To say that Vura Nimilow Esmae was in a foul mood was the understatement of a lifetime.  The last few days had been stressful, painful, and exhausting beyond words.  She’d been shot at, hunted, attacked by metal monsters, and practically run into the ground... all for what?  All those nights of planning, all those days spent worrying that they would be discovered before they were ready... had there even been a point to any of it?

If she were to be honest, Vura had never wanted to leave Drayhadal—no sane Drayhadan would.  Everyone knew that the barbaric societies that populated the lands outside their haven were filled with bloodthirsty savages lacking even a semblance of culture or refinement.  What even was there to see?  Streets covered in the filth of animals?  Laughable attempts at farmland?  Or perhaps, the crude stone castles they were supposedly so proud of that they attacked each other for the right to control them?  Who would want to go and see that, especially since you were as likely to end up gutted on the street by a random passerby as you were to make it to your destination?  No, there was little reason to leave Drayhadal, in her opinion.

Her opinion, however, mattered little.  As nice and civilized as a life with the Casm or Kechou would have been—not the Astr; far too dirty for her or her Madam—it was not her role to choose.  Her Madam wanted to see the world, and that was that.  Vura’s role was to follow, to assist, and to serve.  This was something she’d known and accepted from the moment she’d agreed to Madam Mizuko’s offer, and she did not regret her choice.

Vura’s life had fallen to pieces well before her Madam had even arrived on this world.  Born the third daughter of a local patrician, she’d spent her studying the arts, beautifying herself, attending local parties and salons, and other activities meant to make her as appealing a bride as possible.  Apparently, she’d done a little too well.

She’d never forget that terrible day.  Her head had been in the clouds all morning, ever since she’d heard rumors that the son of the region’s administrator—considered by most to be the most desired prospect available—fancied her and was considering courtship.  Still a naive young woman, she’d never considered what that rumor might push her competition to do until the hired thugs were holding her down, their instruments of brutality gleaming in the moonlight.

Everything had crumbled to dust from that point.  No longer able to conceive a child, her prospects of marriage were now zero.  Gone were the dreams of high-status matrimony; not even a pauper would court her now.  Her utility destroyed, she found herself deemed by her father as nothing more than a disappointing failure and a burden upon the family’s finances and reputation.  Soon after her body had fully healed, he cast her out on her own with only a small pouch of coin to her name.

Vura still did not know which party or parties had hired the attackers.  In some ways, it didn’t matter; all the possible families were too crafty to leave enough evidence to build a case and too well-connected to face consequences even if she somehow did find something incriminating.  In other ways, Vura didn’t care who did it.  Having a name to blame wouldn’t make her whole again.  It wouldn’t take away the sting of knowing that she’d been seen by her own family more as a bargaining chip than a person worth loving.  The damage was already done, her life and future destroyed.

The following few years had been a steady spiral downward, deeper and deeper into a bottomless pit of despair.  Lacking employable skills, financial support, and a place to live, life had been harsh and she’d suffered immensely.  The things she’d had to do and have done to her just to survive were, well... she preferred not to think about that any more than necessary.

Then, one day while washing her clothes far outside the latest town she’d wandered to, her fateful meeting with her Madam had occurred, and everything had changed.  Vura hadn’t even recognized her Madam as a human at first, thinking it some sort of small, wrinkled, hunched-over gremlin.  Only after thinking about it when going to report her sighting did she realize that the figure had been a person.  Within a day or two, all thoughts of the old woman had left her mind.  Life was hard and she had real problems to worry about, like finding a place safe enough for her to sleep at night.

It wasn’t until much later, when she heard tales of a great hero who’d saved the nation from the invading Stragman hordes, that she’d remembered that old and wrinkled form.  They called her the Mother of Nightmares, and it was said that this hero was a human of all things, one who looked older than the oldest elf and was powerful enough to knock out everybody in the entire imperial palace at once.  They even said that she could share memories with her magic!  Upon hearing this, a crazy idea had come to her—a desperate one, for sure, but what did she have to lose?

