When I've arrived at the Elemental Weaver's chambers, the bonded tawny handbook tucked neatly into my chemise and all, the main floor was relatively sparse. The only person present at the moment happening to be Hestia, clad in an apron once more placing ingredients out onto the counter for cooking. This time, pieces of salmon fillets were sorted on a separate board whilst a bowl of chopped parsnips, a pepper grinder, and salt shaker sat further away. Set nearby was yet another bowl filled with peeled potatoes alongside two decanters, one filled with olive oil and the other with cream.

Hestia immediately looked up from the ingredients to examine me with her eyes. "Did you happen to run into any mongrels while out of our sight?" She grilled, raising one of her naturally arched yet rounded eyebrows at me.

"No, what the hell are you even talking about?" I inquired doggedly, attempting to gauge the reasoning behind such a slapdash question. But hitherto speaking, I should've expected something of the sorts upon my entrance. As I've recently come to the realization that Hestia was a contradictory type, with the penchant to initiate particular physical actions or words that seem impromptu in nature when in reality, most were more premeditated than anything.

Hestia loured at my response to her ironically deliberate impetuous question with another, even moreso subcutaneous remark. Though despite it all, her eyes remained the same solid vibrant green, no hint of orange flaring through. "Do you have to act like such an insolent maggot?" It appeared as if she had more to say, but she instead stopped herself, "Forget it. Aira's upstairs, she was always the more chatty one."

I was tempted to push further on what she wanted to relay, but when I endeavored for further information, she completely ignored me, returning her attention back towards preparing ingredients. Fine then.

I stalked past the furnace and alchemy table towards the stairs. I found it pointless to even bother with refining my senses (the eyes and ears mainly) for this particular task. Mainly because both had easily distinguishable voices; Aira with her airy, irritatingly harmonious and tonal diction and Sofia with her mellow enunciation, amongst a cascading undertone; even when she was younger.

I continued past the first three rooms, all of which were completely unoccupied at the moment. The next two I found were unoccupied as well, along with the next one. As I went further down towards the last room, it was just as I've expected; two female voices came from behind the door. Bingo.

I didn't even bother with knocking nor offering any kind of presentiments, just for the heck of personal satisfaction from observing their authentic reactions. Instantaneously upon entry, tangs of various parfums; ranging from sandalwood to lilac drifted throughout the room up into my nostrils. The walls painted with a magnificent concoction of frost-white, lilac, teal, scarlet, and crepe pink, which shifted and alternated every few minutes. As I approached, my laced up booted feet moderately reverberated across the polished travertine, which would've foiled my stunt had it not been for the endless fluffy gold embellished throw rugs reclined about. On one end, stood an entire area of shelves and cabinets, filled to the brim with beauty products mainly consisting of floral scents. On the other stood a plethora of sitting chairs and sofas, all of which also alternated about twenty to thirty seconds each between colors. It wasn't until I reached way back into the rooms on the more far end sofas that I spotted Aira, still wearing that outrageously daring glittery gossamer gown, brushing Sofia's freshly soaked honey-brown tresses. Who sat in front of her wearing the v-neck silk and satin nightgown.

Neither of them initially noticed me, as both continued to merrily giggle and exchange words. Of course. The pang of spite at their cheerfulness immediately resurfaced. But that spite didn't last for long, because there and then, Sofia looked up, followed subsequently by Aira, both looking up at me with widened eyes.

Are you kidding me? What are they staring at me like that? Do I have three heads or something? But despite my endless host of thoughts to do something, anything to make it stop. Even if it meant hollering as loud as possible, throwing one of the sachets directly towards them, saying the most obscene of expletives; time only further betrayed me. Fortunately, they got over enough of their shock, enough for Sofia to offer her quiescent hello and nod. Aira continued forth with brushing the former's hair, giving her customary smile and flick of her free hand as she did so. "Hello, Liselotte! Where were you?"

My goodness?! HOW does she manage to be so upbeat all the time? Regardless of my displeasure, I managed to maintain an unperturbed exterior.

