There were fouler things than that which slept in the abyss.

Most were too gruesome for my innocent ears to be privy to. As the epitome of a fragile princess, I was shielded from the horrors which stalked the darkest reaches of existence.  

But not all of them.

Even as my family bravely rebuffed the tendrils which sought to weave through their shield of caring and diligence, the whispers of what they saw and what they fought still made themselves known to me, carried by a frigid wind in the night which chilled me even beneath my triple layered duvets.

“Ahhahhaaha~”

“Eehheheh~”

“Wheeeeee~”

Yes.

It was … children.

Not those who manned the counters of my kingdom’s inns with alarming frequency. No, these were true children. Those whose eyes had not yet dulled from the sight of drunken layabouts spilling ale and drool over the floor of their own home.

Laughing. Skipping. Dancing.

And they were outside a wooden cottage which made even the barns brushed aside by the passing of a mere dozen royal carriages and a stampede of knights appear as sturdy as my own bedroom tower. 

Especially as mine didn’t have an apple tree protruding through the ceiling like a misplaced chimney.

 

The Little Black Rose Orphanage

Visitor Entrance

Donations welcome!

 

It was a terrible omen that the sign was the most robust object I saw.

An apple tree.

There was avant-garde and there was holes in the ceiling. A flagrant breach of building codes and an absolute eyesore somebody not me was going to correct. It was one thing to have an orphanage bearing the name of my personal emblem, but to also have it lack a functioning roof? 

Why, that was to suggest I was too poor to afford rooftops on my orphanages! 

A disgrace! If my orphanages lacked proper warmth and shelter, it was because I purposefully deprived them of such!

No, this sloppiness was outrageous. And neither the ring of untamed orchids, nor the rickety fence helped alleviate a sight already marred by children less trained than the poodles of dignitaries.

As their little feet quaked against the soil, a tiny apple, not yet grown, fell limply from its branch high above. It bounced across what little existed of the cottage roof, before journeying onto the grass only to be cruelly punted aside by the skipping feet of the uncaring fiends. 

Ants swarmed the remnants at once, gorging upon the flesh so that they may grow their new generation of soldiers marching against my orchard.

I covered my mouth with my hands.

“C-Coppelia … this is terrible … !”

“Mmh~ I agree.”

“Why, all this time, I had no idea this is what Florella had to contend with!”

“Yup. Children are boring. They’re carnivorous, but they can’t even hunt anything. Their teeth can’t go through hides, their eyes don’t shoot lava and they don’t even glow in the dark. I can’t think of a single use for them. What do you do with children other than poke their pudgy cheeks?”

“Suffer in silence. And that’s the issue.”

Indeed, the more I viewed such a contemptible scene before me, the more my resolve hardened.

I … I had to save Florella! 

To make this kingdom so prosperous she no longer needed to pretend to love the tribal sounds of their cackles as they ushered away the song of hummingbirds.

I needed to fill the Royal Treasury with enough crowns that the melody of cascading coins and falling tiaras could battle even against the wailing emitted from each of these banshees in the making!

But most of all …

I needed to convince the orphanage’s staff to remain as these children’s jailors even after we imprisoned their employer to a lifetime of soap making.

And my negotiations would begin with the young woman walking over to greet us.

Wide eyes. Rosy cheeks. Unblemished skin. A loose bun of straw coloured hair. And a smile softer than even the streams of sunlight to fall across her gentle features.

In her hands was a basket, loaves of streaming bread ready to placate the growing demon children until their next blood frenzy. As she came to a stop, I looked upon someone not in the garb of a matron’s habit, but an apron akin to a flower seller’s attire.

I rolled my eyes.

Ugh. Pretty commoners.

Here was a maiden both knights and squires would forget their bonds of brotherhood over. A young woman whose bright eyes exhibited as much warmth as the aura emanating from her person. 

It was because of people like her that blockages were formed when my knights paraded through the streets. Each time they stopped to trade pleasantries, I could see the economic output of my kingdom decreasing in whole percentages.