Immediately, she’d set out for Esmaeyae with a single goal in mind.  Pyria was known among the people as a fair and just ruler.  By presenting herself as the Mother of Nightmares’s first witness who wished to apologize for running away, perhaps Vura could gain an audience with the old woman.  Pyria had sniffed out her ruse immediately, of course, and Vura had been forced to reveal her true objective: to ask the Mother of Nightmares to show her memories of what it was like to have a child.

She’d had to wait, but in the end, Vura had finally gained an audience with the fabled Mother.  The elderly human had proved to be kind and generous, gladly giving Vura all that she asked for and more.  What was more, Vura witnessed firsthand Mizuko’s inherent dignity and culture, which in her mind put to shame any of the matrons and socialites she’d known.  Though Vura was only a few decades younger than her Madam, just a glimpse of the human’s experience-packed life left her feeling like a toddler in comparison.  Madam Mizuko had done and seen so much in barely more than a hundred years; what had Vura done in nearly that span?  For that matter, what of her peers, or her parents, or even most people in Drayhadal?  Vura doubted any of them could compare.

So, when the surprise offer of employment had come, she’d accepted immediately.  Even though becoming a servant would mean losing her independence and discretion, placing her squarely in the role of a follower, the decision had been the easiest one she’d ever made.  If she could no longer contribute to the future, then she would devote all of herself to the only being she cared about in the present.  Wherever the Mother of Nightmares went, Vura would follow, and she would pour everything she had—her blood, her sweat, her tears, even her very life—into her service.

But still!  It would have been nice if all of her blood, sweat, and tears went towards something better than... than this!

First, they’d had to listen to the life story of this Sofie woman—who Vura didn’t trust for a moment; she smiled too easily—which had done nothing but reinforce every bad thing Drayhadans said about the barbarians outside their borders.  Then, they were taken to some podunk city in the middle of the night filled with weird ugly glowing rocks, which turned out to be the flipping capital of this sad place.  The buildings comprising this city were simplistic and primitive, seemingly thrown together without regard for planning, safety, or aesthetics.  Speaking of aesthetics, the worst offender by far was the massive eyesore planted smack dab in the center of the city.  A drab, bland, uniformly gray monstrosity that seemed like it had been designed by somebody whose eyes had been cut out, the fortress stood out like a massive pustule on an already acne-covered face.

Now that she stood inside the garish thing, her impression had only soured more.  Everything seemed to be made of the same metal, which she imagined must become unbearably hot under the summer sun.  The decor was essentially nonexistent.  The walls lacked any sort of decoration or even color.  What furniture there was to be found seemed designed with simple utility in mind at the expense of everything else.  The chasm between this hovel and the refined, artful world of Drayhadal, where even the lowliest of huts had style, threatened to give her whiplash.

This was what she’d toiled to let her Madam see?

“Vura, what distresses you so?” Madam Mizuko asked, breaking Vura’s internal ranting.

“Nothing, I’m just worn out,” she lied.

“As you say,” her Madam responded.  Vura could tell that she didn’t quite believe her, but her Madam was courteous enough to not press at this time.

The pair had been waiting alone in this spartan room for several minutes since dismounting the eerie floating self-powered palanquin that had brought them here.  The Sofie lady had left, saying that she needed to find several people.  For some reason, she did not call a servant to do it for her, even though that sort of task was exactly what housemaids and the like were for.  Was she actually a maid here?  Vura doubted it.  She and Madam Mizuko had spoken as equals, as much as it galled Vura to sit through.  Still, Vura had remained silent as much as possible, regardless of how she felt inside.  That was what a proper handmaid did, after all.

“We should be able to sleep soon, I would think.  Just hold on a little longer.”

“I’m more worried for you, Madam.  I got some sleep, at least, and I will heal quickly, unlike you.”

Vura could still remember the time when her Madam had accidentally cut her finger with a small knife during lunch.  The tiny wound, which would have been gone before the next morning on anybody else, had taken over a week to fully heal.  At first, Vura had thought it the symptom of a terrible affliction, but she’d been shocked to learn that all people from her Madam’s world healed that slowly and poorly.  It left her to wonder how anybody from there survived at all.

“The girl is fetching somebody who can help with that, I believe,” Madam Mizuko assured her, though that assurance rang hollow.  Vura doubted whoever might come had any experience with her Madam’s specific constitution.