"The library," I said unfalteringly.

Aira noticeably perked up in excitement, "Did you try the Book of Guidance while you were at it?"

Do you mean the book you conveniently forgot to relay to me has its own will? I was tempted. Far too tempted to confront her about the deceit and snap the most depraved of expletives at her out of frustration, but even I knew it would've been futile at this point. So I responded as sweetly as I could, etching a nonchalant grin upon my lips, "Yes, I did."

Sofia eyed me, her ears almost instantaneously hearing the forceful strain of my voice. It was fortunate for me that she was wise enough to not say anything about it. Aira on the other hand seemingly failed to catch the strain, fervently grabbing the comb and nodding like an attentive bobby doll at my response, "That's good."

Abruptly, my instincts flared up with the calamitous, nebulous compulsion, one which caused the insatiable urge to destroy. To counter this, I squeezed my palms together fixably to thwart it into appeasement. Then, using it as an opportunity to both divert the subject from me and gather the information I came for in the first place.

"Hestia mentioned something about running into 'mongrels' when I came. Did something happen here that I wasn't here for?"

Aira sniffled jokingly, "By 'mongrel' she meant Pippi, the Peynirci's pet golden retriever. She has this unfortunate habit of tackling people as a form of greeting." She gestured forwards, "Sofia was her latest victim."

Somehow, the thought of her generally poised and graceful self-being tackled to the ground by a massive, fluffy dog was enough for me to snicker tempestuously. Sofia looked up with an impassioned glower, evidently and plainly demanding; 'what's so amusing about that? '

Undeterred, I ignored the very look and continued snickering, "Wonder how that happened."

Sofia narrowed her eyes but still complied, "It's not as gladdening as you've may have thought. Whilst I was observing the paintings in the halls, I kept hearing some faint barking up ahead, but continued. A few minutes later and I kept feeling this weird prickly sensation against my leg but.." she signed, "it wasn't until I fell down that I realized that Pippi was there. She took out her paw. It was only until I took it back that she ended up tackling me." She recounted, "I never expected that extreme of a response."

"Well you know what they say; no good deed goes unpunished." Aira jokingly mused, putting down the comb to grab another set of hair clippers, "A similar incident happened some twenty-five years ago between Princess Rosalia and an extremely vivacious puppy."

Sofia's head whipped around abruptly, at a narrow enough degree to cause whiplash, "Twenty-five years ago? Isn't Rosalia around our age though?"

Aira, realizing what she just let slip, froze, "My mistake, you must not know, do you?" Her large, shimmering cornflower-blue eyes dampened with a sense of repentance, "Bervon had three sisters, two of whom are younger. The youngest of them was named 'Rosalia' by their mother, the late Queen Sithmaith in honor of her deceased mother, Lady Estella Rosalind Llywelyn." She explained.

"What happened to her?" Sofia asked softly.

"She died twenty-three years ago at the age of fourteen after coming down with a respiratory tract related illness." She explained, proceeding to braid the right side of Sofia's tresses.

"Oh..." Sofia heaved, falling silent once more. I too was rendered speechless as to an appropriate response for that. She was around my age, only a year older than me when she left this world. The prospect was terrifying to have and think about. 'Even the most agreeable of children aren't spared from the reaper's claws,' Mama rather harshly yet delicately told me and Sofia after a particularly severe epidemic of the flu spread about and ended up killing many; mainly children between the ages of two and five. Papa worked as one of the chief mourners and body disposers at the time, assisting in memorials and the burning of infectious bodies. I recalled how mama outright refused to touch him when he came home and then told us to follow suit. Fortunately, papa understood her reasons and never held any feelings of resentment towards her. It was the one and only time where I've ever truly questioned how they met and how papa managed to tolerate her.

"It was pretty unfortunate, she was such a thoughtful and smart girl who could've made a difference. It devastated everyone, especially Bervon and Theia. Bervon visits her grave on every anniversary of her birthday to this day whilst Theia likes to pay respects to her on every anniversary of her death," she placed a clipper at the end of the braid she just finished, "So when the Princess came along, they choose to honor her memory by naming her 'Rosalia'."

