*** ALONE NO MORE ***

Dark.  Cold.  I can't see anything around me.  I can't feel my own body anymore.  Around me is a dark abyss no matter where I look, and beneath me is but a small circle of white.  That is the only thing I can see.  It is the only thing I know here.  All my certainty has vanished— huffed and puffed into a cloud of smoke that disappears in mere seconds.  My own name, I can't trust it anymore.  The skills and talents I've built up all my life, I lost all confidence in them too.

The one thing I can see in this ocean of pitch darkness is the white marble below me, yet even that is slowly being eroded.  At the sides of this already tiny circle, I can see shadowy tendrils extend from the black void surrounding me.  They wriggled and writhed like fish caught alive, thrashing around on the land.  But these 'things' weren't panicking for their lives.  They were reaching out.  They reached out to me.  Their color was a light gray of a shadow, and—like shadows are—they were stuck onto the ground, and with jerk-twitch movement, they were getting closer.

It seemed that these dark, shadowy tentacles—no matter how hard they tried—couldn't reach me.  The voices in this abyss—that amalgamation of different voices and tones—looked to be the ones controlling them.  Like tides at the sea, the black tendrils ebbed and flowed, rocking back and forth.  They'd got closer.  They'd gotten even closer.  Now, they'd receded back.  And whenever the shadows would encroach further and further, the voices would scream "More!  Just a bit more!  Become one!  Become one!" in a strained voices like that of a fork scratching the face of a dinnerplate.

But following that, they'd scream and roar as the shadows that clawed their way to me abated.  "No!  No!" they'd screech as the tide of shadowy tendrils receded, and fell back to where they were before.  They were impatient.  They were forceful.  It was just like the attitude of the 1st years at the academy.  There, we had to go through basic physical training, and many found themselves inflexible.  They couldn't reach the tips of their toes; They couldn't reach far to their backs; So they would jaggedly throw themselves, and consequently bounce back up.

It looked like the voices were the same.  They couldn't reach me.  Not yet.  Here again they screamed and shouted as they extended their tendrils towards me, and again they bounced back to where they were.  Again, they remained impatient, and they weren't the only ones.  I have been here for a long time.  I don't know how long, but I feel like it's been days, maybe even a few weeks since I was stuck here.  The cold makes my spine shiver, and I feel my fingers slowly being frozen off.  The darkness surrounding me robbed me of all sight but myself.  I can't feel anything anymore.  And they know it.

"Become one!  Become one!  Everyone else has everything we don't!  It's not fair!  Become one of us!  We can take everything!  Take, take, take!"  They extended their tendrils towards me again.  As they did so, they screeched and screamed again.  "We have nothing!  But we have the power to get everything!  You have no one!  We have no one!  No one but us!"  The voices got louder.  I slammed my hands to the side of my head to try to block the noise, yet it did nothing—perhaps making it even worse.  I could do nothing but listen to them.  I was powerless.

"You saw their smiles, their happiness!  We did too!  We felt what emotions raced through your heart!  We too are jealous!  We are also angry!  You couldn't smile!  You couldn't be happy!  To everyone, you are a plaything—nothing but a pawn on a chessboard!  You did as you were told, and you were used until you were ragged!  Aren't you angry!?  Aren't you upset!?"  At those last words, all the voices turned their tones gentle, even a little sweet.  I could feel their sympathy on my tongue.  It tasted like lightly-sugared candy.  But I refuse to swallow.

This sympathy wasn't just candy.  I knew it was poisoned.  Their voices sang to me—they felt genuine and true—yet I knew there was something wrong.  It was a disguise—a lie.  It was a trap.  Even though I knew it to be like a deceiving fishing lure, my body softened and relaxed a tiny bit.  When it did so, the voices got even gentler, and the shadowy, writhing tendrils abated and slowed their encroachment.  "We know what it's like.  We know how it is to not have the thing we most desire, and watch others prance around with it—showing it off to us, taunting us."

My hands went from my ears to my face as I thrashed my head around. 'No! Don't listen. Don't... listen...  Don't Listen!' I thought as my nails dug into my skin when my hands gripped my face tighter and tighter like a claw.  "But together, we can do something about it.  Together, we can get what we didn't have.  Together, we have power.  The strength to bring the mightiest knights to our feet; The magic to put any country, city, and nation into nothing but brimstone ruin; The power to rule over the hearts of anyone and everyone; All of that is ours."