A chime rang from a box beside the door, drawing their conversation to a close.  After a moment, the metal panel slid into the wall, silent as the night.  It was just one more eerie and off-putting thing about the place.  Doors were supposed to make noise—creaking, whining, the soft ‘shff’ of a sliding door brushing against the wall and floor, anything!

A figure, clad in hideous armor from head to toe, stood in the doorway.  From just a single glance, Vura knew that whoever had designed and built the fortress wherein they sat was the same amateur who had created this terribly unpleasant metal suit.  The proportions were all off, for starters—especially the shoulders, which were almost comically broad.  The entire ensemble was the same dull grey, having clearly never been within a hundred paces of a drop of paint in its entire existence.  The helmet, however, was the most laughable.  A crude depiction of a face, made up of nothing but two triangular crystalline eyes and a cartoonishly scowling mouth, glowered at the world in endless irritation.  Who what this figure, she wondered, and how did anybody take them seriously?

“Well, you seem to be at least mostly in one piece,” a male voice spoke from behind the mask, his voice strangely unmuffled given the metal in the way.  “Welcome to Otharia.  I’m Lord Ferros, but you can call me Blake.  I pretty much run things around here.”

It took all of Vura’s self-control to not gasp.  This fool was the local king?!  No wonder Otharia was so mocked that even she’d known of the ridicule.  And, how dare he address her Madam without removing his helmet!  The lack of respect made her steam inside, but she reigned it in before she lost her composure.  Instead, she rose to her feet and moved to stand behind and to the left of her Madam, taking the proper position for a handmaid whose master was meeting with an important visitor.

“I thank you for your hospitality, as unexpected as it might be,” her Madam stated, giving the king a bow.  “I am Yamanaka Mizuko, as you surely already know.  This is my companion, Vura.”

Vura bowed her head momentarily, just about the most deference she could manage towards somebody so embarrassing.

“Yamanaka-san, then?  Or would you mind if we just dispensed with the formalities, given that there’s only a handful of us?”

The question seemed to take her Madam by surprise.  “You may call me Mizuko all you like,” she told him.  “I didn’t expect to meet somebody familiar with Japanese honorifics here.”

The king hesitated for a moment.  “Let’s just say I’ve... dabbled.  Anyway, I’d prefer to speak privately, just the two of us.”

Vura stiffened at the idea of leaving Madam Mizuko alone with this person of questionable taste and character, but as always, her Madam had her back.

“I would rather not.  Vura is trustworthy and understands discretion.  Anything you can say to me can be said with her present.”

The king hesitated for a considerable moment, seemingly stuck between giving in or doubling down.  Finally, he seemed to come to a decision with a distinctly un-regal mutter of “Ah, fuck it.”

To Vura’s surprise and momentary revulsion, the helmet seemed to writhe as if it were alive.  Then, almost as creepily, it melted away, revealing the king’s face.  The man did not appear as she had initially imagined.  Deep, heavy black bags hung beneath green eyes.  A mop of matted, oily dirty-blonde hair covered his head, desperately in need of a haircut, while similarly colored stubble dotted his face.

“Look, you’re probably just as tired as I am, so how about we work out the sleeping arrangements now and push the important stuff until tomorrow?”

“A fine suggestion,” her Madam agreed.

“So I’ve been informed of your, uh, unique sleep issue, let’s call it.  Finding a permanent solution will take some iteration.  For now, the best and easiest option is to load you back onto the Flying Toaster and park it up in the sky outside the city.”

Madam Mizuko frowned and shook her head.  “I have no desire to set foot in that thing again for a long while.  I’m sure Vura agrees.”

Vura nodded.  While she found the idea of floating through the air somewhat enchanting in the abstract, the circumstances of their ride on the strangely named craft had soured her on that specific vehicle.  That, and she’d found that the experience made her slightly nauseous—not enough to vomit, but just enough to feel continuously uncomfortable.

“As for a permanent solution, it is presumptuous of you to assume that I desire to stay here at all.  Did Sofie not tell you?”

“Where else would you go?” Blake asked, frowning.  “This is where all of us from Earth are.”

“And you think that is enough?”

