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Chapter Text

Rosaria felt it.

Awakening. New life.

Power. Fear. Frost…

Clarity.

Rosaria felt the vibrant sensation of her enlivened body, and in response to that calling...

She gave over control. She let her instincts take over. 

She launched across the room. Straight at Lisa’s throat.

The clarity of crystalline ice: it was a beautiful thing. The opposite of rage – the antidote to emotion. But then…

The sting of steel. The lick of a breeze. Frigid cold numbed the pain, but Rosaria still felt it: something had gotten in her way.

Wind… Enveloping her. Rosaria saw her own blood floating in the air – suspended as if in a vacuum. It turned to crimson crystals and evaporated like so much snow.

Rosaria took back control of her body. She relaxed the tension in her muscles, and allowed her ice to dissolve into the cleansing wind.

Jean removed her sword from Rosaria’s stomach. The wind died down to a whisper, and…

Rosaria felt herself begin to fall.

Jean braced Rosaria, preventing her from collapsing.

Rosaria didn’t resist Jean’s embrace. Their gazes locked. A splash of Rosaria’s blood marked Jean’s face - crossing her lips. Without breaking eye contact, Rosaria reached down, and felt for her wound.

Jean’s expression remained completely calm.

***

Earlier that day.

Rosaria was simply watching.

On the other side of the cathedral - the eastern pews - Barbara tended to Bennett’s wounds. Barbara placed her hands on his shoulder.

He flinched.

Barbara removed her hands. “Oh! I’m sorry.”

Bennett smiled and shook his head. “It’s okay.” His smile was exaggerated. Even from the other side of the cathedral, Rosaria could easily tell that Bennett was performing for Barbara’s benefit. “Pain doesn’t bother me!”

Gently, excessively carefully, Barbara returned her hands to Bennett’s shoulder and resumed dressing his wound.

Bennett looked up towards the arches.

The look on his face was contemplative, as if something important were on his mind.

From through the stained-glass windows blue and orange light shone in the air and across the pews. Bennett closed his eyes.

Barbara’s hands paused.

She looked at Bennett’s averted face.

Sitting in the shadowy side of the cathedral, where the pews were unlit by daylight, Sister Rosaria extinguished her cigarette and sighed. She’d spent all night on the hunt, and hadn’t made it back into Mondstadt until long after dawn.

Exhaustion wasn’t the problem; she’d already stolen several hours of sleep – bathing in the sun on the rooftops – whilst she should’ve been attending to church business. But she still hated how the hunt had taken all night…

She’d missed the opportunity to usher in the day with a glass of breakfast wine.

Every now and again, the hunt would present a certain particularly profound category of trouble.

And, well…

There were some troubles that only a stiff drink could take away.

It wasn’t the begging, per se. Rosaria never felt bad just because her targets begged. After all, they were only getting what they deserved.

But… there was a certain kind of begging…

Rosaria closed her eyes.

“I’m her only family… My daughter. My daughter…”

On one interpretation, in the final moments before death, a man’s children were nothing more than bargaining chips to buy himself a few more moments of pathetic life…

To Rosaria, it was despicable.

But that was hardly the worst of it. As much as she hated to admit it – and despite her cynicism regarding the motivations – whenever her prey mentioned their children…

She actually felt a little guilty.

The breakfast wine always did the trick. But having missed dawn and therefore her wine…

It would explain why she felt, that morning, so uncharacteristically burdened.

What a nuisance.

Rosaria looked across at Jean, sitting across from her in the darkened pews. Jean’s gaze was averted towards Bennett and Barbara on the sunny side of the cathedral. No doubt Jean was trying to decide whether she was actually going to talk to Barbara that day. Rosaria had never seen the two sisters speak, despite how they commonly crossed paths at the cathedral.

Clearly, there was some tension.

But Rosaria didn’t make that her business.

She was simply there to debrief.

The cathedral was Rosaria’s and Jean’s usual meeting spot after a job. Most of Rosaria’s jobs these days were assigned by Jean. It hadn’t always been that way, but over the years it must’ve become clear that Rosaria was the best at what she did.

Rosaria liked to think Jean trusted her.

This debrief would be as straightforward as any other; Rosaria had already given Jean the few details she needed to know. Suffice to say, the particular Fatui spy that had been prowling the streets would never again hurt a civilian of Mondstadt. If Rosaria wanted, this debrief would be over presently. Then, she just had to get through the rest of the morning. At noon, she could visit one of the city’s watering holes…

But there was another option. There was one other thing to possibly tell Jean…

Of course, Rosaria knew it was categorically a mistake to do so.

But…

“I’m her only family… My daughter. My daughter…”

Why did Rosaria feel powerless to resist?

Chapter Text

Rosaria shook her head and banished the intrusive thoughts. She appealed to Jean’s attention with a calm tone in her languorous voice. “I take no interest in plant life and the sort, but the dandelion is an exception.”

Jean looked at Rosaria.

Jean’s expression betrayed clear discomfort, as it always did at their debriefings. Her nurturing temperament was a harsh contrast to the cold truths of the hunt. Unfortunately, the matters were too sensitive to be delegated.

Rosaria continued, hoping the small talk would put Jean at ease. “How such a simple flower could turn into such a delectable wine is beyond me. A glass of dandelion wine after work is even better than sleeping in on Sunday.”

Jean said nothing.

Her expression, however, softened.

Did the Dandelion Knight have nothing to say about her namesake? Regardless, Rosaria was glad to see the look in Jean’s eyes become more easeful. Rosaria took no pleasure in Jean’s discomfort.

Jean finally spoke. “Sister Rosaria, you do your job well.”

Rosaria smiled, pleased to hear the compliment, but her smile quickly turned to a frown.

All of Rosaria’s colleagues at the church thought she was a waste of space.

But that was because none of them knew the truth; none of them knew what she did at night. Her midnight contracts were a diplomatic secret. Even Jean, the most senior Knight in all of Mondstadt, knew only what was absolutely necessary.

And this was, of course, in accordance with Rosaria’s will.

Jean, though Acting Grand Master, was a child of Mondstadt – a child of light. Those who live in the light of the sun deserved to be protected from the dark, and that was why Rosaria had to carry the burdens of the hunt alone.

“My daughter…”

She wouldn’t mention a thing.

Rosaria, reclined in the shadowy pews, became harshly aware of the ever judgemental gaze of Sister Victoria, who watched their conversation from the sunlit gallery. Though aware, Rosaria didn’t look up. “Most people call me lazy,” said Rosaria.

Jean nodded. “That’s true.”

A moment passed.

Jean spoke again. “Should you ever need help, Rosaria, you can always come find me. Don’t hesitate.”

Reflexively, Rosaria laughed.

Jean’s expression turned anxious once again.

Rosaria felt bad; she hadn’t meant to laugh out loud, and certainly didn’t mean to betray the kindness of Jean’s offer. But nevertheless, she’d found Jean’s words amusing.

Jean couldn’t help Rosaria on the hunt, and the work Rosaria was supposed to do by day – for the church – was work Rosaria had no intention of doing, help or no help.

She was a nun in name, only.

Rosaria shook her head. “Finding you for help … that would be even more bothersome than the work itself.”

Jean appeared to accept this answer, though not without an internal tension revealed in the shimmer of her intense eyes.

No doubt Rosaria’s answer had seemed curt, perhaps even hurtfully so. Rosaria had made a life delivering justice to those who deserved it; therefore, in punishing a good deed, she knew she’d done wrong. The misdemeanour bothered Rosaria all the more since she thought Jean so admirable. Jean was not only competent in her own work, but also capable of consistently taking on various matters for others. That, to Rosaria, made Jean seem truly virtuous. It was certainly something Rosaria couldn’t do. She’d been truant in most of her church responsibilities since the day she’d been first assigned to the clergy as a child. Of course…

Rosaria had never wanted to be a nun.

But what else could she have done? Even though Rosaria was a child, Varka didn’t have to spare her life. He could’ve cast her aside – left her to die, or even killed her himself.

Even at the time – even despite her youth – she knew she owed it to Varka to do as he requested. Not because he was the Grand Master of the Knights. Not because he was strong.

But because he was good.

When he asked her to join the church and turn her fate around, his genuine wish to help her was like pure light. Against the darkness of her childhood with the bandits, Varka’s light was rapturous.