Sofia placed her head down on her knees, crouching slightly as to make herself more comfortable. Her eyes focused on Aira, "Any idea who suggested the idea?"

Aira's braiding lurched forward, "If I had to guess, Bervon. He always felt this sense of guilt when it came to Rosalia. He blames himself far too much for how his sister's life turned out; the lonesome days in the palace, being left orphaned before she could even walk, and especially what ended up happening to her when she fell ill." Aira only shrugged her head, "But he did what he could, enlisting the assistance of the most skilled and prestigious healers, but she still ended up succumbing to the illness. To this day, he firmly believes he failed to do what a brother should do, and presumably started averting that affection for her onto Rosalia."

That explains a lot. Why he became so cut up inside and cagey. I looked towards Sofia again, who now turned her face away from both me and Aira's view.

"You freakishly sounded a lot like Odessa near the end," I remarked.

Aira only shrugged offhandedly, "That's what happens when you spend over a decade by somebody's side I guess."

Sensing that this was about to turn awkward, I turned away towards the door, "I should probably go now. Hestia's making dinner again and I don't want to encounter her indignation."

Aira nodded, "Good idea, see you at dinner then?"

"Yeah."

I arrived at the lavatory with nightgown in hand, already ripping the dark plum laced vest off, along with the blouse, black trousers, and lace-up boots, until I was in nothing but my chemise. Upon doing so, I spent a few minutes examining my appearance, how I must've looked to Aira and Sofia just now. Besides the sweat glazing my face and chest, and the ribbon holding back my long tresses tightly for dear life, nothing really seemed out the ordinary.

With that in mind, I started preparing the bath, checking the water with my hand to ensure it wasn't too scathingly hot nor freezing cold. Afterward, I slid off the chemise as the water filled the tub. Then steadily dipping my toe inside. Immediately, the water prickled and trickled my limbs, laundering off all the sweat and debris residing from the day. So far, the nightly routine was going the way it customarily would've gone, entailing brisk and harsh scrubbing so as to effectively make use of the water.

But that all swiftly changed as soon as I reached the limbs, as whilst placing the sponge on my upper thighs, I detected the presence of a peculiarly colored blot on my left leg. Not just any shade, but almost a midnight black amassed with a relucent scarlet and crimson red. Though the shape wasn't transparent enough for me to pinpoint. If I were to guess, perhaps a creature of some kind. Additionally, my arm ached faintly, in a way that could only be specified as pins and needles. I instinctively fought to expel all lingering thoughts of the pain in the only way I knew how; via aggressively scrubbing my pale skin. Until I was red until it stung and until I felt obtund.

Once that was achieved, I made use of the towel stored earlier to dry myself, my hair draping down like a cloak. But eventually, once I had moved it back, I took a few spare seconds to observe more searchingly my blaringly cyan eyes, which stood out even more so than before, courtesy to the prominent candles and natural light of Fealettia's climate. But that quickly became my biggest mistake, the thought that I've have done so much scrubbing to berid of last night resurfaced; "You have beautiful eyes."

Immediately, I took out my palm, colliding it against my cheek harshly. Dammit! Get a grip of yourself Liselotte! But ultimately, it had achieved nothing other than leaving a caustic sensation on my cheek.

To nobody in particular, I made a guttural sound that sounded like a mix of 'gak' and 'pshaw.' For some reason, I couldn't stop thinking about it at all. While I had no clue as to why, I could surmise that it was because I've never once met a boy who was forward enough to openly tell me that, especially when we've barely known each other. The one compliment I've ever received on my appearance from a boy was on my pale skin when I was seven. But even then, that occurred privately when it was just us two, hiding together in the bushes during a game of hiding and seek with the other schoolchildren.