“Hi there,” said the commoner, smiling gently as she blinked beneath the sunlight. “Welcome to The Little Black Rose Orphanage. I’m Eva. I work as a matron. Can I help at all?”

I nodded furiously, my dented brows wasting no time in conveying the gravity of the situation.

Yet the moment I parted my lips to reply–

I was assailed.

Drawn to the sight of my kindly aura and the presence of their matron, the tiny demons abandoned their torture of the fallen apples to seek tastier prey. 

Ignoring the vast social chasm which existed between a non-tax paying, unproductive and net loss citizen to a princess of the realm, the mob of children scarcely reaching my hips rushed towards me.

A moment later–

“Ahhaha~”

“Eehheh~”

“Wheeee~”

They began to laugh, dance and skip in a circle.

Engulfing me in a dark ritual which would see me used as a premium quality reagent to summon a queenly demon as their new overlord, the children chanted their spellwork in the guise of innocent laughter, all the while hiding their malevolence behind eyes twinkling in joy.

It was … horrific.

Rampant ill-discipline and failure to meet qualifying standards of royal etiquette!

With each passing second, the insult against me grew! It was one thing to have a children’s home associated with me, but to not even have it as a bastion of iron regulation and unyielding control enough to make the harshest prison appear a paradise was quite another!

Feeling my very dignity imperilled, I turned to my loyal handmaiden to defend me–

“Skippity skip, skippity skip, skippity skip ♫~”

Only to see her joining the moving circle as the children’s ringleader, humming merrily as she skipped around me with the little fiends in tow like demon ducklings.

“I’m sorry,” said the matron, looking on with an apologetic smile. “This happens whenever we have visitors. If you’d ever like to come round again, there’s a separate door at the back. But only if you want to avoid the excitement. I dare say you’re doing quite fine.”

The expression I offered made certain that I was not, in fact, doing fine.

The matron’s smile wavered. 

A moment later, she signalled the children to disperse with a tiny wave. I memorised it at once, my finely honed talents as a high level princess capturing the precise angle of the fingertips and the momentum of the motion clear enough that I could paint it upon a canvas.

Thus–[Princess Dismissal, Small Children] was created!  

“Would you like to come inside?” the young woman asked as I immediately began mimicking her. “It’s a bit quieter there.”

The children lackadaisically left. As did Coppelia.

I tugged on her sleeve to return, then offered a shake of my head at the matron.

“Thank you. But that won’t be necessary. I’ve little wish to take away from either of our time. I’ve a simple query to make. Who might the owner of this … uniquely constructed orphanage be?”

“The owner?” The maiden smiled quizzically in response. “Is there a reason you’re asking?”

“A considerable amount. But nothing which concerns you, although I shall not exonerate the children under your care just yet. I’m here regarding a matter of state.”

A blink met my simple statement.

One which came with no answer.

Ugh. 

Commoners. I had to explain everything twice as much.

“Rest assured, it’s nothing overly untypical. I’m investigating the orphanage’s tax affairs.”

The matron’s puzzlement turned to shock, her eyes almost popping out of her face.

“Tax affairs … ?”

I nodded with the same pride that any of my kingdom’s inspectors would be expected to demonstrate at this very moment, even as the matron’s mouth continued to widen.

Indeed, it was time to audit the orphanage with a fine comb! 

Ohohoho … whoever named this institution had made a grievous error.

Why, did they truly think that my highly discerning eyes would be blinded by the innocence of impoverished smiles?

Naive! 

There wasn’t a single orphanage in this kingdom which wasn’t funded by my kingdom’s nobility! Neither the cracked woodwork the children huddled beneath, nor the cold oatmeal they ate watered down with their own tears came without cost! 

No … their fleeting moments of joy came through the whims of the aristocracy.

Philanthropy was ever a time-tested barometer of success–as much through the reputation garnered as it was through the overly generous tax allowances provided. 

But a tax allowance did not mean no taxes.

And it certainly didn’t mean permission to conspire with our enemies.

Oh, I had no doubt. The one who funded this ill-named orphanage was the very same noblewoman who had sought to undermine my kingdom and my own name! 