It sounded tempting.  No, it was tempting.  I wanted to accept their offer.  I wanted to take the deal.  Still, there was something inside me—that sensible part of my mind—keeping me from uttering any word of acceptance.  Their voices were sweet—sweeter than I thought a voice could ever be.  It eased me.  It soothed my nerves, relaxed my muscles, and even steadied my heart.  Yet I felt I was being pulled.  The unconscious thought 'Do it!  Accept!' went in and out of the depths of my mind—Going from the deep to the shallows, but never coming to the surface.

Still, I knew it was there.  And they seemed to know it too.  "Become one of us, Beatrice.  We can grant you the power to take everything you desire from this world.  We are your kin.  We are the robbed ones, just like you.  Accept us.  Become us."  At that, my body moved on its own.  My lips—no matter how much I wanted them shut—opened, and spoke words I didn't want to say. "I... I..."  I looked to the ground, and saw that their tendrils were coming closer and closer.  The shadows from the dark abyss around me were slowly crawling toward me.  Now, the abyssal tentacles laid before me.  Just a few moments away.

"I believe in the same thing as well, but I feel you're going about this the wrong way."  A voice—a new voice—said relaxedly.

*** HELLO AND GOODBYE ***

"One." The multilayered amalgamation of voices echoed.  It was the first time I heard their sound echo in this place.  Then, for a moment, silence.  There was only silence.  Silence and darkness, that was all there was.  Now, I heard footsteps approach me.  Tip.  Tip.  Tap.  Tap, tap, tip.  A humanoid figure cloaked in a glowing gray appeared just a few steps before me.  The tip tap of their feet was the noise they made from skipping my way, and they landed amongst the shadowed tendrils slowly invading my only safe space.

They stood in the dark where I could see them, staring at me.  That's what I thought.  They had no features anywhere on their body.  No face.  No hair.  Not even hands or feet, just things that resembled their shape.  I couldn't tell whether it was a man or a woman.  Guessing from their person that leisurely walked towards me, it could be either one.  After a few more tip tap steps, they extended their hand out to me as they stood on the edge between what little white marble I had and the reach of the abyss' vine-strangle grasp.

"Are you alright?  You look like you've been scared witless!" The gray figure's voice was also androgynous.  Man, woman, it could be both.  "Let me help you up.  I quite like relaxing on the floor, but you don't seem too well."  They waited for me to take their hand, and I did slowly reach out to theirs, but I jerked it right back into the safe embrace of my other palm.  What if it was a trap?  Maybe this... 'thing' is one of them.  I stared at it's eyes—or where its eyes are supposed to be—and they stood statue still at my gaze.

It looked to take a breath, but before it could speak, the abyss' voice rang out from the darkness. "Become one."  They didn't scream.  They didn't shout.  It wasn't a command nor was it a request.  They stated it as a fact, like something that was to happen.  "Sure.  Why not?  We already are." That changed the moment the gray figure spoke.

 

"B̵̛͇̞̗̠̘͙̟̞̎̎̂̍̿͘͝E̷̢̡̢̙̥̥͔̞͔̭̘̞̩̥͛̽̀̋̐̎̕͜C̷͍̟̊̄̒̋͘Ō̸͍͕̥̺̂̀̐̿̔͒M̸̛̳̅̅̓͌̆̋̄̋̐̐͒̅͠Ẽ̷̛̞̊͒́̋͑̇̽̒̽̕͠͠ͅ ̴̱͉̳̞̜̦̥̯̣̪̱̱̗̋͛͑̅̅̓̅̎͛͘O̴̻̯̾̆̑͊̈́̂ͅN̵̰̿̎͗É̵̡̨̦͙̠̠̯̞̦̜̝͔̈́̎̊͑͂̈́͘͠!̷̟̙̯͙̺̯̞̓̒̌̈̈́͝ͅ" 

 

The amalgam's chaotic chorus broke out in window glass-shriek, screaming that phrase—each word overlapped and repeated by an endless number of voices that were of a little boys and girls, young and old men and women, demons and angels, abominations and divinities, and many more I couldn't name.  As the ghastly scream of the void's voices crescendoed into ear-bleeding shouting, the shadowy tendrils on the ground burst underneath the gray figure's legs.  They formed into many little, dark, writhing tentacles that were thin and vine-like in appearance.