When I later asked Sofia about this, she responded that it was because pale complexions were strictly seen as an indicator of beauty and wealth. A concept which I've always recalled immediately finding absurd from first thought. Hell, the wealthiest of the wealthy could be born with the darkest of complexions and it wouldn't have mattered, it wouldn't have held any importance of any kind towards their position in status- in my eyes at least. There were many people I've come across that would've said otherwise.

By the time I've slipped on a fresh pair of chemises, I put on the nightgown, checking to see if the blot of color was still visible. It was, but fortunately, on my end, the red and black mark was located on the left upper thigh, an area that was easily concealed. And even then if someone were to notice, they'd probably immediately conclude it to be a scar of some kind. Looking at my curtain of tresses, I remained still, putting my uttermost effort into tying my hair into the plain old braid that I generally wore to bed. Despite hating the feel of a lump behind my neck, it helped prevent those cumbersome knots which would've formed once more.

While in the process of braiding, I heard an impromptu delicate knock at the door. Immediately recognizing the rhythm, I responded, "What do you want?"

Sofia gave a small reverberated sigh at my neutral tone. "Just letting you know that dinner is done. Hestia aforementioned that you likely know what is being served?.."

"Salmon fillets with baked potato right?"

Sofia made a croon which I could've only described as approval, "Don't take long."

By the time I've had arrived back into the main level of the chambers, nobody was actually sitting down at the table to eat. Despite the salmon fillets sitting in a serving platter right in the middle, along with the four plates and sets of utensils set about. Sofia was at the kitchen counter, rearranging the baked potatoes into what looked like various flowers, one resembling a daisy, another a daffodil. I could only presume that Hestia allowed it, as she currently was evening out the furnace flames with her hand, focusing so intently that she just simply wouldn't bother.

Deciding it wiser not to say anything to her, I sat down and observed as Sofia moved on from the third baked potato, which she had shaped into a rose, placing it right back onto the serving platter and near the daffodil shaped potato. She then placed the fourth and last potato in front of her, arching the knife so to soften its edges, further narrowing the angle she was cutting at as to resemble the tippy top slope of the flower. That's when it became clear that she was making a tulip. This is because out of all the flowers out there, tulips were the only ones I could think of which so happened to appear circular and soft looking, and most importantly, retained a closed circular bud when they hadn't budded yet.

I looked up at her with a grin. She smiled back, placing back the newly sculpted baked potato. As she cleaned up the scraps, I discreetly leaned over and whispered, "Did you ask her for permission to do that?"

Sofia's face brightened up with the most mischievous smile I've ever seen from her, "No."

I mockingly covered my mouth in the exact same way I've seen gossiping ladies from the aristocracy do. Alas, how preposterous! Sofia actually doing something without asking for permission?! This must have been a figment of my imagination. There's no way that Sofia of all people wouldn't have asked before breaking protocol like that!

Sensing the disbelief on my face, Sofia grimaced, "Is it that unthinkable?" She quietly whispered, going back to the kitchen to store the knife away.

Now that she mentions it... she had a point. Cutting baked potatoes artistically without warning wasn't the worst thing in the world. I remained seated, taking time to ponder over which one I'd pick. The first one, which was shaped like a ridiculously oversized daisy was intricate, with smooth, unending edges and lines that were too good to be true. The daffodil was a little more choppy in shape, the petals reminding me of the blades from a windmill. The rose was thorny in shape, with petals that looked as if they could prick my fingers. Oddly enough, they made for a dramatically exaggerated version of the roses on the Fealettian Royal House Sigil, which already was intensified enough as it is.

So the tulip it is...

Hestia turned away from the furnace, it's flames no longer sporadic. She turned her gaze towards me. Her vibrant green eyes were even more pronounced than before, with a hint of fading orange emitting. I managed to mutter a greeting of hello, which she returned with a brusque nod. She then turned her gaze towards Sofia, who was just now putting the broom back in its customary spot in the closet. Afterward, she gave a poised wave of the hand as her way of greeting.

That was when Hestia finally spoke, "We're not waiting for Aira today, sit and eat."

