Yep, the plot is recovering itself ‌

"Athy, can you hear me?" "Yeah Lily, I'm okay," Athy said as she got up, "I'll be in my room, so please don't worry," "Are you-" "I'm fine, I'm fine," the girl said a little firmly.

She was not.

She stood shaking against her mirror, pressing her hands on her chest in an attempt to calm down.

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿୨˚̣̣̣͙✧- ⚜ -✧˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

Some time had passed and seeing that no one called for her, Athanasia changed into a plain tartan dress and slipped into a whipcord jacket.

She teleported herself to the market. Despite the blazing sun, Athy still felt a bit cold and figured some shaved ice will bring her back to reality. The honeyed shaved ice was just forming in front of her eyes when a pair of hands pulled her away into an alley.

Her eyes were quick to adjust and the kidnapper seemed to be a mix of the emperor and the Royal Magician. A strong left parting divided his black hair and framed his pale face.

The similarities between him and Claude were uncanny. It was as if their sculpture had run out of ideas and drew inspiration from both his works.

Surely the man was beautiful if he bore any resemblance to her father but right then he looked psychotic.

His black irises were constricted beyond the natural limit and he was gasping to himself, "What are you doing? I have nothing to do with this girl, only my brother," His voice began to burn with fear, "Why are you doing this? This doesn't serve your purpose,"

As scared as she was, Athy tried to understand the situation, "Sir, who are yo-"

A cloud of red dust blinded her and she felt it crawl all across her body, through her bones and right to her fingertips. She couldn't feel her legs anymore ad her throat began to burn.

Her shaking body slumped against barrels of who-knows-what. It'd be easier to sleep than to go through all this, she thought. Then, perhaps, fortunately, sleep was coming her way.

*SPLOSH*

"Hey, can you hear me?" Dropping the beer barrel, the man shook Athy's shoulders until they were this much away from coming off. "Answer me!" She snapped out of it and pushed the man to make him stop. She took in his changed appearance. Structurally, he didn't change at all but now it looked like someone painted with the royal palate. His hair was now a glittering blonde, his cheeks were tinted and his eyes were bejewelled.

"What's your name?" he pointedly asked. "Wha-" "Do you remember your name?" "Ath-Athanasia" "Thank god," he looked personally relieved until he realised the implication of that sort of a name.

He stared at her for a solid minute before sighing dramatically, "Of course, you had to be a princess," Athy was incredibly confused. He continued, "You know, if you were a normal girl I would've told you to lock yourself at home and stay out of trouble. But your home is the Royal Palace and that's where the trouble lies, especially that man-"

"I'm sorry but who are you?"

"You shouldn't interrupt your elders, and of all people, not me," the man puffed out, leaving Athanasia in disbelief. Being raised by Claude, she didn't know the different ways a man can act. "I, for one, actually know what just happened and two, I'm your uncle, so you should respect me all the more-"

"Pardon?"

"Hmm?" the man paused his monologue to the wandering princess who has spaced out.

"You are who?" was all she could muster.

He airily replied, "Anastacius De Alger Obelia, older brother of Claude De Alger Obelia, and uncle of you," checking off fingers as he gave each title. Seeing how she didn't give any reaction, he bent down and promptly began poking her head, "Does that ring a bell? Helloo?"

Little did he know that she was going through a variation of this. (the screaming bit). "But you were killed by Papa years ago!" she screeched out. "Ah, yes that," he said, itching his jaw, "that didn't happen due to a few complications of mine."

Seriously? This guy is talking about his miraculous survival as if it's something unfortunate, thought Athanasia, If it were me, I think I would be a little more grateful for it.

"Anyway, I think it's time for you to go back, it's getting late," Anastacius said, standing up and smoothing his shirt. He held out a chivalrous hand for the princess to hold, which she gladly accepted.

Before she let herself get too used to holding his hand, Athanasia swept it away and occupied it in adjusting her jacket which reeked of beer.

"I guess I'll be leaving then," she said, tilting her head up to look at him one last time.

His eyebrows were knitted upwards and he wore a small smile, afraid to keep it in full display lest it is misinterpreted. For some reason, the concern engraved in his eyes was almost suffocating to Athy.

"Good luck," was all he said. With a slight nod of his head, he gave her the leeway to desert him.

Athanasia couldn't think of a response better than "Thank you?" and swiftly teleported back to the palace, stunning the supposedly-dead royal in the process.

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿୨˚̣̣̣͙✧- ⚜ -✧˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

She directly teleported to her bathroom, rinsing her beer-soaked clothes to avoid fueling the imaginations of her ladies in waiting.

After a hasty bath, she emerged considerably more flushed than how she entered. The sun is already down, Athanasia thought, I was too careless. I don't think I was caught missing, though. Even if I am caught, I don't want to be caught by my family members, especially by-

"Athanasia"

The addressee stopped dead in her tracks as she snapped her head to the right, to the horrifying sight of a glaring emperor in one of the many randomly placed balconies of the Emerald Palace. She was so shaken that, perhaps out of a survival instinct, she grabbed the folds of her shirt and did a shaky courtesy.

Claude made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a sigh before closing the distance between them considerably.

"Where were you this entire time?"

At this moment, Athanasia knew she had screwed up. After all, it had been too whimsical to think that no one would come looking for her, even if it was just the Royal Magician wanting to bug her.

"I-I was," the gears of her brain working at lightning speed, "in the Western Rose Garden!"

The raised eyebrows which she didn't notice abruptly dropped before Claude began smoothing them out, "The one which hasn't been maintained at all?" he asked her incredulously "It seemed very adventurous!" Athanasia chirped up, regaining her fail-proof cute persona.

"You don't seem to have any scratches from your adventure," he asked, scrutinising her appearance.

Aagh, why are you so perceptive??

"I made sure to be ex-tra careful!" she shot back, praying to God that she seemed convincing.

Also, for some reason, Athy couldn't bring herself to call him Papa like she always does. Today doesn't feel like a good day, she thought.