As Acting Grand Master whilst Varka was away on expedition, Jean embodied many of the qualities that made Varka so gallant. When Varka returned – and Rosaria had no doubt that he would do so safely – Varka would be proud to see how much, over his years of absence, Jean had grown.

Rosaria produced another cigarette. She didn’t look at Jean as she spoke. “If you’re satisfied, let’s call this debrief dusted.”

All meetings were subject to the same rule as Rosaria’s other work dealings; the most important rule of all.

No overtime.

Rosaria lit her cigarette.

Jean glanced over to where Barbara and Bennett had been sitting in the sunlit pews.

Bennett was gone. Barbara remained in the dancing dust tidying up her things into their box.

Jean’s whole life was overtime; she never stopped working. Regardless, Jean never wanted their debriefs to be any longer than Rosaria did.

Though Jean often worked through the night, she and Rosaria were, in one way, fundamentally different. It was surely true that Jean had killed monsters. She’d lead countless raids on Abyss Order hideouts, doubtlessly cutting down with no hesitation the inhuman creatures that schemed and toiled within.

But still…

Had Jean ever killed a person ?

Rosaria didn’t believe so for a second.

It brought Rosaria great satisfaction to notice that, despite their differences, she and Jean also had one key similarity: their methods were polar opposites, but they both had the same values; what they both cared about, more than anything, was their responsibility to protect those who deserved to be protected.

If Rosaria was the sword that cut down corruption, Jean was the shield that defended those in need. Jean helped everyone, no matter who they were or how small their grievances might seem. She never turned away.

To protect a kingdom, both the sword and the shield were necessary. But helping people was always a tougher task than destroying them. Destroying was easy.

A part of Rosaria wished she could be more like Jean.

But that could never happen. Rosaria – at least, whatever was left of her – was a killer.

Rosaria tapped her cigarette and let the ashes litter the floor.

The hunt…

That man’s daughter…

Rosaria was an expert in sniffing out lies. In her line of work, it was a necessary skill; cornered prey were almost guaranteed to lie – almost guaranteed to say anything they thought might save them. But as much as she wanted to believe otherwise, she knew perfectly well that her prey that night had been telling the truth about his daughter.

The smell of his fear…

In it, there had been the bitterness of genuine love. In his last moments, that man hadn’t been thinking of himself.

Not at all.

That man’s daughter was now alone.

But that wasn’t Rosaria’s business. She was just the sword.

Time to end the meeting. Her burdens were hers alone.

Rosaria reiterated her unanswered sentiment from earlier. “We’re done?”

Jean turned away from Barbara and looked at Rosaria. “Yes. Everything appears to be in order.” She stood and nodded in farewell. “Rosaria… let’s protect the people of Mondstadt, together.”

Briefly, sharply, Rosaria felt in her throat the beginnings of forbidden words.

Chapter Text

The sword and the shield, working together to protect those in need…

If there was a duty better suited to the shield, would it not make sense for the sword to relinquish that duty? To ask for help?

During the interrogation, before he’d died, the man had revealed the whereabouts of his temporary lodgings in Mondstadt. Perhaps, there, someone could find…

Jean began to walk away.

Rosaria’s words didn’t come.

Just as well.

Even beyond Rosaria’s responsibility to protect Jean from the darkness, she felt a perhaps greater responsibility to protect Jean from herself – from her own insatiable appetite for overtime. Jean didn’t need to be dragged into this; she didn’t need to be burdened.

If Rosaria had any purpose in this life – if there was anything truly good she could do, besides destroying – it was to carry the burden of darkness, and to carry it alone, so others didn’t have to.

And, besides, Rosaria wouldn’t need to worry about it for much longer. When the dandelion nectar hit her throat, all of these thoughts would simply disappear.

That seemed like a perfectly rational plan.

Jean traversed the centre aisle without looking back. On her way, she had to pass by Barbara in the sunlit pews.

Barbara didn’t seem to notice Jean’s presence. The two sisters didn’t look at each other, nor did they say a word.

Rosaria had to admit: she’d hoped Jean would say at least something to Barbara before she left. Between smoky breaths, despite knowing she wouldn’t be heard, Rosaria quietly spoke. “You should pray, Jean. Not for the gods, nor the betterment of others... but for yourself.”

The unheard words brought her mind some small peace. If there was one thing Jean could learn from Rosaria, it was to be a little more selfish every now and again.

Jean disappeared through the cathedral doors and into the burst of revealed light.

Rosaria had made up her mind. She fully intended to repay the kindness of Jean’s offer to help; therefore, the next time Barbara spoke up at the church, rather than completely ignoring her, Rosaria would actually acknowledge the girl’s presence. If she wanted to do something nice for Jean, being kind to Barbara felt like deference enough.

Rosaria closed her eyes and indulged a long slow drag on her cigarette.

“Oh, um – Sister Rosaria!” Barbara. “Please, you mustn’t smoke in the cathedral!”

Rosaria languorously exhaled. She spoke without opening her eyes. “Don’t you have a job to do?”

She listened to the retreating pattering of Barbara’s shoes and smiled, basking in the unfamiliar warmth of a good deed, judiciously delivered.

Hmm…

Barbara…

Barbara was so different from her sister in all the obvious ways. Her presence was so insecure and uncertain compared to Jean’s calm, authoritative grace. Nevertheless, Rosaria couldn’t help but admire Barbara for her own unique virtues.

Barbara had truly never given up on Rosaria.

Even when all the rest of the clergy had, once and for all, written off Rosaria as a lost cause, Barbara had persisted. Even though the daily pestering had been, for years, a thorn in Rosaria’s side…

Rosaria had to admit it: a part of her appreciated how Barbara had never given up. It reminded her of somebody else:

Grand Master Varka.

He, too, could’ve written off Rosaria. But even in the early years, before it was clear how Rosaria’s unique talents could be cultivated in service of Mondstadt, Varka had never given up on her.

Was there, in the insecure and unsure young Barbara, a glimmer of the grace and magnanimity characteristic of Varka and Jean alike?

Maybe Barbara wasn’t so different from her sister, after all.

No matter what else was true, one thing was clear…

Barbara was a good kid.

Rosaria opened her eyes in time to see Barbara disappear through the back doors into the graveyard.

The way Rosaria had treated Barbara all those years – Rosaria always knew it was wrong, but now…

She actually felt bad.

She sighed.

What a nuisance.

She’d hoped, after performing one good deed, she’d be satisfied. But…

Perhaps she could go a step further. She could approach Barbara and offer an apology. That might provide a worthwhile distraction – to pass the time until noon.

Thinking about it like that certainly made the whole exercise seem a lot more palatable.

Anything to take her mind off things…

To take her mind off the orphan she’d created the night before.

Chapter Text

Rosaria left the cathedral through the back doors. She stepped out into the graveyard.

At that time of morning, the sun shone directly above; the gravestones cast no shadows.

Barbara stood before the parapet at the graveyard’s far end – the elevated edge of Mondstadt itself. She was facing away, looking out over Cider Lake, below.

Rosaria continued to enjoy her cigarette as she stepped forwards between the graves. But…

Barbara’s posture darkened. Her shoulders weakened – her head bowed. And then…

She turned around. She met Rosaria’s gaze with faint, burdened eyes.

Rosaria’s cigarette suddenly tasted sour.

“Sister Rosaria…”

Something painful was on the girl’s mind.

And so it happened, on that day, that the two of them had something in common.

Rosaria extinguished her cigarette against the nearest gravestone.

An unpleasant tenderness had formed in the pit of her stomach. She hadn’t counted on Barbara making things this difficult.

She still wanted to apologise, but looking at Barbara’s expression, another more appropriate consideration presented itself. Maybe…

She didn’t have to apologise.

It was a foolish idea, anyway.

Yes. And, besides…

There was something else Rosaria now wanted to say. To ask.

“Deaconess,” said Rosaria as she approached the parapet. “Is something on your mind?”

Barbara reacted to Rosaria’s question with visible perturbation. She clearly didn’t know how to feel – Rosaria’s question being, as it was, so completely out of character.

But Rosaria, out of character or not, found herself undeniably curious. So she’d asked.