The command was immediately obeyed, both of us sat in our respective seats, taking turns with serving ourselves. Sofia offered to go last, but upon hearing the suggestion, Hestia shut it down, insisting that it wasn't necessary. So I decided for myself to go first, taking two pieces of salmon fillets and the tulip-shaped peeled potato. Sofia promptly went afterward, taking one salmon fillet and the daisy-shaped potato. I picked up my fork and stabbed my salmon fillet, taking a generous bite. It gave me a valid excuse to not have to explain the flower-shaped baked potatoes. Though surprisingly, Hestia mentioned nothing, taking her serving of salmon fillets and selecting the daffodil shaped baked potato. I was pleasantly surprised but didn't want to give my hopes up. She could've easily just been stalling for time, waiting for the right moment to rupture like the phoenix she was. And so I continued taking generous bites, taking down swills of chicory water in the process, all of which went down my throat like a warm and vinegary roasted substance, very much like coffee. Though since I've always enjoyed its scent and taste, I didn't mind.

Just when I was preparing to dissect my tulip shaped potato, Sofia, who was thoughtfully cutting her salmon fillet, looked directly at Hestia, "If you don't mind me querying, what was it like being a nymph?"

Visibly, Hestia's face changed from her customary scowl to one far too complex to name, her jaw clenched enough that I feared it would crack, her eyes filled with a luster I couldn't quite place. "Let's just say, before all my sisters were slaughtered and the Spring Forest conquered, my circumstances were different. Whilst humans, elves, and demons generally have two parents, nymphs only have one. For which nobody knew her true name, so we merely called her 'Mother of Nymphs.' She was a staunch protector of us, but quite strict as well. We'd all routinely maintain whatever element we were in charge of..." she paused, stoically taking a bite of her salmon fillet, "She loved us all, but she'd never ceased to discipline us with extreme measures if we went out of line." So, an extreme version of mama?

"I see, reminds me a bit of my own mother." Sofia remarked, taking small sips of chicory water, "Did you ever get in trouble?"

Hestia paused, her jaw suddenly tensing even more than before, "No, neither did Odessa. Aira often did though for countless things; questioning mother over her ideologies, defying her orders, plenty of other things like that as well... The severity of the punishments increasingly got worse over time; restrictions on privacy and freedom, whippings, sometimes she'd make her parade about in the cold..," Hestia nonchalantly said, almost as if she were discussing the weather.

Sofia's mouth went slack open, her hands clasped over her mouth, her eyes widened, and her face blanched. She likely desiderated that she hadn't asked at all. Though it wouldn't have mattered at the end of the day, because knowing how Hestia operated, she would've gone into detail regardless. Sofia was only fortunate that she wasn't drinking anything at the moment.

Hestia didn't even seem fazed at all by her reaction or what she had just revealed, a sort of countenance which further spoke volumes about how much she had seen over the years, how unperturbed she has gotten over the idea of violence. But I couldn't blame her at the slightest, if I were immortal and over eighty years old, I would've been the exact same way. Hell, anybody would've ended up the same way. More importantly, it gave a somewhat better understanding of why the Elemental Weavers act the way they do, especially Aira with her happy-go-lucky attitude and gentler approach towards things.

Nobody had anything to say all of a sudden, not me, nor Hestia, nor Sofia, who now has placed herself into this trance consisting of eating her neatly cut cubes of salmon fillets, nibbling on her daisy-shaped baked potato, taking a sip of chicory water then rinse and repeat. I was familiar with the tendency, as she had frequently resorted to the pattern during suppertime in the past when uncomfortable. In this particular instance, it was as if the thought and envisionation of a tender and lively Aira being brutally beaten and forced to walk miles in the bleak winter months had clouded the air upon us with an everlasting veil of unspoken consternations and tribulations.

It also left far too many unanswered questions. Where they there to witness this? Was anybody else subjected to such draconian procedures? Did Hestia and Odessa attempt anything to intervene, or to at least help her out?  Yet I didn't want to break the silence, as the shocking revelation alone was already too much to wrap my mind around. I instead made an attempt to redirect my mind to something else. Such as the baffling red and black blot on my left upper thigh, artfully hidden by the lengthy satin and silk nightgown that I wore. Thank god it's not see-through...