Claude was still kneading his eyebrows as he regarded her answer, "Don't run off like this again. Make sure to inform someone," he walked past her wordlessly

Athy was rather touched by Claude's words, that's kind, coming from him. Feeling warm and fuzzy inside, Athanasia skipped to her room, making a mental note to greet him first thing the next morning. "Papa would like that," she said to herself.

A voice spoke behind her ear, "I wouldn't be so sure if I were you, Athanasia,"

Athy spun around to see an empty corridor.

‌‌ ‌Huh? Who was that?

‌

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿୨˚̣̣̣͙✧- ⚜ -✧˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

Thanks for reading!

Tagging: @gruviyasharuto, @darkhumanpiekid, @nova-darling, @akhlys-san

And in case you like this, please consider joining my writing taglist.

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danilch07 · 1 year

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not me obsessively checking every couple minutes while rotating through fandoms and sites for any fanfic updates at all

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dontdisturbme8 · 2 years

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#Comic #wmmap fanart #fanart #manga #manhwa #who made me a princess #diana x claude #lucas x athanasia #Lovely princess #Fanfict

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ahlisagracey · 2 years

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The Real Lovely Princess

[ Synopsis ]

There's too many what if's in the world, you can't really expect yourself to know them all.

Like, what if your hair will grow in such length today?

Or what if the person you like finally noticed you and started talking and hang out with you?

Or what if your father is a mafia boss?

Or what if Athanasia de Alger Obelia, the forgotten princess, the one who died from the execution due to wrong pertains, return back to time. Where Jennette is the so-called 'Lovely Princess'.

Would she end up as Athy, like the one who're on Who Made Me A Princess?

Or would she seek revenge and make everyone the made her suffer, suffer like what she experienced.

Or would she just live with her father peacefully.

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flowerywhispers · 2 years

Note

Okayyyyyy can i request something for Ijekiel(wmmap)? He needs more attention! Could you write Ijekiel x reader (gender neutral please) fluff scenario where they visit city? It's okay if you don't want to write this, take careeeeeeee <33333

| | A comforting hubbub | |

Character(s): Ijekiel Alpheus

TW: None

Genre: Fluff

Notes: Gender neutral MC || KIEL!!! THE BELOVED!!! You're so right, he does need more attention!

It wasn't often that you got to go into the city with Ijekiel what with him always being busy with his studies and you rarely being permitted entry into the Alpheus estate after a couple of attempts to sneak Ijekiel out to spend time with you away from his father and Jennette went wrong and Duke Alpheus couldn't keep ignoring the fact that you were attempting to help his son shirk his studies.

But could he blame you? He left for several years to study abroad. It was only to be expected that you would want to spend time with him.

The two of you would laugh about it now that the various incidents had gone and passed and you reminisced over the expressions of the maids as they caught the two of you hanging a dangerous number of feet above the ground, trying to use various bedsheets tied to the post of Ijekiel's bed to sneak out.

It was you that had suggested it but you couldn't take all of the blame- or at least wouldn't- since is had been him that had recommended the book that had given you the idea to you but that was something that the two of you were still debating between each other, even as you walked side by side through various streets.

"I'm offended that you think that I could ever be capable of doing something so improper. And to drag in the pride and joy of the Alpheus household? I could never." Your gasp of indignation and words, a teasing and clearly joking edge to your voice, had Ijekiel biting back a laugh deciding rather to smirk at you and show you clearly faux remorse.

"Then I apologise for my accusations." He gave you a small bow, hand on his heart to show his 'sincerity'. "Would you allow this young duke to make it up to you by buying you whatever you might want from this city?"

You looked away when his eyes met yours, that same mirthful glint in them that always made you that little bit flustered and you pretended to consider. Of course you would accept.

"Hm, I've deemed it an acceptable act for my forgiveness." You looked back at him, trying to upkeep your already failing farce of being indifferent but couldn't help but smile when faced with Ijekiel's soft smile and self satisfied expression, him having returned to a regular standing position during your contemplation from his initial mock bow.

He put out his hand to you, as if asking you to dance and beamed at you, a bright closed eyed smile that still somehow made him look elegant. "Then, shall we?"

You gladly took his hand, clasping it in your own with a matching smile. "We shall." Before very quickly using it to drag him with you, laughing at his noise of surprise though he'd soon righted himself as he ran a little ways behind you, still guided by his hand in his. "Come on, Kiel, the cafe I was talking you about before is here!"

The two of you were lucky that you were in more unassuming clothes. Who could have imagined that it was you and the Alpheus heir running around from place to place like children?

It wasn't long before the two of you had left the café, Kiel having covered the expenses as usual- ever the gentleman- and the two of you walked aimlessly, just talking about this and that as you floated from place to place, occasionally having to remind Kiel that you already had more than enough whenever he offered to buy you something.

It was loud all around, but in a good way. A way that you had missed. You rarely went out to see the town without Kiel, it just wasn't as fun and the hum in the background was one of them. If always sounded too quiet in big estates.

Admittedly through, a few things did catch your eye. In particular a brooch. One that you had held up and decidedly placed against Ijekiel's chest in the place of his other that he had already donned.

You stated at it for a moment and smiled. "It suits you. Everything does, but this one does a really good job at highlighting your eyes."

And it did, a golden and yellow brooch, with a sun-like motif, the shadows on it not prominent and only seemed to be highlighted in a warm gold. "Like melted sunlight. Warm and always there to block out shadows." Perhaps you were milking it a little at the end but it was worth it when you looked up and found a faint pink blush dusted across Kiel's face.

Do not repost or claim. Only reblog 💗

#wmmap #ijekiel alpheus #wmmap ijekiel #who made me a princess fanfiction #who made me a princess fanfic #who made me a princess x reader #who made me a princess #wmmap x reader #wmmap fanfiction #wmmap fanfic #spoowrites

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haru-natsuka · 1 year

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The fate ( Anastacius x Female Reader x Claude)

The one that should raise to the throne not him. The one who should be the empress not her. The fate laid in front of them should be different but they lived in that kind of fate where a new hope should be blessed...