But, besides that, there was another reason. It was embarrassing, but…

She just didn’t like seeing Barbara in pain.

Rosaria resolved at the parapet several feet away from Barbara – close enough to talk, but slightly more distant than necessary. She folded her arms and looked out past Cider Lake towards the cliffs of Brightcrown Canyon. “Well?” She said. “Is there something, or not?”

The irony of using such a hostile tone to ask about Barbara’s troubles was not lost on Rosaria. In fact, the irony made her feel somewhat relieved. The straightforward sentimentality typical of personal conversations made Rosaria positively shudder.

She looked over at Barbara.

Barbara blinked; resolve fortified her expression. “Rosaria…” She balled her fists and nodded her head. “It’s about Bennett!”

Rosaria winced.

So it was one of those kinds of troubles.

That boy was at the cathedral practically every day for one wound or another. Every time, Barbara would tend to him with the same delicate tension: in her hands, in her eyes…

Rosaria may have had a lonely and violent upbringing, but…

She still knew love when she saw it.

It was enough to make one’s stomach turn.

She closed her eyes and sighed. She spoke as if Barbara were unable to hear. “What a nuisance.”

“Oh, no! It’s not–”

Rosaria opened her eyes.

Barbara, blushing ferociously, had grasped the parapet with both hands.

Clearly, Barbara had understood Rosaria’s interpretation of the situation. Barbara’s denial, however, only confirmed things.

Not that Rosaria ever had any doubt.

She breathed in deeply. “Okay, so that’s not it.” She saw no reason to challenge Barbara’s assurance. But, in that case…

What should she say?

In that moment, Rosaria found her typical aversion to such situations completely vindicated. She began to wish for nothing more than the warmth of the sun against her eyelids. Falling asleep on the rooftops… Even her nightmares promised fewer grievances than the unpredictable and inscrutable demands of conversation.

Barbara relaxed her grip on the parapet and brought her hands to her chest. The burden in her expression remained, as did the intensity in her gaze. “I think… I think Bennett might be in danger.”

Rosaria laughed.

Barbara flinched.

For the second time that morning, Rosaria knew her laughter had been inappropriate.

But on this occasion, laughter seemed only natural . Of course Bennett was in danger; the boy seemed to have a death wish. The sheer number of injuries he’d sustained over the years, the sheer amount of blood he must’ve lost – it was unheard of. And how much of that blood had Barbara herself scrubbed from the cathedral’s cold stone floor? After Bennett had come to her for healing?

Barbara shook her head. “Sister Rosaria! I mean it. I think he’s really in danger this time.”

Barbara’s voice…

Rosaria straightened her posture.

Barbara was serious, and in that seriousness, Rosaria detected something that called out to her.

Perhaps this was a matter in which she could be of genuine service. After all…

What better way to recover from a rough hunt than to plunge right on into the next?

Rosaria smiled. “You have a job for me?”

Chapter Text

Momentary confusion flashed over Barbara’s expression.

Of course, Barbara had no knowledge of Rosaria’s dirty work. She’d never even asked about the nature of Rosaria’s meetings with Jean, and so no excuse had been necessary. As far as Barbara knew, Rosaria’s laziness matched that described by her reputation. And so…

It must’ve been a real surprise to hear Rosaria offer to do some work for once.

Of course, the job, as far as Barbara was concerned, had nothing to do with killing. She presumably deigned only to request that Rosaria help look out for Bennett.

Barbara didn’t know it, but…

Rosaria only knew one way of looking out for people. The way of blood.

It remained to be seen whether or not Rosaria’s unique talents could be of use in this case, but that was exactly what she intended to find out.

And, unlike Jean, Barbara would never need to know the true nature of the job.

Rosaria maintained her sly smile. “So? A job, or not?”

Barbara, though still visibly unsure, spoke regardless. “A job. That’s right. Oh! If you’re not too busy, that is!”

Not too busy…

The sincerity with which Barbara offered such an obviously redundant caveat gave Rosaria no small amusement; during the day, Rosaria was never busy, and Barbara knew it as well as anyone.

Rosaria motioned for Barbara to approach. “Come.”

Barbara did as instructed.

The submissive gratitude in Barbara’s acquiescence was almost endearing. Rosaria had always known that Barbara looked up to her – Rosaria was Barbara’s senior by ten years, so it made some sense on that basis alone. But it was more than that. Barbara looked up to Rosaria more than Victoria or any of the other nuns. But, honestly…

Rosaria didn’t know exactly why.

Did that uncertainty bother her? Yes – a little. But… Rosaria had enough on her plate.

Once Barbara was closer, Rosaria continued. “You say the boy is in danger. What kind of danger are we talking about? If the job appeals to me, I’ll consider it.”

“It’s-” Barbara took a breath between her words, as if she were afraid to speak. “It’s the Fatui. That’s what Bennett told me!”

Rosaria stifled her desire to frown.

The Fatui?

Seriously?

Just like that, Rosaria was brought right back to the issue she’d been trying to forget.

Barbara looked down, as if in shame. “He told me not to tell anyone…”

Rosaria sighed.

For a few minutes, she’d been feeling better. Now, she couldn’t deny her frustration. She thought, once more, of the spy’s dying words – of the bitter smell of his selfless fear.

But, even beyond that: things coming back around to the Fatui raised a series of complications. Even despite her burdened heart, Rosaria’s mind raced with possibilities,

If Bennett had come in contact with the Fatui, had it been the same Fatui spy Rosaria had just killed? If that were the case, the problem had already been solved – and there was no job, after all.

But…

Something didn’t add up.

The already disposed of Fatui spy had been targeting the Knights of Favonius. Bennett held no such status; he was just a kid, affiliated only with the Adventurer’s Guild.

Nothing, during the interrogation Rosaria had administered, indicated a plot targeting the Guild. If any such plots had existed, Rosaria was confident she would’ve unearthed them. As such…

It seemed implausible that the spy she’d already killed was the spy Bennett claimed to know about.

On the other hand, if there had been a second Fatui operator in the city – tasked with targeting the Guild – Rosaria had no doubt she would’ve found that out, too. Unearthing co-conspirators was, of course, the top priority during interrogation. But no such co-conspirators had been indicated.

Rosaria needed more information. “That wound from today – did the boy already have contact with the Fatui?”

Barbara nodded “Bennett escaped, but the Fatui is still out there. What if, next time…”

“Hmph.”

That young boy escaping a Fatui spy with his life still intact… It was so implausible, it hardly seemed worth continuing the queries. Fatui were trained killers – best in class. Rosaria had been considering the possibility that two independent Fatui operators were in the city, unaware of each other’s presence. But having heard this latest aspect of Bennett’s story…

Rosaria had a bad feeling.

Barbara’s gaze was earnest and gentle. “I… Sister Rosaria… Do you know anything about the Fatui? Is… Is there anything we can do?”

Rosaria didn’t doubt for a second that Barbara believed Bennett’s claims. But…

It was quite obvious that Barbara had been lied to.

Rosaria remembered the look on Bennett’s face, the exaggerated smile:

“Pain doesn’t bother me!”

Bennett knew how to perform – he cared deeply about what Barbara thought of him, and had always, over the years, tried his best to impress her. To a young man infatuated with adventure, being the target of Fatui spies might’ve seemed like something worth bragging about – like a story worth fabricating.

A lie seemed, to Rosaria, like the most rational explanation. But…

It did raise a question:

What should Rosaria do about it? What should she say to Barbara?

Could she really tell Barbara that Bennett had lied?

Seeing Bennett caught out would cause Rosaria no disturbance. If anything, it would bring her satisfaction; it would serve him right for lying about such a grave matter.

But Barbara…

Barbara breathed steadily, a glimmer of hope enlivening her eyes.

Rosaria turned away from Barbara to face the cathedral. She leaned back, settling her hips against the parapet behind her. She closed her eyes, shutting out the world.

She’d began the conversation intending to make Barbara feel better. If Rosaria told Barbara her honest opinion…

True, Barbara might be relieved to hear that the alleged danger was non-existent, and that Bennett was safe. But, on the other hand…

How would she feel being told that Bennett was a liar?

Rosaria let a moment pass, waiting for some action motivating impulse to grace her mind or body.