My feet felt gross and icky—like they were submerged in a tub of gross mud—but what covered them wasn't just wet dirt.  From my toes dripped a slimy, viscous, white liquid that formed strings between each toe when I spread them.  I kicked my feet in the air.  That did nothing but splash more slime on my body.  I still tried to kick it away, and when I looked back to where I kicked it, I saw a wriggling, jiggling mass of many, many little tentacles, tendrils, and feelers all colored a dark, shiny black that glowed a poisonous purple color.  And where that jumbled ball of extended appendages was where the gray figure was.

Just when I thought proper company in this place—this hell—they were swallowed up, taken away.

Even if they were another trick of the voices;

Even if it was only for just a single moment;

Even if it their sweet voice voice was a lie;

There was someone here who cared.

Now, there was no one—no one here that cares for me.  Not the voices that wanted to use me; Not the gray figure who reached out their hand; None.  And by this point, I felt a wet stream river from my eyes, slide down my cheek, and fall onto my legs.  Whatever it was, it wasn't the gross white slime I'd been drenched in; And whatever it was, a horrid feeling followed as I felt a hand grip and squeeze my heart, and a lump in my throat damming the waterfall of cries I kept for so long.

*** GOODBYE AND HELLO ***

"Can you hear me?  I hope you can.  You were strong, and now it's time.  Time for you to wake up!"

With sweat shooting out of my skin, I jumped up out of my sleep and sat upright in my bed.  I heaved a sigh as heavy as an iron ball out my mouth and covered my face in my hands.  The sweat-beads flowed down my forehead and fell to my eye.  I closed it before the sweat could fall in, but that didn't help to brighten my mood. "Ugh... The curse again..." another heap of air drudged itself from my lips as I wiped my wet face with the palms of my hand.

The sun shone brightly through the porch.  The cold winter wind made sway of the curtains, and made them blow apart of each other.  It was cold.  My skin shivered at the cold of the wind, then it spasmed again at the half-frozen sweat layering my body like a thin layer of ice in the pond back at my home.  It got colder and colder as the wind picked itself up, and ran through the porch's curtains and straight at me.  Again, I made a 'burrr" noise as I rubbed the sides of my arms for warmth.

Still, it was okay.  It was better.  Much better.  Better than the place the curse sent me to for who knows how long.  Though the wet and sinking feeling of the sweat-soaked bedsheets beneath me we unpleasant, I'd much rather deal with that than the dream—no, nightmare—I had been in.  But this time was different.  The nightmare was longer than usual.  It wasn't strange however.  Sometimes it'd go for days or weeks, and at most a month, but it would only hold me for a few days at most.  That wasn't the thing that differentiated it.  The length varied, but I was used to it.

What made the curse's dream different was that figure.  That gray figure.  It appeared out of nowhere.  I hadn't seen it before, and it hasn't happened before either.  Out of what's known about the previous bearers of this curse, there was no mention of it appearing.  The texts spoke of thoughts that weren't your own, seeing a distorted reality that twisted the true into disgusting versions of themselves, and—like mine—dreams that would torment the curse bearer into giving into the desires of the curse itself.

That 'thing' that appeared—the gray figure—was never brought up.  I'd dismiss it as a part of the nightmare's torture—just another trick to lower my guard and hurt me more—but it seemed good intentioned, truly.  It wasn't a part of the abyss' voices.  It didn't seem like it.  No.  It had to be something else, something good!  Maybe it wants to help me!  Maybe... Maybe it cares about me.  Maybe-

Knock.  Knock.  Knock.  The sound echoed in the dark room.  The door swung open, letting in a bit more light.  Now, there in the dim and drab bedroom stood two people illuminated by different lights—Me, sitting upright in the bed with my head resting on the palm of my hands and the sun hitting the right side of my body, and my personal maid, my most trusted friend standing in the middle of the door with the hallway's mana-lights glowing gently at her back.

For a moment, I had thought she was my nurse.

Strange.  I didn't have a nurse or nanny anymore.  It'd be strange to have one at my age. I looked at what was in her hands, and saw a bottle of white pills and a tray of chicken pot pie, broccoli, and coffee—hospital food.  When the sun's rays poked my eye, I scrubbed my eyes with the back of my hand.

The pill bottle and meal tray disappeared.  Vanished.  What my maid held in her hands were a towel and a small pink-white striped paper bag.