The king quirked an eyebrow.  “Isn’t it?”

A quick knock at the door put a pause on the conversation.  It slid open again, this time revealing a blue-haired woman holding a leather pack.  Lithe and athletic, her eyes seemed to momentarily assess Vura and her Madam for threats before the impression vanished.  Vura marked her as somebody to stay wary of; unlike the buffoon in the suit, this woman was dangerous.

“What’s up?” the king asked.

“I’m here to work on her shoulder,” the woman told him as she proceeded into the room, her hand already reaching into the pack to pull out a roll of bandages.  “Didn’t Sofie tell you?”

“No.  Why does everybody keep asking me that?”

“Are you a doctor, young lady?” Madam Mizuko inquired.

“No, but I have ample experience with tending to broken bones.  Broken shoulders are more common on the battlefield than you think,” the woman responded.  “It’s your left, yes?”

“I would still prefer to be seen by a professional.”

“Finding a medic in Otharia is easier said than done in the middle of the day, let alone the middle of the night.  And regardless, it won’t change anything.  All you can do for a broken shoulder is immobilize the arm in a sling and wait for it to heal.  Feel free to ask a doctor yourself tomorrow.”

Her Madam equivocated for a moment before reluctantly giving in.  The unnamed woman moved Madam Mizuko’s robe aside and began to slowly and carefully wrap her shoulder.  Vura watched and found herself approving of the care this woman was putting in to not pain her Madam any further.

“Look,” the king butted back in, “we can deal with the long-term tomorrow, but for now, is there anything I can do to get you to agree to sleep in the airship for the night?  It would make things so much easier.”

“After all that you’ve put me through today, I’m well within my rights to finally put my foot down,” she sternly informed him.  “Surely there are other options available.”

“Not so much,” Blake sheepishly admitted.  “It’s been a bit of a rush job.”

“Just take us to a house out of the city,” Mizuko told him.  “Surely you have a cottage or something away from people.”

“It’s not a matter of housing, it’s a matter of security.  I can take you to a place, but it would be hard to protect you out there.  We’re having a bit of an insurgency issue right now, and as much as I’d like to tell you my skitters can keep you safe one hundred percent, I can’t guarantee it.  The bastards are annoyingly slippery.”

“You think these people would already know we are here?”

“Well, no, but I’d rather not chance it.”

“Your fancy robots will not be needed tonight—I can guarantee that.”

The man let out an exhausted sigh.  “Well, if you say—”

Vura missed the rest of what the man said, as the door behind him slid open almost silently once more.  A new figure stood in the doorway, a tiny being of darkness complete with twitching triangle ears and thrashing tail—a Stragman!  This small child of the void, skin black as coal, hair like a shadow in the night, found Madam Mizuko immediately, her golden eyes lighting up like a thief spotting a prized jewel.  She let out a gasp of delight and exclaimed, “Old lady so old!”

Vura nearly had a heart attack.  What disrespect towards her Madam!  What absolutely stunning, bloodcurdling disrespect!

Before Vura could recover, the Stragman gremlin scampered forward.  “Old lady!  Tell Pari a story!”

Vura’s eyelid twitched.  She was going to smack this child soon, she could feel it coming.

“Oh boy,” the king muttered.

“Pari!” Sofie wheezed, appearing at the door, bent over and leaning against the door frame as she panted.  “What did I say?  Harassing our guests is a no-no!”

For once, Vura agreed with the Earth girl.  Her Madam, however, seemed to find the Stragman youth’s antics amusing, tempering Vura’s indignation somewhat.

“Well now!  You must be the fabled Pari,” she said.

The imp puffed out her chest proudly.  “Pari is Pari,” she declared.  As if suddenly remembering something, she reached into a pocket and pulled out a pair of... small wax cylinders?  “Pari trade with old lady!  Pari give medicine for stories!”

“I see that Sofie’s description was no exaggeration,” Madam Mizuko chuckled.  “You want to be paid in stories, do you?”

The beastkin gave a single emphatic nod.  “Sofie-sis and Gabby-friend have good stories, but Grandfather has best stories because Grandfather live lots!  Old lady so old and wrinkled, must also live lots and have many great stories for Pari!”