But besides the blot's abrupt appearance, my mind also wandered over to my recent discovery from the library, the illusory leather bonded handbook with those initials engraved "FP." The first and only passage I've had dared to read so far. While I yearned to discern more about its contents, it's owner, and who had written it, the handbook had also become a source of aggravation for me because it was so goddamn ambiguous. The only indications I had so far were the noted year in the margin, 1217, and the aforementioned Madame Rivka, which pointed towards either a governess or a caregiver at some orphanage or school, depending on the writer's social status. Arguably, the most important detail was the initials at the end, "EP."  The year and initials were the two most conclusive leads I had at this point, alongside the mention of an ability to communicate with snakes. Such an ability heavily implied that this didn't belong to a human or at least a full-blooded one.

I looked down at my hands, which were steadily yet ruthlessly dissecting my poor peeled baked potato into... well.... what no longer was a perfectly closed circular tulip bud, but rather a perfectly decocted jumble of dissevered scraps. It conveniently made me think about the macabre outcome of a person derangingly stabbing their target numerous times in the stomach, their innards all sliced and diced and dissevered from its dwelling.

Just then, the air in the room seemed to change... but it wasn't from the whole shocking revelation, but something entirely different. The air became somewhat brumal yet estival in nature, my braid mildly careening about. Yet another thing to thank god about. The furnace fire abruptly smothered out, which made Hestia give out this guttural sign of agitation. Then, the charcoal shaded centerpiece fire was squelched out, causing the main floor to become bedim and bleared, the sole accessible light source now being the impeding moonlight from outside the balcony and windows, both of which were closed. That was how we managed to conclude that it wasn't coming from outside.

Then, a set of footsteps commenced from the entrance. All three of us turned around towards the makeshift passageway. Of course, Aira stood in the doorway, her bright pink hair and twinkling cornflower blue eyes coming into view. In her hands, she held a bundle of two pure white envelopes, each one bearing a gold seal of the Fealettian sigil. In her other hand, a folded document somewhat faded with a red seal holding it together.

Hestia crossed her arms and glared crisply towards her sister, "You know damn well I hate when you do that."

Aira mirthfully waved the hand holding the folded document almost dismissively, "Argh! And whoy is the one older sister thoughtful enough to vacuum the furnace out every night?"

Hestia gave a raised eyebrow, "Most of the time when you're available, which is only about 30% of the time really. That's beside the point anyway, where were you?" I looked at Hestia gapingly; this entire time, she had no idea?

Aira flamboyantly came to the table, sitting down and flourishing the two envelopes forward theatrically, "As you may have guessed, these envelopes are for our two honorary guests. It has a magic seal, so you cannot open it until two weeks from now. It's important now, so don't lose it."

I took the envelope from her hand tentatively. As I did so, I noted that the golden seal on the front had my first initial of my name, L, imprinted in the very center. The only question which immediately arose to my mind was the sender.

"Do you know who sent it?" I asked, carefully examining the envelope.

Aira smiled sheepishly, "I'm afraid I can't tell you. I was only instructed to give you the letters."

I gave out another frustrated groan. At this point, my patience was running out. Yet another secret, another mystery. For now, there was little I could do about the letter other than making hunches on its writer and sender. The most likely options were the king or queen, though I was well aware that I shouldn't inherently come to such a conclusion so soon.

Sofia gazed down at the envelope as if it were a bottle of poison, setting the letter away as far as heedfully possible. Aira proceeded to start serving herself whilst Hestia was up and reigniting the furnace. As Aira took the last two salmon fillets and moved on to the last peeled baked potato left, which was the rose-shaped one. She immediately started laughing hysterically upon realizing it. Sofia, who was drinking the last of her chicory water, nearly choked what she had out, coughing for the next three minutes until stopping completely.