Maybe I'm seeing things.

*** COVERSATION OF 2, PRESENT: 3 ***

This sight really was unique.  How couldn't it be?  In front of me—though it's more like 'us' now—was a maid.  A real maid!  I've only ever seen them behind the screen on my phone.  Videos, pictures, movies, TV shows, and more, that was where I saw them.  I always used them in my more artsy things like writing and drawing, but this is the first time I've seen them in the flesh.  It's a bit disappointing that it's not through 'my' eyes though.  It's the perks and cons of the ask I guess.  Wasn't it supposed to be pros and cons?  Meh, doesn't matter much, does it?

The maid moved closer toward 'us' and bowed her head before trampolining it back up, then—with a sudden burst of bubbly excitement and a spew of coos—she lunged at 'us' or rather Beatrice while screaming her name.  The maid and Beatrice fell into the bed, the former snuggling her cheek against the latter's face.  Beatrice tried to push her away, but the laughs that came from her mouth and her arms' nonexistent strength were less than half-hearted.  It wasn't even a quarter of her heart.  It was less than even that.

"Beeeaaa!" The maid puppy-snuggled her head even more fiercely.  I had neglected it, but the maid's name was- "Rachel!  I told you not to do this! Remember!" Beatrice ruffled her light brown hair as Rachel hugged her all over with the strength of a wrestler.  I could feel what Beatrice felt, and I too felt happy.  The sight of this maid girl devoid of fear embracing the noble lady like an old friend warmed my heart enough to serve the blood in it as warm soup in the evening.  Not the best of descriptors I admit, but it truly was how I felt.

The hug-wrestle match fought on top of the wet cold of the bedsheets continued on for a few minutes, laughter and giggles sounding from the room and echoing out into the hall just outside the wide open door.  I'd gotten a bit bored as I watched the two girls play, and I watched the door swing around, singing a soft creak with each swing to and fro from its hinges.  I could feel what Beatrice felt as she roughed around the bedsheets with Rachel, 'could' being the word here.  I had a choice.  To feel or not to feel, that was the question, and I answered 'not right now.  Maybe later.'

It was then that it hit me.  What bonked me on the head?  That the head I was in wasn't mine.  I was quite literally living in someone's head.  I don't think I had to pay rent, so that was nice—not like I'd ever done that before.  It was a lot like sitting in the front seat of a car.  Sitting shotgun I'd say, but there wasn't a seatbelt nor a seat at all to sit in, but there definitely was a driver, that driver being Beatrice herself.  Last I saw her, she wasn't faring so well—stuck in that literal abyss in her dreams.  Now, she seems to be doing just fine.  Still, it was plenty weird to be in a first person point of view of someone that wasn't 'you.'

Just another thing that came with the request I accepted from that grim-reaper looking fellow.  A shame I didn't learn their name.

While I tucked myself away into a further corner in Beatrice's mind, the moment where they stopped playing around and left the room escaped me.  Now, Beatrice and Rachel walked side by side as they strolled through the halls of the building.  Similar to Beatrice, I haven't the faintest clue where we were.  Luckily, she asked Rachel that exact question.

"Ehem.  Rachel, where are we right now?  This place doesn't seem to be the dorms at the academy.  The beddings were too comfortable for that.  It doesn't seem to be my family's estate either.  The halls here are too different."  She tried regaining her composure with that little cough at the beginning, but the mood from before stuck with her.  I figured that the maid girl would tease her about that, but I was proven wrong very quickly. "Yes, my lady.  We are not at the academy's dorms or your estate.  We are at Frostblade keep."

For a moment, I felt confusion through Beatrice.  She crossed her arms and brought her hand to her cheek, tapping her chin with her finger as she looked the hall from ceiling to floor.  She stopped.  Then, she walked towards a closed window. "Oh no."  There wasn't quite fear.  More a resigned sadness that clouded her thoughts, manifesting into a heavy exhale and half-closed eyes collapsed onto by tired brows.  "The correctional territory, I assume?"

The arms she wrapped around herself were now rooted onto the window still she leaned on.  She rested her forehead on her palms.  Her fingers made circling, massaging motions on her skin as sigh after sigh after annoyed exhale left her nose.  From her eyes, I saw that she stared at a tiny ant.  It was crawling on the wood next to her elbows.  Then and there, I felt her thoughts. 'I'm just like that little thing, aren't I?'  I tried retorting that line of thought, but I was only another consciousness inside her.  I couldn't do much.