Vura trembled at the sheer audacity of the swarthy Stragman, but her Madam chortled, once more tempering her simmering umbrage.  Sometimes Vura wondered why it seemed as if her Madam cared less about the way others treated her than she did.

“Well, aren’t you a delightful little munchkin!  However, I’m afraid I’m quite fatigued tonight, and as you can see, rather preoccupied at the moment as well.”  She turned her head and indicated the woman tending to her injury.  The blue-haired woman had finished wrapping the shoulder and had moved on to constructing a sling to hold the forearm.  “Could I possibly owe you a story and tell it tomorrow?”

The child’s face scrunched up in concentration for a moment before she replied, “Pari wants two stories then!  No!  Three!”

“My my, what a shrewd businesswoman you are!  But, where is the medicine you want to trade?”

The child held out the two wax cylinders.  On closer inspection, Vura noticed each had a tiny wick sticking out of one of the flat ends.

“Candles?” her Madam asked, coming to the same conclusion.

“Make pain go bye-bye, Pari promise!  Lots of happy-happy!”

“Is that so?  Aromatherapy of some sort, perhaps?”

“Madam,” Vura cut in, finally feeling the need to voice her thoughts, “surely trusting the medical claims of a child would be most unwise.”

“It’s the best you’re going to get on short notice,” the blue-haired woman informed them.  “The only widespread painkiller available around here is raw acasia root, which is hard to chew and barely does anything.  Whatever Pari put in there will be more effective than that, at least.”

“Vura is correct, however,” Madam Mizuko stated, which made Vura stand tall with pride.  “These are the creations of a young child.  You would vouch for her ability?”

“When it comes to chemicals, she’s a savant unlike anything I’ve ever known,” the woman replied.  “Let’s just say that I’ve seen her create things that shouldn’t be possible using little more than random weeds she picked from the side of the road.”

“Not random!  Pari very careful with picking!” the child claimed.

“Still...” Madam Mizuko said, clearly wavering to Vura’s dismay.  She realized she could not allow this sham to continue any longer, lest her Madam end up poisoned or some other horrible fate.

“Madam, at least let me test their claims before we put you at risk,” she insisted.

“That seems prudent, yes,” her Madam agreed, handing her one of the two candles.

Vura manifested a small flame above her finger, ready to light the wick, and extended that hand towards the candle clutched in the fingers of her other hand.

“Wait, wait, you’re going to light it right here?!” King Blake exclaimed, bringing Vura’s movements to a sudden pause.

Vura blinked, confused by the outburst.

“Aight, I’m out.  We’ll talk tomorrow,” he continued, quickly making his way out of the room and not looking back.

“Sling’s done.  I should get going too,” the blue-haired woman said before hurrying out the door.

“I need to go check on Gabby,” Sofie told them before swiftly exiting the chamber, leaving only Vura, her Madam, and a grinning but confused-looking Stragman girl.

“Well, Vura, let’s not keep the little one waiting,” her Madam said while rising from her seat and taking several steps back.

Suddenly, Vura had a very bad feeling, though she didn’t know why.  It was a candle.  What was there to be afraid of?

She lit the wick and watched as it burned, the fire consuming the wick and wax at a far quicker rate than the candles she was used to.  It almost seemed to burrow into the wax cylinder, disappearing from sight.  And then... nothing.

For several moments, the candle seemed inert.  Had the flame gone out?  She’d seen that happen with candles before, where the flam would dig a hole in the wax and eventually drown itself.  Had that happened here?  She held the candle up to her face to get a better look.

As if waiting for that very moment, the candle suddenly erupted, spewing thick, teal smoke straight into her face and up her nostrils.  She hacked and coughed, the involuntary action only serving to give her a lungful of the noxious smog.

Her head was spinning.  The candle fell from her hands and rolled off into a corner, the smoke still wafting out, though at a much slower pace.  She felt her body loosen as she sank to the floor and slid onto her side.

She felt... good—no, more than good... content.  For once, everything was all right.  She didn’t have to worry anymore.

She didn’t know how long she lay there, and she didn’t care.  She was too busy floating in an ocean of pure bliss, letting the gentle waves wash over her as she floated wherever the currents pushed her.