After all, there were no coincidences in the world I inhabited. 

Only fools who didn’t understand discretion even when I demonstrated it with my famously subtle laughter.

“If you could answer my queries, I’d be most appreciative. The unfortunate owner of this crassly named orphanage. Who might she be, so I can begin tallying up the tax outstanding at once?”

The fair maiden hesitated before answering.

“Excuse me, but … may I ask who you are? Is there a specific reason you wish to examine the orphanage’s tax affairs?”

Ugh.

I could already tell. I was more likely to receive cookies than incriminating evidence from this matron.

But that’s fine. It wasn’t stacks of treason in written form I required. My judgement was already complete. I just needed a name for the sentencing.

“I’m–”

“She’s Juliette the wyvern punter,” said Coppelia, the joy swirling in her voice. “A B-rank adventurer.”

Betraying me as easily as she beamed, my giggling handmaiden gestured towards me with both hands like a troll merchant selling our own plundered heirlooms back to my parents.

My response was the same. 

A cauldron of horror, grief and shame in contrast to the look of utmost astonishment lighting the face of the woman before me.

Revealing the sight of her tonsils, her cloud of suspicion lifted swifter than a mage casting a charm spell upon her. Yet despite the convenience afforded to me by the misplaced respect commoners had for adventurers, the cost in my pride was …

Well.

It was extremely substantial.

“Goodness, I … I see! A B-Rank adventurer … now that’s something you don’t see around these parts! And you say you’re looking into our … tax affairs?”

I pursed my lips. As did Coppelia, who was belatedly trying very hard not to laugh.

She still failed.

“Yes,” I said simply, my voice pained.

The expression fell on the woman’s face.

“Are you sure? Because if you’re speaking about Arisa, then I think there’s been a mistake.”

“Arisa?”

The young woman nodded, her basket of bread shaking with the fervency.

“Arisa. Except she isn’t so much the orphanage’s owner as our patron. A lovely girl. Really, really nice. And exceptionally generous.”

“Clearly not generous enough. Your patron seems to have forgotten to plug a hole in your rooftop.”

The woman merely smiled. A valiant effort, to fight away the bleakness of rain with feigned joy. 

“Oh, this isn’t Arisa’s design. It’s my own.”

“This is your doing?”

I gestured towards the tree rising from the orphanage. I received a nod in reply, then rolled my eyes.

First treason, and now chastising matrons on building design. I hadn’t even reached Hartzwiese yet and I was regretting every moment I was here.

“It seemed a great shame to tear down a life … even to nurture new ones. So the orphanage was built around the apple tree. It makes for quite a landmark. Arisa agrees as well. She paid for everything.”

“Then for her sake, you should hope being frivolous with her finances is the greatest error she’s committed. Would this … Arisa happen to be a local baroness?”

The young woman hesitated, before slowly nodding.

“Baroness Arisa Sandholt. A kindly girl. She’s very humble. Not like the others … begging your pardon.”

She needed to beg harder if she was insinuating I was in any way associated with nobility.

But my ire was overshadowed by my joy instead.

Baroness Arisa Sandholt.

Why … I had utterly no recollection of that name whatsoever!

On one hand, it was marvellous! I wasn’t wasting any more space than I needed to!

On the other … just who was this truly nameless baroness?! Who were the Sandholts?! How few barns did they own that not a hint of memory resurfaced in my mind?!

… Well, no matter!

Ohohohoho! As expected, my expediency in all matters meant all I now had to do was throw my boot at this baroness of no note, then be disappointed with my inn room later! My path was clear, with the only problem requiring me to remember a name long enough to condemn it!

“Excellent,” I said, clapping my hands together. “And so where may I find this …”

“Arisa.”

I rolled my hands.

“Arisa Sandholt.”

“Arisa Sandholt. Very well. Coppelia will note it down for me. Where might I find her?”

Whiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

Suddenly, the matron turned on her heel, her legal obligation to betray her own employer scuppered by a far greater need.