"Who carved out this marvelous, exquisite chef-d'oeuvre?" She asked, effortlessly dangling the peeled baked potato from her knife and towards the plate. Hestia ceased her process of reigniting the furnace to sit back down, pointing towards Sofia decisively, "She's the artiste that you're looking for."

So she knew. That's why she didn't say much about it.

"Hm, looks just like an actual rosette, Sofia." She said, sagaciously eying the pointedly cusplike petals. Sofia only muttered a mellow thank you as a response.

"Who taught you how to carve?" Aira inquired, taking a big chunk of her salmon fillet on her fork.

She slightly stalled at the question, though recovered quickly. "My mother's godfather, Mr.Harsbarry. From what I know, he came from a long line of artisans and was skilled with painting and manipulating wood since the age of five. He died about seven years ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that, you clearly learned well from him." She replied with a benignant smile. Sofia looked like she wanted to die from embarrassment, which was odd because Sofia generally accepted gestures of praises with a moderate amount of grace and dignity. Though now that I thought about it, Sofia scarcely mentioned carving- at least... not after she received that apprenticeship offer from one of the top artisans institutes possible in our area, but was given no another choice but to decline. Primarily because it was ten towns away and therefore the travel expenses were worth more than papa's and mama's yearly income alone.

Sofia silently nodded and resumed the last of her meal in peace. That's now it remained for the rest of the evening at the dining table; with Aira blowing elaborate kisses at the irritable Hestia, who afterward dubbed her to be a "doltish malkin." Whatever the hell that meant.

And yet still all those remarks and insults didn't get to Aira emotionally in the slightest. By the time the serving platters were emptied and all four of us had finished our food, she clasped her hands together rather vociferously, standing loud and clear. "Ahem, I have an announcement for all of you. Steer clear now, as it's very important."

Just now important? I asked myself, important enough to clap your hands about? There was nothing I really could've done at the moment, other than follow suit. So that much I did, staying in my seat as Hestia proceeded to wash up the dishes. Sofia was going to follow, but Aira swiftly blocked her out with an air barrage shield, which enveloped the targeted area with a surprising amount of ease. Sofia was therefore given no choice but to remain at the table with me, where she fidgeted for a significant amount of time.

Upon observing the fidgeting, Aira gave a defeated expression, "Would it really kill you to sit and rest for just a little bit?" She asked placatingly. Sofia's expression immediately saddened into one of guilt. Not too uncanny from the time when she was five and was caught trying to sneak a cookie from the jar. The only reason she ended up not getting sent to bed early was due to papa's interference, expressing how it was more of a relief than anything else because it proved that she was a normal human child, rather than an angel from heaven like he was beginning to think. Even though I was only two when that happened, I knew the story word to word because it was the one time Sofia ever got into trouble (and was actually caught, might I add.) If what the priest at our church sermons said was true, then Sofia would've been the one person who'd come close to being qualified to go through the gates of Canaan in the slightest.

Sofia finally nodded and obliged with the request, settling down at the table to hear what she had to say. Aira, seeing that her persuasion was successful, clasped her hands together in a fit of polyphony. "Within three days of time from now, you both will see Princess Rosalia's body for the first time. Be prepared to dress in a plentiful and toasty matter now, temples tend to be quite chilly."

Both me and Sofia were rendered speechless. While I had the feeling that the day would come to actually see the princess, I didn't expect it so soon after only three to four days of being here. Observing Sofia's gaped mouth and my widened eyes, Aira's face dropped, "Why are you both so surprised? Did you not expect us to actually let you see her?" She surmised, her tongue clicking in quick succession.

"N-no, it's not that we didn't expect it, to be allowed in her presence after only three days of being here." Sofia bashfully said. For once, I actually agreed with her on that.

Aira's face brightened into a smile with understanding, "Ironic you say that Queen Theia actually expressed something along those lines about the whole matter, but she realized that it was for the best if that meant awakening the princess. Fair point though."

So even the queen of all people was hesitant... Surprising in the sense that she seemed more libertarian in comparison to most of the other nobles I've seen whilst at the ball. More barefaced and jovial than most, despite the resplendent silver jewels that she had worn around her neck, ears, and wrist. Perhaps it was her youthful looks that gave me the impression though.