A voice called out to her, filled with concern.  She looked up and saw a face she knew well staring down at her, one lined with years of wisdom and kindness.  She reached out a hand and touched that face, her already wide smile growing even further.

“Mother... you came for me...” she said.  “I’ve missed you so much...”

She could taste colors...

Mmmmm, pink tasted fantastic, but purple was still her favorite...

The last thing she sensed before she slipped into a peaceful slumber filled with sweet dreams was a childish giggle, followed by, “Happy-happy!”

*     *     *

Vura had not expected it to be possible for her to be in a fouler mood than the one she’d been in yesterday, yet somehow this accursed place had managed such a feat.  It had started when she’d woken up still in that accursed fortress with her Madam nowhere to be found.  After getting lost in the labyrinthine halls for a quarter of an hour, she’d finally run across Sofie, whereupon she’d learned that her Madam had left that night to sleep in the remote location they’d agreed upon, leaving Vura behind.

Vura felt ashamed that she’d let herself become so incapacitated.  She’d been unable to render her services when her Madam needed them.  Ignoring her aching hunger, she’d skipped breakfast and headed immediately for her Madam, with Sofie in tow.

That was how she found herself riding atop a grotesque contraption of spindly legs striding over the land, the woman from Earth by her side, chattering away about... something or other—she hadn’t been listening.  It wasn’t until the hideous vehicle rounded one final bend and Sofie called out “There it is!” that Vura returned mentally to the present.

A tiny stone cottage, little more than a hut, stood beside an equally tiny creek burbling in the morning light.  Not waiting for the wretched vehicle to come to a halt, she jumped down and ran to the hut, telling Sofie to stay in the vehicle’s cabin.  Inside, to her relief, she found her Madam, whole and hearty, sipping tea from a fairly crude ceramic cup.

“Have a nice rest, Vura?” Madam Mizuko asked with a slight smirk.

“Madam, I’m sorry—”

“Shush.  There is nothing to apologize over.”

“But—”

“There is no reason to agonize, Vura.  Everything went just fine.  You got good sleep, I got good sleep, and here we are.”

“Still, I should have never trusted that child’s... whatever it was.”

Her Madam took a long sip of tea.  “Did it not work?  How are your aches and bruises?”

“My aches...?”

For the first time that day, Vura looked within.  What she found surprised her.  She’d been so focused on her failure and finding her Madam that she hadn’t noticed how nice she felt.  All the aches and pains from the day before were gone.

“The child knows her way around pharmaceuticals, no doubt, though I can’t help but wonder how.  My shoulder stopped hurting just from breathing in the mist in the room last night.  Powerful.”

“At least my sacrifice saved you from trouble, Madam.”

Madam Mizuko took another sip of tea, longer, this time.  Anybody else would not have noticed, but Vura knew her Madam inside and out.  This was her masking hesitation, hiding a reaction.  But why?  Vura started looking around the small hut, trying to solve this mystery.

“Madam?”

There, on the side of the bed, Vura spotted the remains of a small wax cylinder.

“Madam!”

“You know, Vura, in all the time I’ve known you, I’ve almost never seen you smile.  Last night was the happiest I’ve ever seen you by no small margin.  Is it so wrong that I wanted to experience that myself?  You seemed just fine—more than fine, even.”

“Still, it was an unnecessary risk.”

“I need to take some risks now and again.  That’s part of why I wanted to leave the manor.  Life there was just too orderly, too safe.  I’m no daredevil, but life needs a touch of spice or it just becomes bland.

“I’m glad I took the risk.  It helped me, let me make peace with some things I brought along with me when I came to this world, things I should have let go of long, long ago.  I feel less burdened.”

Her eyes locked on Vura’s as she took another sip.

“You also had an experience, did you not?  I think we should talk about it.”

Vura flushed as the mention brought back a rush of memories and sensations from the night before, including some mortifying spoken words.

“Vura... you are a dear friend and companion.  But... I will never be able to replace your mother.  I’m sorry, but that is not a role I can fill.”

“N-no!  That’s not... that’s not it at all!” Vura protested.

“Then what am I to you, Vura?  I want our friendship to be healthy, but I am concerned that it has become something in your mind that it can never truly be.”