This wasn’t like her. She was usually ruthless. She’d ignored Barbara’s existence for so long. But…

Maybe Rosaria had ignored Barbara for precisely that reason – because of how hard it was to be ruthless when faced with those hopeful innocent eyes.

Standing in the warmth of the morning sun with no cigarette to soothe her, Rosaria engaged directly – for the first time since childhood – with the gentle feeling of affection.

Barbara…

In light of this feeling, she didn’t open her eyes. Instead, she spoke – softly, having forgotten that she might be heard. “What did I do to deserve this punishment?”

A moment.

“Sister Rosaria?”

Rosaria didn’t respond. She didn’t open her eyes, nor did she move.

She had known affection, once. She had known love. But…

It had all been taken away from her. Murdered in the night.

The first person to spare her life hadn’t been Varka. There had been a time before that.

The first time her life was spared…

It was an abduction.

And on that occasion, too…

She was the only one left.

The bandits who took her had left no other survivors.

Deep in Rosaria’s mind, there lingered a bitter feeling. Doubt.

What if…

What if Rosaria had lost her touch?

It seemed foolishly unlikely. A complete joke. But…

The night before – that bastard Fatui spy…

What if he’d lied to Rosaria and gotten away with it?

What if there had been another plot. A co-conspirator?

No.

It was impossible.

Rosaria knew how to inflict pain. Of all her talents as a predator, interrogation was her greatest.

Pain was what she knew best.

She couldn’t have missed something.

She felt her breath flow more violently. The bitter doubt in the depths of her mind darkened into a sickening anger.

Nobody got a lie past her. If they ever could…

What was Rosaria good for?

No .

She’d missed nothing. She had no reason to doubt herself. For what? Because a lovesick twerp couldn’t keep his mouth shut? What kind of evidence was that?

It was worthless .

Bennett had to have been lying. Or, perhaps, just delusional.

Either way, Bennett’s word meant nothing. The story wasn’t true.

Rosaria knew how to interrogate. Nobody got a lie past her.

Nobody.

Nobody.

Softly, almost a whisper, there came the sound of Barbara’s voice. “Rosaria? Are you– okay?”

Rosaria opened her eyes.

Chapter Text

Barbara was staring at her. In Barbara’s gaze…

Fear.

Rosaria suddenly felt the tension that had seized her body – the bitter chill at the back of her throat, and the sharp sting of pain in her waist.

She relaxed. The icicles forming at her feet – and on the parapet behind her – evaporated, becoming nothing but frigid air. She reached for her waist and confirmed first the presence of warm blood, and then, shortly after, crystalline cold: the one icicle that hadn’t yet evaporated – stuck in her flesh. She efficiently extracted the icicle with a flick of her hand, and the ice immediately vaporized.

Barbara looked on, fear still darkening her gaze.

Barbara had a Vision of her own, so she knew full well what it meant for Rosaria to lose control of her elemental power.

It meant she’d lost control of her emotions.

How humiliating.

Rosaria turned away.

Her blood splashed onto the ground and parapet.

The wound was deep – worse than she’d thought.

She didn’t have anything to say. She just wanted to leave.

Barbara’s voice came again, fear replaced with concern. “Wait!” She stepped forward, but maintained careful distance, presumably afraid of the intensity and defensiveness in Rosaria’s posture. Barbara’s eyes darted back and forth, gracing both the wound on Rosaria’s waist and the Vision pinned to Rosaria’s hip.

Rosaria looked down:

Her Vision was glowing blue – fast, haphazardly, in pace with the elevated rate of her heart.

Rosaria placed her hand over the Vision. Ice cold.

Barbara placed her hands beneath Rosaria’s wound – into the mess of spreading blood. “Please,” she said. “Let me help.”

No.

Rosaria intended to pull away…

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t bring herself to.

Run. Leave.

But…

The way Barbara had placed her hands down – placed her hands into the pouring blood without apparent fear or disgust…

Rosaria was frozen.

She’d never seen Barbara touch a drop of blood with her bare hands. Barbara always cleaned a wound before treating it – and carefully so, with the utmost attention.

The notion of timid, uncertain Barbara with her hands soaked in blood…

Rosaria felt an irresistible curiosity well up in her chest and throat.

It was strangely satisfying. And so…

Rosaria didn’t run.

Barbara’s own Vision – pinned to the Holy Book at her hip – began to glow, its rhythm steady and serene.

A wave of peace washed over Rosaria’s body. Droplets of water condensed immaculately from the air and sparkled all around, creating an iridescent shimmer doubled in the reflections visible in Barbara’s open but gently averted eyes.

Rosaria stood perfectly still.

Barbara kept her blood red hands in place on Rosaria’s still bleeding body. The water droplets and iridescence shone into nothingness, and the bitter pain in Rosaria’s waist disappeared in kind.

The two Visions stopped glowing at the same time.

Barbara let go, and stepped back. She touched her wet red hands lightly together before her chest. A soft concern still gently lit her expression.

Rosaria looked away.

She’d never before been healed by a Vision bearer. The experience was exhilarating – intoxicating. But…

A strange shameful feeling lingered in the air.

To lose control…

What a nuisance.

She rested, for a moment, in the stillness. Barbara’s Vision had sealed Rosaria’s wounds leaving no scar or mark by which to remember the pain, but…

Rosaria’s blood was everywhere. Her clothes; the grass; the stone.

Even a Vision couldn’t erase every trace of trauma.

This had become far too much of a bother. Rosaria couldn’t believe that little twerp adventurer had done this to her – made her doubt herself. All this because a lovesick puppy couldn’t keep his mouth shut. But, even though she hated the doubt…

She couldn’t deny it.

And even worse: within her, she harboured a trace of guilt.

The reliability of Bennett’s story…

Worthless.

That was what she’d thought.

But that wasn’t what she believed. Not really.

Rosaria didn’t fit in with the people of Mondstadt, but she’d nevertheless been accepted by them. The unselfish warmth and goodwill of the people… She lived so as to repay that kindness – albeit, the only way she knew how. That was the choice she’d made. That was what mattered to her.

She didn’t know Bennett very well, but… She knew him well enough. He was a child of Mondstadt. A child of light. He wasn’t worthless. Nor was his word. She didn’t want to doubt her skill as an interrogator. She didn’t want to reimmerse in the problem she’d been trying to escape. But…

If she’d failed, and Bennett was the one who paid the price…

That was unacceptable.

She was right not to tell Barbara that Bennett had lied, because: maybe he hadn’t. And this pointed to another truth – something very unfortunate…

Rosaria couldn’t hide from what burdened her.

All she’d wanted to do was clear her mind of the previous night’s troubles – until she could drink the thoughts away. But the man she’d just killed…

She had to dive back in. She had to find out if there was a co-conspirator.

Rosaria took a deep breath. She looked at Barbara. “About the job…”

She never sourced her own jobs. She relied exclusively on contractors to specify her targets. Whoever she was told to kill…

She killed them. That was it.

But in this case…

There was nobody to kill. No target. No name. Instead, all she had was a lead:

The spy’s temporary lodgings in Mondstadt – the lodgings he’d revealed in the interrogation.

Rosaria nodded. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt for me to investigate.”

Barbara met Rosaria’s gaze with vulnerable, earnest eyes. She didn’t appear to know what to do with her blood red hands, which still remained gently touching before her. She nodded in return. “Rosaria… Please. Bennett told me not to tell anyone…” She glanced off to the side – to the blue sky and pink water of Cider Lake. “This has to be our secret.”

A thought lingered in Rosaria’s mind. She tried her best to push it away…

But it was too strong.

If she went to the spy’s lodgings, might she find…

Some trace of his daughter?

Did Rosaria want to find such a thing? Or not?

Perhaps there was another way. Perhaps, though somebody had to chase up the lead and investigate…

Perhaps it didn’t have to be Rosaria.

Jean…

Barbara didn’t turn back; she continued to look into the distance.

Rosaria turned away in kind. She spoke dispassionately. “One more thing.” She began walking away. It seemed as good a time as any to bring the conversation around to her original intention.

She didn’t look back to witness how her words might be received. “I owe you an apology.”

Chapter Text

Rosaria had never before been to the library.

After changing into the spare clothes she kept stashed at the cathedral, Rosaria had gone straight to the Knights of Favonius Headquarters. Everyone knew that Lisa, the librarian, was practically Jean’s right hand man. So, where better to start her search?