"So... that's all?" Sofia inquired quietly.

As a direct response, Aira firmly but gently commanded the air barrage shield to dissipate, the zephyrs of aura shiftily transposing into a circle of shimmers, all varying from the shade of her customary rosy pink to emerald green, to pure gold.

I attempted to do anything I could to escape, but I quickly realized that couldn't. The display was far too enticing to my senses, awakening my nerves to a shocking amount of clarity. Sofia made a gasp and looked up forward, her eyes gleaming with awe. Slowly but surely, all the air dispersed away into the background, almost as if nothing had ever happened.

It only furthered added to my list of questions for the Elemental Weavers: what's you're secret to maintaining control of your magic? I wasn't well known for my patience, nor was I very temperate when it came to conducting. That dented kitchen table from my spat with mama was yet another example on my lengthy list of flare-ups. And sometimes it went beyond just inanimate objects such as cups, brooms, and plates; but also live individuals as well. One time, I've even scratched Sofia's arm with my nails after she unwittingly misplaced the collection of sprigs and twigs that I've spent weeks scouting for my mini contraption. Knowing how Sofia was about violence, I expected her to go and tell mama, but she didn't. She sat down with me a few days later and steadily talked it out with me, despite my repeated insolence and attempts to kick and scratch her. In hindsight, she wasn't just my only other friend besides from Calix, but also my warden. My guardian angel in comparison to Calix's devil advocate role.

Calix. Suddenly, I felt a searing sensation behind my eyelids. No, no, no. Stop Liselotte, stop! Then, something damply and solid shaped came down my eye and onto my cheek. Oh gosh no! I didn't care that nobody saw, I swiftly hurried up the stairs without a word, steadying my breath so that they couldn't hear the dismay in it. As I tiptoed ran to the guest room, I heard a flurry of three voices, one very brash and brisk voice which I could only assume was Hestia throwing insults, the airy and tonal voice of Aira, and mellowed cascade of Sofia, all exchanging muffled words. Even though I couldn't say for sure, I could've sworn that my name was mentioned every two to three sentences. But it didn't matter. Years of gossip amongst the aristocracy in the village have only taught me the art of nonchalance; the ticket to survival.

By the time I've reached the guest room, I've come to the realization that oddly enough, I didn't feel like sleeping. I felt like punching something, anything to remove that feeling of anguish that came about whenever I thought about Calix and Sofia. But I couldn't, I couldn't do it. Liselotte, goddamit! Get over yourself! Calix is gone, Sofia will never change! Accept that. Move on! But in the end, the attempt was futile; the indication for that conclusion came from the sickening crack of the perfectly maintained painted wooden walls.

Like always, my hand remained clear of bruises, cuts, and scrapes. But then the rage melted away into guilt upon the realization that now there was an extensively wide embrasure in the wall. I had no idea why I kept on doing this. Even more disturbingly, my hands almost never received injuries, not a single scar marred my hands as they should've. It was yet another grueling reminder of just how out of place I was from the rest of my family. Not only did I look nothing like them, but my skin also didn't function in a humane way. My skin was difficult to work with, it didn't get damaged as easily as it should've. All the times I've fallen out of trees and gotten into physical altercations should have resulted in a lot of outrageously gruesome injuries and scars, and yet it didn't. No wonder everybody, especially the priest, firmly believed I was the child of a devil. It was only human to receive blisters, to receive scrapes from hitting the floor, cuts from playing carelessly with sharp objects. But I was different. Thus, I automatically stood as an imposing threat to others.

Not bothering to cover up the embrasure, I retrieved the bonded tawny handbook from the hidden compartments of the dresser, slipping under the covers of my bed and repeatedly stroking the crevices of the engraving initials. Over and over and over and over again until my eyes became drowsy with sleep. When it got to the point where I could barely keep my eyelids open, I hastily shoved the handbook under my pillow. Muttering three more words; 'likewise unto woes.'