The once crystal clear, clean floor was tarnished with the existence of several broken glasses on it. With just a small light of the sun slipping through the gap between the curtain, the image of a raging woman stood at the centre of the room. Based on her attire which was a silk nightgown and slightly messy hair, it was visible that she just awakened from her slumber. Awake with unpleasant news came to her attention.

The emperor's mistress had given birth to a boy, a prince...

After that surprising unfold event, a lot of years already passed. The throne was passing through hand and hand until Claude, the emperor's illegitimate son conquered it himself by stabbing his brother, Anastacius to death. That was when from you being the former crown prince's fiancee to the current wife of the emperor.

A/N : This idea had long been hunting my mind and I just have the feeling to write it down due to finding a nice fanfiction of WMMAP. It is a Claude x Reader but actually, my heart is always for Anastacius and there are really few of Anastacius x Reader so I kind of come up with my own. Don't be so hopeful as I prefer to have a slow update. Gonna write when I feel the emotion come to me again 😇😗

List of chapters:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

#romance #wmmap #wmmap fanfic #wmmap x reader #wmmap anastacius #anastacius de alger obelia #anastacius x reader #claude de alger obelia #claude x reader #manhwa #manhwa x reader #who made me a princess

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that-one-pretty-bitch · 2 years

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Hi! I’d like to some hcs for Raphael Kendry with a reader who has reincarnated from our world into the manhwa series as a mob character, so they think that they are safe from screwing up the plot until they realize that they are a candidate to be Raphael’s bride.

Aware that he might like Cayena in the future, they are hopeful to be at least friends with Raphael, if that’s even possible. But what they don’t know if that Raphael had started falling in love with them after they tried to respect his space?

𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝑔𝑒𝓉 𝓇𝑒𝒾𝓃𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒶𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒾𝓃 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓋𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒶𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝒾𝓈 𝒶 𝓂𝒶𝓇𝒾𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒". 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒶 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑜𝓇 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝓉𝓊𝓇𝓃𝓈 𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒶 𝒸𝒶𝓃𝒹𝒾𝒹𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒷𝑒𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑅𝒶𝓅𝒽𝒶𝑒𝓁'𝓈 𝒷𝓇𝒾𝒹𝑒. 𝒪𝒻 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓊𝓅 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑒 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓎 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝓉𝑒𝒸𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓈𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑜𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝒷𝑒𝒻𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒹 𝑅𝒶𝓅𝒽𝒶𝑒𝓁, 𝓂𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓈𝓊𝓇𝓅𝓇𝒾𝓈𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓂𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓅𝑒𝒸𝓉𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓃𝒹𝒾𝒹𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓈. 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓅𝑒𝒸𝓉 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃𝒶𝓁 𝓈𝓅𝒶𝒸𝑒, 𝒹𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝒸𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝒾𝓂, 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑒𝒸𝓉𝓊𝒶𝓁 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒽𝒾𝓂 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓈 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓌𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝑒𝑒𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝒶𝒾𝓁𝓎.

In this AU, since Raphael falls for you he does not like Cayena at all romantically and Cayena runs away ( considering that she only stayed because she fell in love with the male lead but now that you became ‘female lead’ she doesn’t really have anyone stopping her from running away )

So Cayena won’t really exist in this fanfiction ( sorry if it disappoints you )

Also, I know you didn’t ask for this but I thought it would be fun to give the reader a personality like Diana from WMMAP and her clothing style is inspired by her too!! Even before she was reincarnated she would dress like Diana. Reader was reincarnated in Sidonia, where she fell in love with the place but was then sent off to become a bride candidate for a man. You did not know who the man was but once you met him you recognized him to be the male lead from the “Villainess is a Marionette” novel.

(FYI I know Raphael is not the male lead in the OG novel but this isn’t the OG novel )

Knock, knock, knock

You wondered who could be at your door, after all, one look from the window made it known that it was night time. Who would possibly visit you at night?

You walked towards the door and unlocked it, only to see the male lead, Raphael. What could he possibly want with you? You did not wish to associate with him, as being with him could ruin the plot.

“What brings you here at such a time Sir Raphael?” You inquired politely, giving him a graceful bow. He was slightly surprised to say the least you were one of his suitresses, shouldn’t you welcome him with open arms no matter what time he comes at? He had to admit, you looked heavenly in your moonlight illuminated room.

“Ah, I just wanted to get to know my candidate for future dutchess,” He looked at you coldly

Oh, so you must be a candidate for being his bride. You knew that Raphael would fall for Cayena and did not want to ruin the story in the least. However, it could benefit you greatly if you befriended this cold hearted man.

“Well, in that case, have a seat,” You stated, motioning towards the couch.

Raphaelf found you quite interesting, you were a new candidate and he had never met someone quite like you before. Usually these women would stutter in fear, he knew that they were brought to be his bride against their will. There was not the smallest sign of fear on your features, so could you really have wanted to be his bride from your own free will? What could he have possibly had to offer that you would want? Do you want status? Power? Money?

You took a seat across from him, pouring a cup of tea and handing him a glass, this tea looked foreign. Taking one sip of this tea, he felt like flowers were blooming in his mouth, it was delicious.

“Do you like it? It's Lippe tea,” You smiled brightly, you would need to turn up your charm to the max in order to befriend this unfriendly man. After all, who could help you better than the male lead?

“It's delicious,” He wiped the liquid dripping off his mouth with a handkerchief he kept in his breast pocket. He couldn’t help but notice that this woman wore strange clothes, they looked foreign. She wore a small form fitting gold blouse that only covered her breasts leaving cleavage and sheer pink pants with gold seams. She had a wonderful figure, perhaps this clothing is from the country she came from. It seems like something a dancer would wear.

“Say, Lady…”

“Y/n, its Y/n, Sir Raphael,” You glanced his way

“Ah, right, lady Y/n… if you don’t mind me asking what country are you from?” He turned his head away in embarrassment, your eyes were so enchanting he felt his heart beat increase.