She took no pleasure in what she was about to do. But…

It had to be done.

She couldn’t face going, herself, to the spy’s lodgings. She was unwilling to face the possibility of coming into direct contact with evidence of the orphan that haunted her. As such:

She needed to ask Jean for help.

Rosaria entered the library to an unfamiliar smell.

No…

It was familiar. She just wasn’t used to it – not in that concentration.

It was, of course, the smell of books. Hundreds of them.

The library was larger than Rosaria had predicted. It occupied two stories – of which the second was a bookshelf-lined gallery running the room’s perimeter. The wall opposite the entrance was set with three huge windows admitting a haze of yellow sunlight – the full intensity of the sun’s illumination inhibited, but not eliminated, by the great gossamer curtains, half drawn.

Rosaria shut the door behind her.

The entrance had placed her on the top floor – the gallery. Over the balustrade she could see the lower level, and the arrangement of desks. To her left was the beginning of the gallery walkway and also the staircase leading down. To her right…

A dark, shadowy nook.

A single desk. A single small window – occluded by so many layers of gossamer it admitted only the slightest whisper of light. On the shadowy desk, a candlestick of three flames burned softly; a little further to the left, tea-light embers glimmered from underneath a purple teapot. Two cups were set out on saucers…

But nobody was there.

At the forefront of the desk a voluminous tome was inlaid, open and positioned such that it could be read by visitors.

Rosaria stepped forward. In the light cast by the candles…

Library Rules – Seventh Edition.

The shadowy nook of the librarian’s desk settled Rosaria’s heart – so much so, she regretted having to turn around and once again face the light.

She could bear sunlight. It wasn’t painful to her, nor was it distressing. At times, it was even relaxing – such as when she felt it against her eyelids, dozing on the rooftops.

But, unlike the citizens of Mondstadt…

Rosaria was a child of moonlight. The sunlight wasn’t where she belonged. And so…

It was inevitable:

She would always return to the embrace of darkness.

The darkness was simply home.

She stood somnolently for a moment, breathing in the aromas of tea and candle wax – steam and smoke.

When Barbara had healed her – the shameful feeling. Had Rosaria felt that way just because she’d lost control of her Vision? Or…

Was there something else?

Barbara with her hands covered in blood; it had looked so…

Wrong.

If that were the case…

Why was it so captivating?

“Rosaria.”

She turned around.

Lisa stood with her arms folded – her posture relaxed.

Jean was nowhere to be seen.

Lisa spoke as if to herself. “My… That is unusual.”

Rosaria was unmoved. She’d expected such a reaction from Lisa. She’d never been to the library before, after all; Lisa would have no idea why Rosaria had turned up out of the blue. In response…

Rosaria said nothing – she simply watched with careful eyes.

Though Rosaria was reluctant to speak, it wasn’t because she didn’t like Lisa – nor was it that she didn’t trust her. Rather…

It was that Rosaria noticed, in her throat, the rising presence of fear.

She’d only come to the library to find Jean; given that Jean wasn’t there, Rosaria only wanted to ask after her whereabouts. But…

She couldn’t form the words.

If Rosaria asked about Jean, then Lisa would know what Rosaria wanted. She would, therefore…

Have power.

That was the case during an interrogation, after all.

The biggest mistake her prey could make was to reveal what they wanted. When Rosaria knew what they wanted…

It was so much easier to hurt them.

Badly.

It wasn’t that Rosaria had any particular reason to feel endangered on this specific occasion; instead, it was just…

It was how she’d come to live her life. Rosaria had secluded herself from most human interaction; she’d rather avoid the fear than face it. As long as she avoided people, she could pretend that the fear didn’t exist. Whenever, due to some unavoidable circumstance, she had to interact with others, she did so with an empty heart: from people, she wanted nothing – she expected nothing. Therefore, she was safe. But, today…

She wanted something.

She wanted Jean.

What a mess.

There was only one consolation attenuating her fear: her silence would probably be taken, by Lisa, as evidence of some other more palatable condition. Boredom, irritation, anger, disinterest…

Such was Rosaria’s reputation in Mondstadt.

But, honestly…

That suited her. Anything was better than people seeing her fear.

Lisa stepped past Rosaria, circled around the desk, and resolved on the opposite side. She placed her right hand down to the teapot and checked its temperature. She looked up, and met Rosaria’s gaze.

Lisa’s eyes shimmered.

But she didn’t speak.

She looked back down and poured herself a cup of tea.

Rosaria considered simply leaving. She would find Jean – somehow.

Lisa sank down into her chair, took in hand her teacup, and put her feet up on the desk. Reclined thus, she sipped contentedly.

Rosaria turned away. She folded her arms and closed her eyes.

A wild goose chase…

How deplorable.

Running around the city trying to find Jean had begun to seem like such an undignified task. What was she doing?

But then…

A thought occurred to her.

At first she’d thought she didn’t have a target for this job. As such, it had all seemed out of her wheelhouse. However: in a sense, on this occasion…

Wasn’t Jean her target?

Maybe it wasn’t so different from a hunt, after all. Stalking prey before eventually putting them out of their misery came naturally to Rosaria. In that case, even though her eventual goal was different…

For her current purposes, she could treat this hunt just like any other. And, like every other part of her job…

Tracking down a target was easy.

Rosaria opened her eyes and turned back around.

Lisa now had a book in hand. She gazed upon the pages with a dreamy distractedness. On the desk…

The second teacup had been filled, and pushed towards the desk’s reception side.

Rosaria stepped forward. She ignored the teacup. She intended to get the answers she sought from Lisa, but she would do so the way she knew best. Like a seasoned professional.

Without asking.

Chapter Text

“Is this what you call work?”

Lisa looked up. The dreaminess in her expression didn’t disappear, but a curiosity lit her eyes – as if she were watching a scene unfold in which she herself had no part.

But that was how Lisa always looked.

Rosaria sighed.

First, to establish a suitable context for her visit. “I’m here on a job. You and the Acting Grand Master keep no secrets, so I’m sure you understand what that means.”

Lisa put her hand to her mouth and softly, inaudibly, laughed. She put her book down, but kept her feet up on the desk. “My discretion is unmatched. Of course, that’s mostly because I don’t typically receive guests.” She sipped her tea. “My dark little corner here in the library – due to its effectiveness in dissuading visitors – has proven quite suitably forbidding. Oh! Of course…” She winked. “In the face of those who find themselves drawn to the dark… I should have to devise another prohibitive measure to secure my solitude.”

Rosaria maintained eye contact. She knew Lisa was trying to rattle her; that was Lisa’s sense of humour. Sardonic, cynical…

Rosaria found it quite charming.

She and Lisa hadn’t interacted often, but Rosaria was confident in Lisa’s character.

If Jean approved of Lisa, then so did Rosaria.

Rosaria smiled. “I take no pleasure in disturbing your solitude. However…” She briefly indicated with her gaze the second cup of tea. Time to fish a little. “It seems, on this occasion, you were prepared for disturbance.”

Lisa’s eyes, once again, shimmered. “Well,” she said. “I poured it for you.”

“But the empty cup was already on the desk before I arrived.”

Lisa repeated her silent laughing motion. “Yes.” She sighed and, closing her eyes, sank even more comfortably into her chair. “Of course, I had no idea you would visit. That particular pleasure was unprecedented and unpredictable in equal measure. In actual fact, the second teacup was put out for Master Jean.”

Rosaria held back a smile. Her intuition regarding where to look for traces of Jean had been validated. She was closing in on her target.

Lisa opened her eyes and looked at nothing in particular. She appeared, for a moment, to be thinking about something. She shook her head, as if dispelling some inconvenience. She corrected her posture in her chair and, putting her feet to the ground, resolved into a more dignified position. “Speaking of Jean, did you happen to see her on the way in?”

Rosaria’s satisfaction faltered.

Lisa’s voice carried with it some feeling of concern.

Was something wrong?

Rosaria shook her head. “Jean will arrive a minute neither before nor after your meeting was scheduled to begin. You ought to set your clocks by her – if, that is, you haven’t already.”

Lisa nodded. “Yes, of course. But that’s what I mean.” She glanced over at the timepiece on her desk. “She’s already late…”

Rosaria frowned.