“I—”

“Hey,” Sofie said, opening the door, “you two doing alright in...”

Her voice faded off as two hard stares swung her way.

“Uh... right,” she said sheepishly, quickly reversing course and closing the door again.

Taking advantage of the interruption to resettle herself, Vura sat down on the nearby bed and took a breath.  For a moment, she delved down into her memories, dredging up remembrances that she would rather leave forever in the depths of her mind.

“I always knew, deep down, that my father’s love was superficial,” she finally began.  “He always viewed me and my sisters as means of political advancement first and descendants second.  We were disappointments from the moment we emerged from the womb and it became apparent that we were not the sons he wanted.  He’d even make comments to his friends about it—about how dismayed he was, about how it was an embarrassment—and he’d do so when he knew that we, including my mother, could hear him.

“Mother was different.  I loved her, and she loved me, and I never had any doubt that that would ever be anything but the case.  But... when he threw me out with little more than some clothes and a bit of money, my mother said nothing.  She didn’t argue, she didn’t scream, she just looked at me with a tight frown on her face and didn’t speak a single word of protest.  It... it hurt more than I could ever have imagined.

“Before I met you, back when I had no future, back when I had no choice but to do... things that I will never be able to forget just to avoid sleeping in an alleyway in the middle of the winter, I would foolishly hope and dream that I’d just misunderstood—that she had fought and argued with him for days and weeks before I was cast out, that she was out there searching for me, that one day I’d feel her arms embracing me again.  They were nothing more than the pathetic delusions of a wretched woman, but I clung to them for seasons.  It seems that, deep down, I still might.”

“I’m so sorry that you have gone through so much in your life, my dear.  Such a needless tragedy...”

“It’s alright, I don’t need her anymore,” Vura stated, part of her even believing the words.  “I have a new life now—a better one, with you.”

“Vura, as I said—”

“I know, believe me.  I understand.  It is part of why I always think of you as ‘Madam’, because you are not ‘Mother’; you are Madam Yamanaka Mizuko, hero of the Esmae, the person who singlehandedly turned back the Stragman hordes, and... my savior.  I owe my everything to you, Madam.  It would take a lifetime to repay my debt, but I’m alright with that.”

“Vura, I didn’t do anything great enough to deserve praise and loyalty on that level.”

“But you did, Madam Mizuko!”

“All I did was give you a job—”

“No!  That’s not it at all!”

Her outburst shocked them both into momentary silence.  In that moment, Vura finally came to a decision: in for a drop, in for a bottle.  She would tell her Madam the rest, the part that she’d never told anybody.  Still, it did not come easy; her breath shook and she needed to swallow several times before she could even speak.

“I... when...”  Her lips felt like they were made of stone, for all that she seemed to be able to work them.  “When I...  On the day we first met... that morning, when I woke, before I went to the stream... that... that was when I finally decided to... end my life.”

The sound of ceramic shattering on the hard stone floor nearly made her fall off the bed.  Her Madam stared at her with wide, horrified eyes, her trembling hand missing its customary cup.

“No, no, no, Vura, no!” she implored, rushing to Vura’s side.  She cupped Vura’s face in her shaking hands and stared at her with teary, pleading eyes.  “Do not speak such things!  You mustn’t!”

Vura had never seen her Madam so distressed.  She pulled her close and

“Please, Madam, I must finish.”

“Vura...”

“I had suffered greatly, Madam.  It relentlessly ground away at my spirit, until eventually there remained nothing left.  But even after I decided I wished to end it all, I found that I could not bring myself to do it.  Something was keeping me from taking the final step, something missing inside of me.

“It took me some time to realize what it was.  All my childhood, I had been raised to be a proper mother and a wife.  The virtues and joys of motherhood were drilled into my head and heart from the day I was old enough to understand others.  It had created a hole inside me I could never fill, yet that yearning remained.  I was stuck, unable to find the will to end my misery and blocked from finding it by the source of that misery.  But then, I heard about you and your powers, and I saw the solution to my woes.”

“Vura, you didn’t!”