“I’m from Sidonia, it's a beautiful country located north of here. It's always spring in Sidonia and in case you were wondering I am a dancer,” She talked about her hometown with so much passion. It truly must have been a wonderful place. He became invested in her words, she spoke about topics with so much interest. Y/n had felt quite bored the past few days, the maids were not allowed to talk to her and she had no one. Now, she had someone who she saw as a friend and talked away. Raphael couldn’t get himself to leave, he did have to meet his other potential brides but for now Y/n was more important. In fact, he should make her his bride, the other women were boring to him.

“Ah, I hope i’m not boring you Sir Raphaelo-” Y/n sighed, he seemed to be in a trance, perhaps there was something more important than what she had to say.

“You are very bewitching my lady, you should get your rest. I will see you tomorrow,” Raphaelo muttered, which made Y/n get the door for him and ruffle his hair before he left. She was respectful and kind, she didn’t whine or try to reason with him as he left, she simply gave him a charming smile.

The next morning, Y/n was admiring the roses that had been planted in her balcony. Only to see a man struggling to climb up to her, he was holding a bouquet of roses. He made his way onto Y/n’s balcony and hopped over to the other side. He placed the roses on the tea table and bent down to Y/n’s hand and pressed a light kiss against her fingertips.

“Sir Raphaelo, there was a door,” You muttered embarrassed watching the man climb up your balcony.

“But my lady, yesterday you told me that you liked how romantic the character from ‘Lovely princess’ was so I read the novel and tried to recreate it for you,” He muttered sheepishly handing you the bouquet of roses

“You listened to me?” You asked, you thought he wasn’t listening to you!

“Of course, why wouldn’t I?” He looked confused, Why would you think that he was not interested in what you had to say?

“Although, the male character from ‘lovely princess’ is much more fit than you, it took you quite a while to climb up that balcony,” You teased

“Climbing is much harder than it looks!” He defended himself

"You most certainly made it look impossible," You laughed

You know, this insensitive man didn’t seem so insensitive anymore. In fact, he reminded you of a puppy. I mean he did try to be cute for you, it was a failure but it was quite sweet.

He pulled out a hardcover from his pocket, it was a book. Your favorite book, you knew you shouldn’t fall for him but could you help it? He was so sweet, Cayena will just have to find another man. Unknown to you, he was falling for you too, you were the first woman who ever showed interest in him. You had such fearless and brave eyes, how would he not fall for such a goddess?

#the villaness is a marionette #Raffaello Kidrey #Raffaello Kidrey x reader #ask #manwaha x reader #Cayena Hill #Diana wmmap #wmmap #crossover

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industria-adastra · 2 months

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[WMMAP] - Magnum Opus: It's sad to be at the bottom of life, right? (4/5)

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Summary: It's amazing, really, how quickly love can turn to hate. Or maybe, it hadn't been love after all.

Note: Recently, I've gotten into Hazbin Hotel again. I ended up adding more stuff to the latter half of the original chapter 3 that I cut. I hope you like it, intended audience of maybe two people.

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There is a man who is always present in these events. A man who always hangs about on the fringes of the ever-increasingly elaborate parties in Jennette’s name, observing within the shadows. Athanasia finds him to look disturbingly similar to her father, even if she brushes off their similarities time and time again. And like her father, as she discovers in an accidental bump, he reeks of the magic that the Obelian royal family seems inexplicably chained to.

She goes searching within the records, and already, his face appears only a generation away. Yet, Anastacius de Alger Obelia had been long dead, hadn’t he? But Athanasia has long learned to not believe in coincidence. Something strange is afoot. Will he become a test of what she’d do for her family?

At another ball, another celebration for Jennette, his dark gaze turns to her, and his eyes flash jewel blue, and, oh, Athanasia understands now.

(She’s never tried spilling blood with her own hands)

Stiffening as he leisurely walks over, Athanasia’s mind rushes through potential actions she could take. On one hand, she could alert everyone within the vicinity, especially Lord Robaine, about her uncle truly living up to his name. On the other hand, remembering the bitter twist of his lips, staring at Father and her sister, Athanasia stalls.

(Perhaps it is a good idea, with the pressure of twisted magic she hadn’t truly noticed the strength of before. Something's wrong.)

Her vision blurs, watching him steadily walk over, the light clicks of his shoes like a war drum against her ears. His clothes don't seem to fit, a strange, ever-changing amalgamation of fluttering robes and crisp formal wear. His hair is neat and carefully tousled, and his hair is shaggy and unkempt.

(There is something deeply wrong about this man)

“It’s annoying, isn’t it, not being the golden child everyone loves?” It’s as if two people are asking this of her, with a strange mix of amusement, cold pity and understanding within his (their?) eyes.

(Something about him is wrong, wrong, wrong)

Athanasia opts not to reply, shifting her gaze elsewhere. It’s a question loaded with enough weight to topple an empire. She’s quite sure that what that man means by ‘annoying’ is not as light as it sounds.

“I see,” his eyes move to catch her gaze.

Before he moves to turn away, they give some last few parting words that render Athanasia stock stiff in her heels.

“I can’t wait to see what happens when you break alongside your ghoul of a mother, my dearest niece.”

"Dearest descendant of mine."

The phrases overlap together, and before she can even blink, before she can let go of a tense breath, a body moves into her field of vision, blocking her view. Athanasia stumbles forward, hand outstretched to politely shift it away. But when it moves, they are already gone.

(It's as if they've vanished into thin air)

After that fateful encounter, Athanasia never sees him appear at another ball ever again.

She wonders if she should have ever told her father about this meeting.

Then again, with his constant state of apathy and ennui during their regularly scheduled tea times with Jennette concerning anything relating to her, Athanasia wonders if it’ll simply pass through his ears like white noise.

Ever since the first one, the tea parties Jennette tries to host for the three of them are always painfully awkward. This one is no exception. Athanasia is eighteen now, and all that’s changed is Jennette’s choice of tea and snacks—this year is chamomile and imported sweets from Siodonna.

The overpowering taste of sugar accompanies the taste of rose. Paired with the chamomile, it verges on being too sweet.