She couldn’t remember a single time Jean had been late to one of their debriefs – or anything else, for that matter. A charge of tardiness levelled against Jean was completely implausible – in any thus case, Rosaria would doubt not Jean’s punctuality but, instead, the testimony of the accuser. However…

This was Lisa. And Rosaria could tell she was serious. In fact:

Lisa was worried.

Lisa’s expression lightened. She put her hands down on the desk, one either side of her teacup. “Well, Sister Rosaria. I don’t suppose you could consider a special request?”

Rosaria narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”

Lisa placed her hands on the teacup – as if to feel its warmth, or otherwise take comfort in its presence. “You said you were here on a job. As such, I don’t want to distract you. But someone with your tracking and tracing skills should find themselves uniquely positioned to resolve a missing persons case.” She smiled. “Though such verbiage is, perhaps, a touch too much melodrama.”

Rosaria could no longer hold back her own smile.

It’d been easy – once she’d put her mind to it. She marvelled at how a simple change in perspective had resulted in synthesis of her own and Lisa’s goals. “An interesting proposition,” she said. “The job appeals to me. I’m sure I can find the time.” She picked up the second teacup and took in the aroma. Her problem hadn’t been completely solved, but she’d made progress. Though…

In one sense, things had only gotten worse. Not only had she failed to find Jean, but it had become clear that Jean was, at that moment, harder to find than usual. When a woman is punctual, you need only discover her appointments to discover her whereabouts. But when her punctuality falters…

It’s a problem.

She looked, again, at Lisa. “So,” said Rosaria – peacefully composed in her shadow-veiled comfort zone. “Do you have any leads?”

Lisa leaned back a little in her chair. “Deferring to Jean’s usual schedule, the activity which precedes our tea is typically her morning run with Amber. But… given what we both know about Master Jean, I think we can agree: the most likely reason for her delayed presence… It isn’t a sprained ankle.” She looked expectantly at Rosaria. “No. The most likely reason…”

Rosaria sipped from her teacup. “An unexpected request. Somebody needed her.”

Lisa smiled. “Precisely.” The look in her eyes changed. Something about her gaze…

It spoke of passion.

Chapter Text

Rosaria placed her teacup down and rested her hand on the desk’s surface. “The Acting Grand Master never turns away from somebody in need.”

Rosaria had always heard rumours about Jean and Lisa, but she’d paid them no heed. Social hearsay was nothing to Rosaria. But, now, Rosaria had to admit: it was easy to see how the rumours had started.

Lisa nodded. “Yes. Master Jean is quite remarkable.” Her dreamy eyes stared into space. “I’m sure she’s safe and sound, of course. If I were genuinely worried, I wouldn’t still be sitting here.” She glanced at the teapot. “My commitment to teatime is unwavering, but…” She looked back at Rosaria and winked. “There are some things that can move even mountains.”

That sickening feeling in Rosaria’s stomach. Yes. It appeared the rumours were true. Whether the feeling was mutual or not, Rosaria could tell…

Lisa loved Jean.

Rosaria pushed her teacup towards the centre of the desk. A dark thought spawned in her mind.

She understood perfectly well why Lisa wasn’t worried about Jean. There was nobody in Mondstadt more capable of looking after themselves. But…

Why did Rosaria have such a bad feeling?

Bennett.

Where would Bennett be at that time of morning? After leaving the cathedral, where would he have gone? Would Jean, on her morning run with Amber, have crossed paths with the boy? If he happened to find himself in danger, would Jean have been nearby to intervene?

The Fatui…

The thought occurred to Rosaria that maybe she ought to tell Lisa about the alleged Fatui threat. Typically, of course, it was unacceptable to share confidential information about a job. Barbara was her client, and Barbara had asked for discretion. As such, precedent would guide Rosaria towards secrecy. Lisa was a third party; it wasn’t her business.

But something had reared its ugly head once again – a specific kind of circumstance that seemed, on that day, to be a motif:

Love.

Lisa might not have been worried about Jean, but Lisa probably wasn’t considering the possibility of a threat so profound as the Fatui. Given the nature of the threat…

Would Lisa want to know?

Rosaria didn’t know much about love. She knew how to recognise it – what it looked like, and that it made her feel sick – but that was it. It struck her, however, that there was something important about love that she didn’t know:

Did she have some kind of responsibility to those in love?

It was a strange thought, especially since love was so displeasing to her. Regardless, she was able to separate her own distaste for love from her knowledge that love was a privilege – a gift. Rosaria didn’t understand love, nor did she like it. But Rosaria knew love itself wasn’t the problem. If Rosaria didn’t care for love, she knew why:

She was barely human.

She felt keenly the responsibility to protect the people of Mondstadt – the people that had given her a home. Her entire adult life, she’d interpreted that responsibility solely through the lens of death. She killed, and in doing so, she protected. But… Did her responsibilities extent beyond that? She had to ask herself: in her line of work, were some things more important that discretion? Was there ever a time to use your own judgement and make a decision? It was certainly possible.

Maybe discretion included the judicious dispersal of information to third parties who deserved it. Did the complicating factor of love provide such a circumstance? In loving Jean, what did Lisa deserve?

Rosaria met Lisa’s gaze. “You said earlier your discretion was unmatched.”

Lisa nodded.

Rosaria didn’t want to admit it, but a part of her knew: her attachment to the principle of discretion was more than just moral conviction. That was a part of it, but she couldn’t deny the full truth: her discretion – her dedication to secrecy – was a shield. At least in part, she hid behind her principles to avoid ever having to question herself. If it came time to make a tough choice…

Did Rosaria trust her own judgement?

If Lisa would want to know about any threat to Jean’s safety, would Rosaria value that over Barbara’s request for secrecy?

Rosaria turned to the side. Looking Lisa in the eye had become too much of a strain. "You can keep a secret. Then…”

In her peripheral vision, Rosaria saw Lisa lean forward.

Rosaria made up her mind. “Leave matters with me,” she said. “I have a hunch.”

She didn’t know how to balance the matters of love and discretion; as uneducated as she was regarding the nature of love, she didn’t think she was in any position to make that call. But there was one thing she did know:

In that moment she felt something, and it was about Barbara.

It wasn’t that she cared about Barbara. Of course not. Rosaria didn’t care about anyone – not like that. Her ability to care in personal terms was long since dead – perhaps murdered on the same day as her parents. But, nevertheless…

There was something about Barbara. Despite her immaturity, and despite how often she’d been a source of annoyance and frustration…

Barbara had Rosaria’s loyalty.

Lisa seemed like a good woman – Rosaria trusted Jean’s judgement, after all. But if Rosaria had to decide to whose interests she would defer…

It wasn’t a difficult choice.

She began to walk away.

On that occasion, discretion won. It was, of course, the decision Rosaria had always made – but, that time, something was different. Rather than a matter of principle, it had been a matter of…

Feeling.

As such…

Rosaria hardly recognised herself.

Bennett was a member of the Adventurer’s Guild. If he had stayed in Mondstadt after leaving the cathedral, the Guild headquarters was likely where he’d have gone. Rosaria’s hunch…

Even though it was logically a long shot, and there was no rational reason to believe it so strongly, Rosaria couldn’t shake the sense that Jean and Bennett were together. If that were the case, and Bennett were in a kind of trouble consistent with his story…

There might not be much time. She had to go to the Guild.

Chapter Text

Rosaria found Bennett and Jean in the elevated garden by the Adventurer’s Guild. But… The circumstances weren’t as she’d predicted. She’d half expected to find them engaged in bitter combat, swords locked with the Fatui. Instead… Bennett and Jean were just talking. The two of them were sat on one of the two benches before the fountain, their faces lit by the sun. The two of them took their time drinking sparkling red Chilibrew from tall gleaming glasses.

From the shade of the nearby windmill, Rosaria scanned the surroundings. She’d already checked all the relevant spots for danger. The stairway leading down under the garden – clear. The alley behind the Guild, below – clear. No signs of trouble anywhere to be found. Of course, Rosaria was relieved. But… It didn’t make sense. What had Bennett needed from Jean? What could’ve been so urgent that Jean had put her appointment aside?

Just talking? Rosaria was almost disappointed.