“I did.  I lied to the very head of the Esmae.  I lied right into Princess Pyria’s face.  And, when she saw through that lie, I lied by omission.  I never told her the truth.  I never told her that I sought you out to fill the hole so that I could finally leave this world.  And it worked.”

“But, then... why...”

“Because you saved me!”

Vura leaned in and touched her forehead against her Madam’s, feeling the old woman’s warmth directly.  Her own tears began to well in her eyes, turning the world into a blur.

“Has anyone ever told you how it feels to be on the receiving end of your power?  It’s like recalling a memory from your past that you simply forgot.  Everything feels so right, so true, as if what you share is more than just a projection.  It’s a moment once more remembered and reclaimed, except that the sensations are so terribly strong that it gets seared into your very soul forever.  We feel those emotions as if they are our own, because they are.

“When I walked away from the manor that day, the hole within me had been filled, but I found that I no longer wished to die.  There were new memories within me—unforgettable, extraordinary memories that filled me with life again!”

Vura couldn’t see a thing through her weeping, but it didn’t matter.  She could feel the warmth of her Madam’s forehead against her own, reminding her of her savior’s constant presence in her life.

“The joy you felt seeing your newborn daughter is my joy now!  The will to carry on, to fight for her, it’s my will now!  That undying hope for a better future is my hope!  All I have to do is remember and they all flood through me, washing away the despair, each one as legitimate and genuine as anything else I’ve ever felt!

“Don’t you see?!  Memories are what make a person.  By gifting me yours, you changed me irrevocably into somebody new and better, somebody able to overcome the ghosts of my past!  I can be courageous because you were!  I can be determined because you were!  I can bear any burden because your strength is now a part of me!”  She trembled, her quavering voice dropping to a whisper.  “How could anyone ever repay such a boon?”

“Oh, Vura, sweet child...”  Madam Mizuko pulled her head away and gazed at her with sorrowful eyes that Vura could barely make out.  “You never needed to repay anything.  Gifts given freely are just that: gifts.  Watching you grow and thrive is already more compensation than I could ever ask for.”

“I know,” Vura sobbed, rubbing her eyes.  “I know.”

Her Madam reached out and grasped Vura’s hand with her rough, calloused fingers, stroking it soothingly as Vura sniffled and tried to settle herself.   The two of them sat in relative silence until the older woman finally broke the silence.

“I must apologize, Vura.  When you said you wanted to die, the thought of another of my family taking their own life was too much to bear.  I see now that perhaps I lied not just to you, but to myself.  Perhaps I see you as one of my children after all, and I just did not want to acknowledge that.”

Vura shook her head.  “Mother, grandmother... it doesn’t matter to me, Madam.  Labels aren’t important as long as I can continue to serve at your side.”

“Very well... but I want you to make me a promise, then.”

“Anything.”

“Miraculous physical rejuvenation or not, I am still far too old, Vura.  There will come a day, perhaps soon, when I will leave this world one way or the other.  Promise me, Vura—promise me—that you will not mourn my exit.  Promise me you will move on and you will build yourself a new life filled with people who love you and care about you.  Promise me that you will not give up on life ever again, no matter how tough it might seem!”

“Weren’t you listening, Madam?” Vura chuckled.  “You are inside me now.  I will never mourn your absence, for you will always be here with me, even long after you are gone.  With all the memories you’ve imprinted upon me over the seasons, it will be as if you never left.”

“I always viewed my ability as a weapon first and foremost.  Perhaps I should reconsider that, if it can do you such good,” Madam Mizuko commented with an introspective frown.

“Yes, perhaps,” Vura agreed.  “But for now, I think it would be best if we focus on something far more pressing, Madam.  You never got to finish your tea.”

Sometime later, the pair emerged from the small home, climbed into the grotesque transport, and began the journey back to the mound of garoph feces known as Otharian civilization.  Sofie tried to act as if she wasn’t curious about what had happened on the other side of the door as she’d waited outside, but Vura could see the way it was eating away at her resolve.  Vura chose to ignore the Earth woman and focus on the way the breeze blew over her face and hair.  It felt like contentment.

“Sorry for barging in like that.  You, uh, you alright?” Sofie asked after a little while.

“Of course,” Vura told the nosy girl with a slight smile.  “I have never been better.”