Without a need to contribute to the current conversation (consisting of Jennette rambling and her father barely even looking like he’s paying attention—he looks perpetually drowsy these days), Athanasia finds her attention turning to Bluey’s recovery. He keeps shedding feathers all over the place, and sometimes his muscles lock together involuntarily. Sustaining a life is harder than keeping it in stasis. She can’t push too much magic in, and neither can she give too little. Yet, there is no predefined value to sustain—there’s an unknown sequence yet to be found. She needs to find it soon.

“Just yesterday, I went to see Ijekiel—”

Clank. Athanasia’s teacup strikes its saucer perhaps a bit too harshly, rudely cutting off Jennette’s words. Because of that, she offers an awkward, sheepish smile to her audience of two.

“My apologies for that, but I’ve suddenly realised that I have some rather urgent matters to resolve back in the Ruby Palace.” As she speaks, Athanasia moves out of her seat, ready to leave. “Please, have a wonderful rest of the day.”

(It isn’t as if they’d notice her anyway)

“O-oh! Of course, we will! Right, Father?” At that, Claude only stares at her silently, yet all Athanasia can see from his eyes is apathy—a passive gaze with nothing attached. “I hope it’s nothing too serious…”

By then, Athanasia had already started to walk away.

(She wonders why she thought they’d call after her)

It all happens in a flash. Jennette, chatting with her amiably about the latest fashions and Ijekiel’s latest romantic gesture. And to clear her throat, she takes a sip of tea. But as she opens her mouth to speak again, her blue eyes widen, her mouth forms an “o” in surprise, and Jennette coughs up crimson blood before she collapses to the ground. The sound of breaking porcelain resounds as it crashes onto the ground.

Not even a second passes by and Athanasia has already rushed towards her, heart pounding in her ears. How will she explain this to her father? How had she been so lax in her vigilance? How had she been so blind as not to notice poison? Why Jennette? Why her? Her mana rushes out in an attempt to heal Jennette but she can’t properly do so if she has no idea what has been affected. What had Jennette ingested within the tea? Athanasia’s hands shake in terror as she scoops Jennette into her arms.

“HELP!” She screams, heavy breaths coming out as tears start to flow. “HELP! SOMEONE, PLEASE! ANYBODY! THE FIRST PRINCESS HAS BEEN POISONED!” Fearfully, Athanasia's eyes dart around, catching the eyes of a nearby maid, whose mouth is wide open in shock.

"What are you doing?! Go! Go get help now!" Athanasia so rarely ever raised her voice, but right now, she’d scream herself hoarse, scream herself mute if it’d save Jennette.

Luckily for the maid, she quickly runs off toward the royal doctors. But now, there is nothing to do but wait, nothing to do but watch as the blood trickles down from Jennette’s mouth. Sweat is already building on her skin, and all Athanasia can do is hold her close and make sure Jennette doesn’t unconsciously choke on her blood. Jennettee’s eyes are still open, but Athanasia thinks that she cannot bear to close them, even for Jennette’s later comfort. As her heart continues to race, Athanasia finds that the only thing she can do is silently lament to her mother, and pray in her heart that all will be alright.

There is blood on her clothes.

When Jennette is taken away to be treated, Athanasia finally collapses from the stress of it all. Yet when she wakes up, she sees neither the old, yet comforting walls of her room. What she sees are the grey stone walls; what she smells is the rotten stink of excretion and urine; what she hears is the rhythmic clanking of metal armour and the scurrying of rats. It doesn’t take a genius to realise that she’s in the dungeons—as unfamiliar as it should be.

There is still blood on her clothes. There is still blood on her hands. It’s brown and crusted and stinks of iron and Athanasia thinks she hears a woman weeping. Her gaze darts around, trying to see if her mother is here. If she was, Athanasia could get an explanation. If she was, Athanasia could have some comfort in this sudden new insanity.

But her mother is not here, and Athanasia is alone. There’s not much else to do but sit and wait.

And just a few moments later, her answers come in the form of three individuals. Duke Alpheus, Countess Rosalia, and last of all shadowed by the badly lit rooms but still standing out so strongly—the Emperor, her father. The three of them stare down upon her dirtied form with closed expressions (and what she can always recognise as barely hidden disdain).

Athanasia decides to focus on her father. Not that it was hard to.

“Your Majesty?”

No reply.

Athanasia tries again. “Is Jennette alright? Is she safe now?”

Instead of her father’s even monotone, it’s Countess Rosalia’s sharp, nearly squawking, shrieking vocals which answer her. “Jennette is safe from you, Your Highness.” She spits those words out venomously, almost triumphantly.

It doesn’t take a one-in-a-million genius to understand what has happened.

Still, Athanasia tries to keep her calm, “What do you mean, Countess? You, of all people, should know that false accusations towards royalty are tantamount to treason.” Better to be blunt and be done with it.

This time, it is the Duke who speaks, looking down upon her between narrowed eyes, “Your Highness, there is no need for any more pretence. It has been found that you were the one who poisoned Jennette.” Prim and proper in his shiny white clothes and his always meticulously coiffed hair; in the depths of her heart, Athanasia couldn’t understand how a man like Ijekiel could be his son.

“And what evidence do you have to prove your claims?” Athanasia has learnt to smile like how Raven bares his teeth; sharp and quick, a warning to go no further. If there is anything else she’s learnt from Ijekiel’s friendship, it is that a smile grants both mystery and versatility. “Proper procedure states that I have the right to be subject to a fair trial, and a right to know upon what grounds you base such accusations on.”

She watches the countess artfully swing her fan up into a waiting hand, only to snap it open with a violent elegance. “Your Highness, there is no need for such tedious procedures when your guilt is crystal clear for everyone to see.”

Like a part of a two-headed snake, the Duke adds his venomous spit to the mix, “Out of jealousy, you dared to poison your own sister for your own shortcomings.”

“This is more fact than fiction—countless witnesses can prove to you that I had no idea what would happen to Jennette.”