Rachel's heels click-clacked as she went to Beatrice's side, putting her arm on her lady's back.  "We are to stay here for winter break as a punishment for what you and your underlings have done to Angelina." she said as she gently rubbed Beatrice's back.  A few moments passed by.  The only sound in the silent hall were the low howlings of the winter wind outside the mansion's walls and the subtle shifting of cloth.  Beatrice, stood back up—gaze glued to the floor—and hugged her best friend, placing her head in the soft comfort of another's bosom.

The shifting of cloth turned into whisper-quiet breaths from the lady's mouth and the tree-whistle ruffling of hair as her dear maid stroked the top of her head whilst humming a tune I knew from Beatrice's memories.  It was a melody.  It was the melody of a lullaby.  It was the lullaby that her mother always sang to her before bed.  She hadn't many memories of her mother.  She hadn't seen her many times either.  Only in the ages of 4, 5, and 6 did she scarcely meet with her busy mother, much less her father.

It was in the times where she did meet with her that were the most comforting.  Usually late into the darkest hours of the night with only a small flame-filled lamp that gave them a dim, orange light, she—her mother—sang her a lullaby.  Her voice was sweet; The touch of her fingers were gentle and firm; And the feeling of safety and comfort—the feeling of 'I am meant to be here'—soothed all the little worries and fears of the monsters under her bed, closet, and other little anxieties that kept her awake.

That was before she died.

"I'm okay now." Beatrice's voice was muffled from the heavy fabric of the maid's uniform.  Her face still sat in Rachel's bosom, but her eyes tiredly looked up to Rachel herself, who was still patting and running her fingers through the hair on her head. "My lady, can we please stay like this for a moment longer?  I wish to comfort you a bit more, and you look so adorable right now." Rachel said with a calm, stoic look on her face. "Your thoughts are leaking out."  Beatrice monotonely stated with an 'I am done with this' exhaustion before planting her head in a more comfortable position to rest inside her maid's embrace.

"Thank you, Bea."

"I should be saying that."

*** OLD HABITS, NEW THOUGHTS ***

Beatrice and Rachel continued their bonding session in the hallway.  Aadi, who was now a part of Beatrice, spent the minutes thinking of 'what to do now?'  The two girls separated as a few more servants joined them.  2 butlers went in front at Beatrice's side—Rachel still the closest to their lady—and 3 maids followed closely behind.  While Aadi watched the scene play out, Rachel began explaining the situation in proper.

"As I've said, my lady." It seems she put her professional persona back on as well. "We will be staying at this manor for the whole of winter break.  During this time, you will take over the duties of the lord of this region." That gathered Aadi's scattered attention.  Now looking at Rachel as much as Beatrice herself was, he made a mental note that this might be important. "What duties in particular?" Beatrice asked whilst rubbing her temples.

"Fret not, my lady.  From what we've gathered, the lord's duties are largely optional.  The town below and the villages adjacent are autonomous, and are able enough to manage themselves according to our information."  Beatrice paused at those last words that came from Rachel's mouth. "And where does this information come from?" She continued strolling with her group of 7, her hands still and motionless atop her forehead.

"The lord, your father, had someone research Frostblade keep before sending you here.  And alongside those he saw fit to accompany you here, we have hired a young girl native to this region."  Under the hand that massaged her face, Beatrice's gaze slowly dragged itself to her friend. "And how does that girl help us?"  She asked with a low tone just audible enough to be heard if you leaned your ear towards her and paid a good salary's amount of attention.

"Do not worry, mistress." A butler on her right leaned in and bowed as he interjected. "Sebastian?" He nodded his head, then returned to a straight-back posture. "Thank you for remembering me, young Ms." She let out a sigh just below the tone of the howling winds outside. "How could I ever forget that mustache of yours?" He twirled its ends and patted its bushy body into proper show. "I do my best to fashion it."

"Can you please tell me why I don't have to worry?" Her still hand began massaging herself again. "I have interviewed the girl myself.  She might fumble and trip on occasion, but she is a trustworthy person."  Beatrice's eyes narrowed and stared a hole through Sebastian's white, unusually well kempt mustache. "Might I ask on what basis do you make that assumption?"  Aadi could feel that she trusted her butler's decision, but there was a doubt inside her that chewed at her sides with large, sharp, and rough teeth.