In the background was the unmistakable sound of a whistling teapot. 

“Gosh, that’ll be tea ready,” she said, all matters of the realm forgotten as she swiftly headed for the wooden cottage again. “I almost forgot! Good thing you stopped me here. Otherwise it might have spilled all over again.”

I briefly scrunched up my eyes as I prayed for patience, then swiftly followed behind the woman.

“Yes, well, I’m delighted to be of assistance. With that said, if you could please–”

“It’s not just the mess afterwards. It’s the wastage. Good tea is hard to come by. Have you seen the market recently? Traders from all over, but none of them sell a decent bergamot to save their life.”

“Understandable. To source adequate bergamot requires knowledge of tea making which only a few … hm? Have you prepared bergamot tea?”

“No. I’ve prepared excellent bergamot tea. I buy mine straight from the Dunes. The zest is the best there. All that sunlight soaked with the odd splashing oasis. Would you like to try some?”

I blinked. 

All of a sudden, my footsteps behind the women became impatient for an altogether different reason.

Why, it’d been so long since I consumed any tea which wasn’t …. whatever was spilled into the cups of common inns! To think I might find a taste of home so far from my bedroom! 

Surely, since I required as much information as could be gleaned, it was only suitable that I do so while sitting down and enjoying a cup of bergamot? 

Naturally, I had reservations that a commoner could provide anything resembling the delicately prepared teas I watched the servants prepare with their hands quaking under threat of immediate dismissal. But at the very least, it was worth a comparison, if only to expand my knowledge as a princess whose worldly experiences already reached further than the horizon.

“W-Well … if it’s just one cup …”

The matron glanced behind her shoulder.

“It’s always pleasant having guests around … even if the subject matter is rather concerning. Why not sit down and wait, and then I can answer any questions you might have?”

Coppelia was already nodding on our behalf. I offered a polite smile as I accepted the rare courtesy.

“Thank you. That would be acceptable.”

The matron swiftly led the way inside.

As I entered after her, I knew at once this was the picture of every orphanage Florella had ever visited. Wooden floorboards creaked from the stress of the constant strain of tiny feet, while the walls boasted more notches than shields and battlements. 

There was colour, despite the sparse furnishings. And pictures strewn all the way into a common room.

Small as it was, I knew this to be the largest room here.

A typical orphanage. With a typical matron, whose efficiency at preparing tea was as notable as how she hurried away dancing children. She’d no sooner directed us to sit at the table before she was presenting a tray laden with cups, a teapot, and a platter of sweets for our benefit.

“You can already taste the fragrance,” she said, pouring into our cups as she ignored the sight of the platter vanishing into Coppelia’s mouth. “Sweet, yet aromatic. Many compare this tea to a spiced wine. There’s hints of cinnamon in this, if you stop to taste long enough.”

I smiled with gratitude as I accepted my cup, then leaned down to assess the quality of the product.

My smile froze.

0.5/10.

What … What was this?

This wasn’t even average. 

Why … it was utterly unpalatable! Even peeking into the colour, I could tell it was shorn of the richness of the zest a true bergamot of even middling quality should possess!

Where in the Dunes was this imported from? The sun drenched sewers? 

This was none of the variety we purchased, handpicked by our own squires as they were sent off on a noble quest to bring back the finest tea leaves they could haggle using nothing but their charisma.

Confounded by the enthusiasm of our hostess, I raised the cup to my lips.

Noting the discreet aromas, I sensed a flavour profile which was somehow tepid while still being overpowering. A bitter sweetness offering the telltale promise of a wince. And also the hints of soil which still clung onto the leaves, its residue lying amidst the bottom.

Then, I stopped as I noted something uncharacteristic.

Something bold. Something distinct. And something very much lethal.

A hint of nightbloom essence.

A deadly toxin leading to blood seeping from the orifices, all the while pleas of help were slowly choked out by one’s own hand as nails clawed instinctively at the throat, ripping apart the skin to flush out the poison.

I gave it a moment’s thought.

Then, I raised the score.

2.5/10.