The shape of the shadows across the courtyard… It was noon. One the other side of town, the taverns were opening. In the first hours of service, Cat’s Tail Tavern was always busy. The tavern’s signature sweet soft drinks attracted too much rabble at that time of day. Yes… the soft candlelight and piquant wine of Angel’s Share Inn would be far more relaxing. Rosaria felt herself gently drifting away, as if lulled by the embrace of tender inebriation. Her problems could all evaporate like so many crystals of snow…

“Ow! Where did that come from!?”

Rosaria snapped to attention and leapt out of the windmill’s shadow. She bound around the fountain towards Bennett’s voice.

Had she missed something? Had there been a trace of danger in the alley? The stairway?

Bennett sat rubbing his head, his Chilibrew spilled across the courtyard. Jean sat with her hand over her face, experiencing not fear or alarm, but… Only second hand embarrassment. The cat that had landed on Bennett’s head skulked off behind the fountain.

Rosaria, combat ready and poised, felt suddenly irritated.

Jean and Bennett both looked up at the same time.

Rosaria relaxed her posture and cleared her throat. “I’m not a cat person,” she said.

Bennett knelt to the ground and picked up what was left of his Chilibrew. “Oh, man. Just my luck…”

Jean stood up. “Sister Rosaria. Everything is in order, here. Please don’t be alarmed.”

But then…

Jean and Rosaria’s gazes were both drawn to Bennett.

Kneeling on the floor with the empty Chilibrew glass delicately resting in his hands, Bennett was…

Crying.

Jean put her hand to her heart. An understanding sympathy graced her expression.

Rosaria, on the other hand, was completely perplexed.

Suddenly, Bennett leapt up. “I’m fine!” He yelled, far too loudly. “I – I have to go!” Empty glass still in hand, he dashed towards the parapet looking out over the Guild.

Rosaria dashed forward after him. Now that she’d got eyes on Bennett, it only felt sensible to keep him in her sights.

Effortlessly, Bennett vaulted over the balustrade – dropping down to the courtyard below.

Rosaria reached the parapet and looked down. She watched Bennett tumble past Cyrus and through the doors into the Guild.

There were few safer places in Mondstadt. Rosaria felt confident: he’d be fine. Frowning quite ferociously in consternation, she turned to Jean. “That boy makes no sense. At all.”

The tenderness in Jean’s expression remained. “The Chilibrew,” she said. “Rosaria, you can surely figure it out?”

Rosaria smiled.

Of course.

***

Chilibrew was, after all, Barbara’s signature recipe. Given the tenderly unspoken relationship between Bennett and Barbara… Humble Chilibrew was elixir. It meant something to Bennett – something more than what it actually was.

Rosaria began to relax as it sunk in: her feeling of high alert was misplaced. Moreover, she took comfort in noticing a second fortunate corollary of Bennet’s safety: Jean was safe. Lisa would be relieved. But… Rosaria’s relaxation was short-lived. The distraction afforded by the possibility of danger had allowed Rosaria to forget, for a while, that she actually had an agenda of her own – but now that she’d tracked down her target and established a low risk environment… The deed still needed to be done. She felt once again the rising anxiety that was becoming more and more familiar:

She needed to ask Jean for help.

Rosaria knew full well: she wasn’t willing to investigate the Fatui spy’s dwelling herself, and there was nobody more trustworthy than Jean.

Jean looked at nothing in particular. Her expression carried with it a shadow of melancholy. “Bennett…”

There had been no emergency, but whatever Jean had been talking about with Bennett seemed to have affected her.

Jean looked at Rosaria, and spoke with a calm voice. “I found him sitting here, on this bench, staring into space. I’m sure you can understand: to see Bennett just sitting still and staring at nothing…” she turned away. “That’s not like him. At all. I could tell that something was wrong.” She looked back at Rosaria. The glimmer in Jean’s eyes…

It meant something. But what?

Jean began walking away, and then Rosaria realised: the lingering look Jean had given was an instruction to follow. It had only made sense once the whole gesture was complete.

It seemed Jean wanted somebody to listen for a while.

Rosaria stood frozen. Jean was… Acting unusual.

Jean had never told Rosaria anything personal, or asked Rosaria for help or support. Even so, Rosaria knew it was no slight against her. Jean didn’t ask anybody for help. She never turned to anybody with a problem, or burdened them with her worries or concerns. It was another thing Rosaria and Jean had in common; besides their shared passion for serving the people of Mondstadt, they were both equally closed off from others – equally closed books. Rosaria wondered: were they alike in this regard for different reasons, or…

Were their shields shaped by the same kinds of fears?

Rosaria’s mind suddenly became burdened with dark thoughts. The things Rosaria had seen as a child – the things she’d done as a child… It seemed impossible that Jean could’ve seen or done such things. Such experiences could never be the story that created a woman like Jean – a woman so selfless. No. Such were the experiences that shaped a killer. A predator. But, still… Jean lived her life in one overarching condition: she kept everything inside. She was notorious for it. And so… Jean wanting to talk was unprecedented – completely unexpected – and, therefore:

Rosara didn’t know what to do.

Jean stopped walking and looked back. Her momentum, however, didn’t end completely; her body promised to continue walking, as if Rosaria may have already been following, and ending momentum completely was, therefore, potentially unnecessary.

But Rosaria was still frozen.

Apparently unperturbed by Rosaria’s stillness, Jean smiled. “Let’s look out over the Highland.”

Rosaria wanted to act. She had to act, otherwise Jean would think something was wrong. Listen to Jean? Or interrupt her, and ask for help? Those were her options. Rosaria tried to put aside her thoughts. The thoughts about Jean’s childhood, and the questions about Jean’s story. But… The thoughts wouldn’t go away.

Make a decision.

Now.

Why did she hesitate? Why was it so hard to simply interrupt Jean and make the request she’d intended to make?

Rosaria knew the truth. There was a reason. She felt it.

Jean’s posture altered – she’d finally noticed Rosaria’s perturbation.

Damn it.

And Rosaria had to face the hard truth.

***

Year after year, though Rosaria kept her body busy and her mind distracted, there was one feeling she could never shake. It was a feeling that coloured everything in life the same dim, dull grey. No matter how bloody the violence – no matter how intoxicating the wine – it was all the same:

Meaningless.

Year after year, life was slipping away. And it was pointless. But now… The look in Jean’s eyes… That look spoke of some kind of confession – some kind of connection previously unknown. Rosaria knew that such a look from anyone else wouldn’t have moved her – she could’ve ignored it without a thought, just like she always had done. However, when it was Jean…

It was different.

Looking into Jean’s eyes, knowing that Jean wanted – for the first time, ever – to talk about something other than work… Rosaria felt something she hadn’t felt for years. No… Maybe she’d never felt it. Ever. She felt…

The sense of meaning. Crashing down on her.

Was there an opportunity, standing before her… To stop her life from slipping away? Rosaria didn’t know why connecting with Jean seemed meaningful. It just… Did.

And that was why Rosaria couldn’t turn away. That was why she couldn’t just ignore Jean’s desire to talk.

A breeze sparkled through the garden’s flowers. The great, gentle sounds of the nearby windmill came like sleep or soothing water over Rosaria’s body and mind.

The look in Jean’s eyes began to change, as if from pleasant relaxation to the kindling embers of concern.

Rosaria didn’t want to get distracted from her goal. She’d gone there to ask Jean for help, and then leave. But… Rosaria, in tune with her body, felt an instinct. It was the same instinct that told her, as a girl, in which direction a rabbit might spring; which told her, as a woman, which of her target’s fingers to remove first during an interrogation. Would she listen to Jean, or would she turn away, like she always did? Rosaria had to decide what to do.

Her breath came easefully. She made her decision the only way she knew how. She trusted her gut – the impulse that rose in her animal nature and expressed itself in thoughts or feelings, or – sometimes – in the way she might decide to slice or dismantle her prey.

She listened to her gut, and knew the decision she was going to make.

Chapter Text

It was in Rosaria’s blood – in her soul (what was left of it): when she saw the trace of something escaping, she had to follow. She had to know what was going on in Jean’s mind.

Rosaria and Jean crossed the garden towards the city wall – towards the opposite parapet looking out over the verdant stratifications of Windwail Highland. Rosaria leaned against the parapet.