“And countless witnesses can also prove that you’ve always harboured such envious hatred for your own sister. How wicked you are, to take away her fiancé—to take away my son—and now to take away her life.”

Still, Athanasia continues to stay calm. Her father would surely intervene at some point, wouldn’t he? “You must be mistaken, Ijekiel and I are merely friends. He is my future brother-in-law, and it would make no sense to alienate myself from him. And I care dearly for Jennette. I would do no such thing when it would only bring her pain.”

“But your actions speak louder than your words, Your Highness. Such pretty lies may come easily to you, given your blood, but we both know that you purposefully seduced him. Just like that crass, low-class whore you were born from.” The woman sneers, edging threateningly closer.

Athanasia snaps. She rushes to the bars, slamming into them with a strength and speed all too abnormal for a girl her size and age. Taking advantage of their foolish arrogance, she takes the opportunity to grab at their disgustingly extravagant clothes, bringing them eye to eye, and knocking their heads painfully on the steel bars.

(They tell her to not let go, to keep moving, to keep shaking. Until they are but bloodied flesh and broken bones and as filthy as their tongues are. Better off as fodder, better off to be used for something grander than they could ever be.)

“Keep my mother out of your mouth! How can you be so sure that such a miscarriage of justice will—!”

“Be silent.” Finally, he speaks. His mana collapses onto her like that of a dying star, forcing her to let go, forcing her back onto the ground. But while it is painful, it is more bearable than the knowledge that her father simply did not care.

Ignoring the bodies quickly scrambling behind his protection, the Emperor simply comments, “Have you finished your petty tantrum?”

For the first time in her life, she gawks at him, at his apathy and unchanged expression. From the look on his face, Athanasia knows that he will never change his mind. He will never change his mind for her because he does not care.

She’s known this for so long, and yet, and yet it still hurts.

And just like that, her verdict—her guilt—is decided just like that. She has blood on her hands because it is the word of the Emperor—Sun of the Empire, a ruler before he is her father (as it should; as it shouldn’t be so). Athanasia bites down harshly on her lips, casting her gaze on the stone floors, and nary a sound is allowed to escape. She wants to rage, wants to scream, wants to reach beyond the steel bars and tear at the cloth near her father’s feet—to beg for an explanation, to defend herself, to harshly refute her claims.

Who had she loved dearly all this time? Who had she worked for to the bone to gain just the slightest bit of approval and notice? Who had she idolised as perfection even as it was so clear that he was nothing but a statue carved out of ice? Her father—

(The child will die. He will kill her, like he slaughtered them, watching them breathe their last. She is her child my child our only child. She must live.)

Her mother’s cold hands tether her to reality, and Athanasia does none of that.

“Breathe,” Diana says, right on time, pressing atop her, enclosing Athanasia within her arms. “Not in front of the Duke and the Countess, Dear. Later, when it’s safer, Mama will be here. You know Mama will always be here for you.”

Right.

She has always had her mother. Always had Lily and Raven. And now she has Jennette and Ijekiel.

It is enough. (It must be; She wants a father.)

Athanasia forces herself to hold it in, to stare straight into her father’s eyes and say, “Your Majesty is as efficient as always. Will there be a further investigation into this incident? After all, Your Majesty, efficiency without accuracy is just another way to describe sloppy work.” She smiles, ignoring the subtle shock and outrage—the lovely confusion—on the Duke and Countess.

“...You are the primary suspect. It will be enough to make an example of you.” Always putting in the most minimal of effort when it came to her.

“I see. Then may I know if you have settled on a date for the execution?” Even now, she couldn’t let herself look any less insanely perfect in front of him. Even now, she still loves him—but perhaps no longer like that of a follower and their god. After all, gods cannot be flawed.

Unreadable as always, her father so graciously lets her know when she’ll die by his hand. “The dawn of the 8th day.” Cold, clipped—he doesn’t even seem to register that it’ll be her birthday. By the sun, moon, and stars—what a joke. This is the most attention he’s ever truly given to her.

After that, he’s already turning his back on her, moving towards the exit. The Duke and the Countess cast her cold, calculating looks before they scurry after him (like the rats they were).

When they finally leave, out of sight, out of mind, Athanasia finally allows herself to collapse into her mother’s ready arms. She shakes, she sobs, and she cries—but Athanasia still does not let a single sound escape. How unfair it is, to mourn something she never had from the start.

There is blood on her hands, but it is because of someone else.

(Athanasia doesn’t want to die.

“You won’t,” her mother promises with a whisper. “We’ll make sure of it.”)

“How far will you go for Diana’s—my child?”

“Anything for Athanasia,” the nanny’s sea blue eyes look straight ahead, resolute.

“Even your life?”

“If it must be so.”

On the second day of her imprisonment, Raven brings him a thick, tattered book. It is hard to hide large secrets, but having grown up as an Alpheus, hiding them is but second nature to him.

Drunk off his victory, his father grows sloppy—perhaps even mad, judging from the strange one-man dialogue he occasionally hears coming from his office. (Before…everything, they had conversed about noise-cancelling magic before.) His father’s lack of care is a boon when Ijekiel knows his actions will tear into the tapestry of success his father had so carefully woven.

He remembers being told that to love is to wish for someone’s success and happiness—to do all you could to ensure their dreams would come true.

Ijekiel thinks that to love is also to do all you can to stop someone from going past that line in the sand, the precarious precipice of no return.

Then again, he muses on the seventh night, sorting through all the information about guard rotations, patrol routes, floor plans and the like—it’s not even the most damning action of his right now. Ijekiel raises a hand to press lightly against his sternum, feeling the heavy weight of the key, the rough texture of the iron, even though it’s buried underneath all the layers of his clothing.

A haunting birdsong trickles in the open window, and Ijekiel stops to turn and gaze at the moonlight.

He thinks that, perhaps, also, to love is to be willfully ignorant.