"She is, without exception, unable to lie.  In the interview we had, I assessed her reasons and skills, and—without fail—saw through her without any issue." Sebastian's words eased Beatrice's mind slightly, but she still had to make sure. "And what does all that mean?" She replied in her most unconvinced voice, though Aadi could feel that she was already 90% certain.  "She's a horrible liar, young Bea." Sebastian smiled a child's cheeky grin unfit for an old man whose hair had already gone silver and white.

"You should've said that earlier."

"Professionals must keep their appearances, my lady."

"Be quiet."

"Haha~ Will do, young Ms."

In the hall where seven pairs of steps walked, a heavy sigh from the lady on her morning stroll lit an explosion of laughter of all her servants in her company.

*** consequences ***

Beatrice and everyone with her went on a tour of the manor.  They showed her where her office was; They showed her the way outside; They showed her everywhere she needed to be—the important places.  The most impressive were her office, and the shared bathrooms inside.  The water inside the bathing area was always kept at a gentle, warm temperature by a form of fire magic performed by the servants 'it could be done by anyone' they mentioned as well.

As for the office where she'd deal with her duties as the region's lord, it was simple and beautiful at the same time.  From the door they opened, a red carpet led into a room.  It led to a table flanked on 3 sides.  The left and right had two sofas decorated a purply velvet red for its skin which encased a firm cotton.  The maids, the butlers, even Beatrice and Rachel themselves threw their bodies at this under-decorated luxury good, and weren't disappointed when they all sunk into its comfort, and laid on its firm pillows.

The side that faced the door was occupied by the lord's desk.  It laid a few steps away from the table and couch, but was still close enough to hold a conversation and shake hands if needed.  The chair outfitted for the current lord—Beatrice—was one that was softer than the cushions on the couch.  When she sat on its seat, her bottom felt at home in the softness of the pillow below it.  The back of the chair was straight, and hadn't any cushioning save for the sharp edges that might give a cut or bruise. It'd keep her awake, but comfortable.

Now, the group gathered for dinner.  In other noble households, the servants were usually made to eat separately from their masters—the lord, the lady, and their young masters and mistresses.  This wasn't the case for the Flameheart family.  With Beatrice at the head's seat, everyone took to their chairs.  Before that, the servants that followed Beatrice during the day and Rachel went to fetch the dinner they'd cooked just a bit earlier.

At that moment, Beatrice was alone.  Everyone had gone to fetch dinner, and there she was, waiting for them to come back with the food.  Nothing but the howling wind of the night filled the room's silence.  Then, there was a noise.  It was the clacks of the maids heels.  Tip. Tip. Tap. Tap. Tap.  The door drummed a beat with its wood as the knuckles of a tiny hand knocked on it. Hesitation.  That was what Beatrice felt.  There was something wrong.  Something is off.  Her instincts told her that.  Then again, her intuition had failed her before.  What if it was wrong again?

"Come in." Beatrice half-shouted from her long seat in the empty dining room.  It wasn't dark, but it was a bit dim.  The candles were lit on the table, and the flame lamps were safely set on the rests of the windows.  She could see well enough, but sometimes, fine details were hard to make out.  They'd get lost in the dark.  And the dark is where everything comes to play.  The good, the bad, but for people like her in particular, fear always came to see its most favorite playmate.

"I... I-!" The little girl stuttered.  She stood in the middle of the twin doorway of the room.  Panic and nervousness were evident as her tongue ran circles around itself and slip and fell into a tight knot as it tried to make out the words she wanted.  Her long white hair stretched to just above the ground—kempt clumsily in a hurry, but effortfully made.  And atop that head of hers was the reason Beatrice knew her instincts hadn't failed her.  Not this time.

"I have your drink, m-Madame Beatrice!" Her fluffy, white fox ears fluttered up and down as she made very, very careful steps toward Beatrice's seat.  One.  Two.  Three.  Just like how she was taught by Ms. Rachel and Mr. Sebastian.  Her hand's shook with a bit of a spasm—a consequence of trying to control every little movement of her body.  She didn't want to mess this up.  It was this, or a life of snatching fruits and seeds from bushes and tree branches and hunting any monster she thought looked weak enough.  It was this, or a life that could get buried beneath the snow at any moment.  So, she focused.  She focused so much, she couldn't pay attention to the lady herself.

It was fine.  This time was different.  She was a different person now.  The person—this beastman—in front of her was also someone else.  'It's fine. It's fine.' she told herself.  Still, her breath quickened.  Not too much, but just above the normal.  Though she could control her breath, there were other things she couldn't get her grip on.  Her heart beat faster and faster. 'Get away!  Get away!' it wanted to say to Beatrice, its owner.

Her eyes stared at the little fox-girl as she step-by-steply walked toward her.  While she stared at her feet on the ground, Beatrice's eyes were wide and her pupils shrunk into red-black beads that shook every time the little girl stepped a bit closer.  'It was fine.' She told herself.  She told herself that in her mind, over and over again—repeated it in her head faster and faster than even the greatest mathematician could count.  And, on the ending syllable of her 'it's fine' mantra passed by her lips, the small, fox-eared girl was right beside her.

"Thank you." Beatrice said as she pushed her chair back and gently slammed her palms onto the table.  She reached towards the shaking girl's metal tray, and it seemed to follow the emotions of the one who held it.  The tray shook, vibrated this and that way, alongside the wine glass' water that jumped into the air with each shake.  Carefully and slowly, Beatrice leaned herself and her hand towards the drink.  Tink.  Crash.  There goes the glass.  With the tray it sat on, it fell to the floor and shattered into tiny little shards that glittered in the light.

"I'm so sorry!" The fox girl squealed as she lowered her head to a bow.  She took a knee on the ground, and reached for something in her dress' pocket.  It was then, witnessing that sight, visions—a horrible scare—shot into Beatrice's eyes.  The little fox-girl would snatch a knife from inside her dress, and—with a powerful, jumping lunge from the floor—she would plunge the knife into Beatrice's stomach.  She would kill her.  She would finish the job that the other one left undone! No! NOOO!

Beatrice's body moved on its own.  It filled her hand with mana, and her palms emanated burning flames that crick and crackled loudly, sparkling the noise into the ear.  The fox-girl looked upwards with eyes opened wide and mouth hung agape.  She knew when she was hit by that hand, she wouldn't live to see the day.  Yet she stood there, stock-still like the frozen icicles in her makeshift igloo she had lived in before.  The shadow of fear filled her white skin with a poisoned purple-blue shade.  Now she braced herself for what was to come.  She braced herself for her death.

As Beatrice's flaming hand made half-way to the fox-girl's face, a thought popped up in her head.  It was said in her own voice.  It was calm.  It was calming, soothing.  At its words, the furious embers that roared in her incoming slap extinguished without so much a sound, and her eyes had gone watery and rained a river shooting down her cheek and onto the glass shard filled floor from her quivering chin.  It's alright.  She won't hurt you.  You're safe here. That was what her thoughts said.  Even though it used her own voice, it was filled with images of her mother—memories of times where she was most content, where she was happy.

The group from before—Rachel, the 2 maids, and the 3 butlers including Sebastian—opened the door with dinner food at the ready.  They saw their young mistress Beatrice on the ground hugging the new hire.  Soft sounds of sobbing filled the room's air, as well as nervous attempts at comforting the young lady from the one she was embracing.  Before doing anything, the butlers were quick to sweep away the broken glass on the ground, and took the maids with them to allow the two girls some privacy.

Now, there was but two in that dim room.  Staggered sobs as soft as the gentle rain filled the fluffy ears of the fox-girl as she tried her best to stop her young lady's crying.  She was small and physically weak, so she couldn't break out of Beatrice's clutches, much less free her head from the air-gasp prison that was her mistress' large chest.  So there she sat.  Together with Beatrice, she listened to her cries.  "I'm sorry!  I'm so sorry!  Please! Don't!"  Her throat clogged shut, but she forced the words out of her mouth. "Don't hate me! Please..."

The hand that she expected to burn her—the palm that she thought would take her life—that same thing now laid weakly by her cheek.  The flames that she expected to eat at her flesh—the fire that she thought would take her life—now warmed her gently like the bonfires that kept her alive through the harsh winters of her homeland here.  It was warm.  It was cozy.  It was bliss.  "I won't hate you.  Thank you, my lady."  She whispered softly.  At that, Beatrice eased her shouting cry, but it still seemed there was just a bit more sobbing to be done.

And Aadi—inside her mind; who felt all that Beatrice did—thought he had much work to do, but it was work meaningful to do.

-end