Ever since her verdict had been so kindly handed down to her by her father, Athanasia’s days are now spent in the dungeon, rather than in the comfort of the library or her room. There are no books to read, so she spends time talking to her mother, practising the spells stitched into her memories. However, without Raven, they’re weaker, barely sparks yet still clearly noticeable. Strangely, no guard ever seems to be able to perceive any such practice; eyes glazed over every time. Nor are there shackles on her limbs, binding her down like an animal. She won’t question it, instead preparing for a hypothetical scenario in which she’s free.

(Mother had promised her.)

She’s sure that the guards all think she’s mad from shock. They look at her with disgusted pity and gossip about her as if she can’t hear at all. But their loose tongues help her hold onto the outside world.

Jennette is in a coma. For all their talk of family, she surmises that the most precious child of both the Countess and the Duke is power. Her father spends most of his time working. Athanasia supposes that there’s much to do when you’re executing a direct member of the royal family. Morbidly, she wonders if the Black Tower magicians would want her body for their research. Lily is that “crazy palace maid” who begs to be heard every day (no news on how her father reacted to it—but such a case is one where Athanasia sincerely prays that her father’s apathy will outweigh any annoyance, that Lily’s noble family will take her out of harm’s way before the worst can come to pass).

Raven and Bluey are both missing (something’s coming). And Ijekiel… Last she heard, he’d been the picture-perfect fiancé, periodically visiting Jennette like clockwork every day.

At the same time, Athanasia gets a single stem of flowers each day. She wonders if Duke Alpheus knows about them.

Goldenrod, purple heliotrope, blue verbena, pink gladiolus, blue periwinkle, an iris suspiciously dusted with fur and downy feathers.

When will it be the hour of their flight?

“Wait and see, it’ll be like a fairytale,” her mother says, dancing all the while. “In the meantime, show me how you weave your magic again, Athy.”

It is cold within the dungeons. Athanasia will surely die tomorrow if nothing short of a miracle occurs. And yet, there is no worry in either her heart or her soul. Her mother had promised her, and to love, for Athanasia, was to devote and believe—to have utmost faith.

(She wonders what her father’s idea of love is—indulgence? A passive acceptance not too far from apathy? At least she knows that her mother’s love is undying, from beyond the grave. Lily’s love is steadfast and loyal, always trying to make the best of things. Ijekiel’s is inherent in every action, every move. Jennette’s is puppy-like, endearing.)

Athanasia hums as she finishes the final touches on her flowery bracelet, sliding it over her wrist with a sense of pride. The flowers are ill-suited to be bound this way, but such perversions of reality and logic are what magic is for. From behind, her mother gently combs out the knots in her hair with deft fingers, plaiting and pinning until all of Athanasia’s golden hair is safely pinned up.

“The midnight hour comes soon, Dear—Eumiellia’s always said that it’s the perfect hour for some…mischief.” Her mother says in a sing-song tone, drawing her up on her feet and guiding her to watch the way the light on the dungeon corridors starts to change and grow. In the depths of the Empire’s bowels, the echo of the nearing footsteps rings louder and louder in her mind.

Someone is coming.

“Is it time to go now?” Athanasia asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I already said it’s the perfect hour, Athy.” So they wait. It doesn’t take long for Athanasia to realise that alongside the light footsteps, another pair of feet pad forth as well. Excitement bubbles in her chest—she’s heard those footsteps before.

Athanasia sees Bluey first, the stitched bluebird squeezing between the bars to nuzzle into her awaiting hands, before leaping into flight once more.

Raven is next, her book grasped firmly in her mouth. Already, Athanasia can feel the electric rush of mana, from a steady trickle to rushing rapids. Were it not for the anti-teleportation wards, she probably could be free already.

“I hope you don’t mind the lack of white horses, Your Highness.”

All of a sudden, she feels lightheaded, warm. “Ijekiel?” She breathes out, staring disbelievingly at his hooded figure, the glint of his golden eyes. He smiles back at her, taking out a key from underneath his collar.

“The one and only, Athanasia.” Her door unlocks, and he reaches out to tug her forward into a tight hug, holding her so tightly and so closely that Athanasia can feel the skin of his neck, and smell the scent of his skin. “Did you like my message? I learnt it from the book about Obelia’s flower language we read together every February.”

“I didn’t expect—”

“That I’d be doing this in person? I don’t trust anyone else with your safety. After all, you’re my…friend.”

Athanasia finally hugs back, squeezing her arms around Ijekiel tightly. Her eyes squeeze shut with unshed tears. “I’m glad you’re my friend too. But what I meant was that I didn’t expect you to mean you were going to conduct a jailbreak.”

“Well, a nobleman should always have many skills.”

“Jennette is lucky to have you.” She feels Ijekiel tense momentarily in her arms, The break in conversation appears to drag on, long and uncomfortable, before she hears him let out a sigh.

“She’s lucky to have you as well,” he says in return, before seemingly tacking on as an afterthought, “as a sister.” At those words, he releases her from his grasp, pulling away, only to come close once more to wrap a dark cloak around her shoulders. His hands rest on her shoulders, and Athanasia isn’t sure if he realises how tightly he’s gripping her.

“We should get going now. The guards won’t stay out for long.”

“Are you coming with me?” They both know it’s a stupid question; both know what the answer will be; both know that she will never truly mean it.

Ijekiel doesn’t reply, but his wistful gaze is enough.

Athanasia smiles, and it is small, almost sad, as she makes a request of him, “Take care of her for me, and for her own sake, alright?” Gripping the front of the cloak, she looks off into the dark distance, the unknown of her impending freedom. “Politics was never her strong suit.”

“Of course, as Her Highness asks.” Ijekiel chokes out the words, and he lets go of her shoulders, turning away and towards the dungeon’s exit. “I’ll escort you to that place—as long as you can get out of here, you’ll be able to leave the palace, right?”

“Yes.”

And so out they go, past the numerous cells and past the unconscious guards, from the darkness, to the moonlight. The night air tastes of freedom; walking on the stone paths, past the patrolling guards, feels like a kind of liberation. Her magic wraps around them like a shield as they make their way to the place where they’d both realised they’d fallen in love with the sun.

As they stand below the tree, Athanasia finds herself reluctant to truly say goodbye to him.

So she doesn’t.

“Tell Lily I said goodbye, please?” The magic swirls around her feet, building, building to a crescendo, changing the colour of her hair, the colour of her eyes—held high in the air by a single thread of hesitation.

Ijekiel cannot tear his eyes away from her. It’s only through sheer strength of will that he holds back from reaching out once more. “If it’s you, there’s no need to ask.”

Athanasia smiles, bright and true, and she turns away. “I’m glad I met you, Ijekiel.” Her magic swallows her up, leaving not a trace, not even a spark.

It’s as if she were never there in the first place.

He speaks to the empty air, hand outstretched. “I’m glad I met you too, Athy.”

Athanasia jumps from inn to inn, hiding in plain sight, making sure to cycle through a number of features wherever she goes, obfuscating the Imperial guards’ search for her. Above all, she likes it best when her eyes are either pink or blue; when her hair is blonde or brown. Through it all, her heart crashes about in her chest, thrashing about in her ribcage even as she refuses to think about how she’s being hunted down like a criminal by her own father. Money (golden and shining and reliable in a way her father never truly was) is never tight due to her magic. Still, Athanasia is starved of genuine interaction with anyone but her mother. Yet it’s all too risky even to fathom making an acquaintance when she knows they’ll all bind her in chains if they ever know who she is.

Her mother helps as best as she can, whispering in her ear about the innkeeper was starting to become suspicious, or what rumours were being circulated here and there—helping her avoid areas where people are most keen to turn in the abominable villainess who’d harmed their beloved Princess (never her, never Athanasia, it was always, always Jennette who’d be so loved and accepted by all). Athanasia is oh-so careful, living as if she were dead, waiting, waiting, waiting as she always did.

Until she sees the body strung from a rope in the town square.

Horrifically injured, it is covered in a damaged maid’s dress, and matted brown hair covers its eyes. But Athanasia recognises the bend of those limp hands, the careful embroidery lining the apron and the skirt, the unseen tie so horribly torn and broken like her heart. Her breath feels uneven, all too loud for her ears in an environment that seems to press down on her. Mother’s ghostly arms pull at her as gently firm as can be, but Athanasia cannot bring herself to move. There is a scream stuck in her throat, and it claws with an animalistic ferocity to be let out.

Faintly, she thinks that Ijekiel would’ve labelled this as the protagonist’s tipping point.

Lily is dead.

Mama confirms it too, with all the coldness and stiffness of flash-frozen water, the absence of spirit, her soul.

Not even days after she’s started running away, does she see the still corpse swaying in the air in front of her eyes. It’s already started the process of decay, the white pallor that marks her as gone having already overtaken her skin. Not to mention the unmistakable hole in her chest, the browning stains of blood on her always impeccably clean uniform, the doll-like stiffness of her body, and Lily cannot be dead because her Father hates her so but he is not a madman bereft of morals (as long as it does not involve her) he is a cold but stiff, still just ruler (as long as it does not involve her) because because because—

It had been fine as long as it was only her who bore the weight of such cruel apathy.

Claude de Alger Obelia, emperor of Obelia, tyrant of Obelia has, had, killed Lily.

Her mama lays her hands upon her shoulders, ice-cold and sub-zero degrees burning Athanasia’s skin like a hot iron brand. Memories gleaned rush into her mind

And he would pay.

He would pay for it. He had to pay for it. There were consequences to every action, everything you took from the world. Whether it was forcing the creation of your imagination into life, speeding up natural processes of growth, or ripping away a life unfinished. There was always, always, a price to pay. Equivalent exchange. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. A life for a life.

And Athanasia would become his debt dealer. His Thanatos, pounding, clawing at his door.

She could fix this. Athanasia was a fool and a horribly, terribly blind idiot with a brain rotted with desire but she could fix this because if her Mama could come back to her so could Lily, and then she could apologise for being such a stupid stupid child. Everything would be back to normal. Back to the imperfect (no, they were perfect and unblemished) days of simply lazing around as a true family.

Lily wasn’t gone yet.

And Athanasia would make sure that she stayed, for good. Forever.

All she needs to do is prepare the stage, erase a few eyesores and tidy up this mess.

(The light of the torches cast long shadows as she took one step and another forward)

For that, her first order of business is to take back Lily’s body.

Early morning comes with the herald of the confusion of the masses.

(Poor, ignorant souls who have yet to realise what will be wrought upon their world)

The body of the example, the unremarkable maid of an unloved princess no longer hung from the noose. Only a snapped rope, roughly cut off from the rest of it, lay hanging from the wood.

Someone had taken the body, but who? Who would dare defy the order of the Sun of Obelia, Emperor Claude de Alger Obelia?

And within the shadows, a girl began crafting. Smoothing over blemishes, re-building foundations, and making once wrongs become rights. She fixes and repairs and improves because it is all for Lily’s sake. Lily must not come back in pain. She must come back to a body that knows no pain and will never know pain ever again.

But because it must be perfect (it must be, it had to be because she had to make up for it somehow and she knows it’s not enough but—), because she will accept no flaw, Athanasia needs practice. More practice than little animals and plants in various states of decay. Better practice than that. She needs people.

(People who will surely, surely join her, who will always live up to her expectations. Because they will be reborn and reshaped to fit them.)

Athanasia always works hard for those she loves. Will always work hard for them and those she has yet to love. Because she is a starving child, and she will devour everything even if she’s full. So in return, she’ll do anything.

She gently thumbs the closed eyelids of a most remarkable maid, knowing that beyond them are dull blue eyes. It isn’t right for them to be such a colour. Her hand goes to her face to trace soft lines just below her jewel-blue eyes. That colour is a physical connection of “family”, an invisible thread tying them together.

He didn’t deserve to have such a colour. Its beauty—wasted on him.

It’s a colour that Lily deserves so much more than him.

And Athanasia knows she can fix it.

She has to.

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