Jean placed her hands on the balustrade and looked into the clear blue sky. “When I approached Bennett, he told me he’d gotten himself into big trouble. But…” She frowned. She was clearly disappointed. “He wouldn’t say what.”

Rosaria felt some small relief. It seemed like Bennett hadn’t told Jean his story about the Fatui. If he had, it would’ve made matters more complicated: how would it affect Rosaria’s obligation to secrecy? She was glad it didn’t matter.

Jean continued. “Of course,” she closed her eyes, “I could tell that what really bothered him wasn’t the usual trouble – hilichurls or slimes. Rather…” She fixed the hair around her ears and then looked at Rosaria. “What bothered him was his heart.”

So there it was. Jean really did want to talk about something real. Not work. Not pragmatics. No. She wanted to talk about… Feelings. They might’ve been Bennett’s feelings, but they were feelings nonetheless.

Rosaria gazed intently at Jean. Despite the melancholia in Jean’s eyes, there was something else – something that didn’t make sense.

She looked happy.

The combination of melancholia and happiness in the same gaze; Rosaria didn’t understand it. To see it… It was irritating. The complexity of emotions made life so much harder – made understanding people seem too much like work. Too much like overtime. But Rosaria didn’t allow herself to be perturbed; she maintained a stoic expression. The complexity that lived within Jean was sure to frighten Rosaria – more than any assassin or agent, trained to kill, ever could – but Rosaria wouldn’t back down. Her instincts had told her that hearing Jean’s thoughts was the right thing to do. So…

Rosaria would keep listening.

Jean looked away from Rosaria and returned her gaze to the sky, over Windwail Highland. She closed her eyes. She sighed, and the breeze addressed her hair – her cloak. “This place,” she said, “this is Barbara’s favourite spot.”

Rosaria smiled.

The events she’d witnessed started to make sense. Jean was complex, but her words had given Rosaria enough insight to reveal a partial picture of the truth – an explanation for the happy half of the emotion in Jean’s gaze.

Jean surely knew about Bennett’s feelings for Barbara; that morning at the cathedral had hardly been the first time Jean had watched Barbara and Bennett interact – and though Jean may have been distant from Barbara, she was clearly attentive. Attentive enough, surely, to realise that if Bennett’s heart were heavy...  It would be about Barbara.

That in mind, Rosaria understood the happiness she saw in Jean’s expression: even if Jean couldn’t connect with Barbara, herself – for whatever reason – it made Jean happy to know that somebody was connecting with Barbara. This small insight gave Rosaria a moment of confidence – confidence she sorely needed to face of the challenge before her: just talking. About something real.

Rosaria took heart, and returned her mind back to the restful state in which it needed to be. In response to Jean’s words…

Rosaria waited for more.

Jean, with a glance, indicated the Highlands and the sky. “The view … it’s quite something. I’m sure Barbara has invited Bennett here many times before. It was easy enough to put the clues together and discern what – or who – was on his mind.”

Part of Rosaria wanted to ask Jean why she hadn’t spoken to Barbara earlier, at the cathedral – why she hadn’t said anything to Barbara after any of their debriefs. Why was it so hard for Jean to connect with Barbara? But…

If Jean didn’t connect with Barbara, it was probably for the same reasons Jean didn’t connect with anybody. Rosaria knew well enough what it was like to close yourself off, and she knew, therefore, that asking “why”…

It was a cardinal sin.

After all, if somebody dared ask Rosaria such questions she’d surely feel a violent rage. In Jean’s case, it seemed unlikely she’d respond to any stimulus with an emotion so hateful – but, whatever she would feel, it didn’t feel right to provoke it. So…

Rosaria didn’t ask. Instead, she chose a safer path. She kept her gaze on Jean’s half-averted face. “Chilibrew. Barbara’s recipe,” said Rosaria. “When you figured out it was Barbara on Bennett’s mind, you knew Chilibrew would soothe his heart – even if just a little.”

Jean nodded.

“That,” said Rosaria, “explains the happiness I see in your eyes.”

Jean looked momentarily confused.

Rosaria continued. “Barbara,” she said. “It pleases you to know that somebody cares for her.”

Jean’s confusion turned to curiosity, and then a smile. “Yes.” She paused, but her expression revealed a clear intention to continue speaking – to continue saying something that she’d first needed a moment to consider. “I’d thought I might have to explain that to you, Rosaria, but I should’ve known better – that you’d see the truth clearly. Perception is, after all, among your keenest traits.”

Rosaria verified the continued presence of the second emotion in Jean’s gaze – the seriousness. “But there’s something else in your eyes – something besides happiness.”

Jean made the same silent laughing gesture that Lisa had made at the library.

For a moment, Rosaria felt a sense of deja vu. It struck her how much time Jean and Lisa must have spent together to have picked up one another’s body language. But, then, there was something else. Some other feeling besides the refraction of time. Rosaria couldn’t put a name to the feeling, but… It wasn’t good. Seeing the evidence of Jean’s and Lisa’s connection… It somehow felt bad.

Rosaria ignored the feeling. It was nothing.

Jean put her hands back to the balustrade and watched the passage, through the sky, of a flock of birds. “Earlier,” she said, “when you and I spoke in the cathedral. There was something…”

Jean left a profound pause.

As the pause lingered, Rosaria’s mind sparked with perturbation. The cathedral? Something had happened…? Rosaria suddenly felt implicated; a shadow of discomfort – like something was wrong – darkened her mind.

Jean dropped her gaze to watch the windwheel asters spinning in the highland breeze. “I have to wonder… If I were reliable enough – dependable enough…”

Rosaria hesitated. The feelings of implication and curiosity excluded all thoughts. Her defensive instinct kicked in, as if seeing from the corner of her eye a flitting shadow. If Jean had a problem with Rosaria’s conduct in the cathedral, Jean should just say it. “Are you accusing me of something?” asked Rosaria.

Jean bowed her head. “No. I’m sorry. I’m not presenting my thoughts clearly…” She paused to think, and then continued. “Why – if you had to hazard a guess…” Her voice was soft, but resolute. She looked at Rosaria. “Why do you think Bennett wouldn’t tell me what was bothering him?”

Rosaria thought back to the cathedral – and the comment she’d made which she’d known, even at the time, was perhaps hurtful. Asking for help would be more bother than dealing with the problem alone.

A tender pain shimmered in Jean’s eyes. “It’s never enough,” she said. “Don’t you think, if I were stronger – more reliable, more trustworthy…”

So that was it. The event that had occurred in the cathedral – the event Jean was referencing – was the moment Rosaria had refused Jean’s help. Jean wasn’t making an accusation… She was expressing her pain. As far as Jean was concerned, whenever someone turned down her help – or simply refused to ask, despite clearly being in need… It was Jean’s fault. It meant she wasn’t good enough. Wasn’t reliable or trustworthy enough.

So when Jean had offered Rosaria help at the cathedral, and Rosaria had declined; or when Bennett had refused to tell Jean the full details of what bothered him…

Jean took it primarily as evidence of her own weakness.

At once Rosaria felt guilty, but also justified. She had known her refusal to accept Jean’s help had been unnecessarily curt, but how could she have known the full impact it would have? How could she have known it would cut to Jean’s core?

Rosaria couldn’t be to blame for that. But, still... That didn’t assuage the guilt.

Jean shook her head, as if to dispel her emotions. “I need to work harder to be of more assistance to the people of Mondstadt.”

And that was the reason for the second thing in Jean’s gaze: the pain alongside her happiness.

Jean wasn’t enough.

Rosaria didn’t speak for a moment. She let Jean’s words linger, hoping that perhaps Jean would continue speaking and, therefore, relieve Rosaria of the duty to find words of her own. She wanted to make Jean feel better, but could think of nothing that was guaranteed to achieve that outcome. She realised the part she herself had played in shaping Jean’s feelings, but didn’t know what to do about it. Why now, of all days, had Jean decided to tell Rosaria something so personal? Why was Jean acting so unusual?

Jean looked away.

The two of them stood in silence for a while.

Rosaria – despite her good sense – noticed a strange feeling. Even though Jean was in pain, Rosaria couldn’t deny: in that moment, Rosaria had gotten to know Jean a little better. It made Rosaria feel… Almost…

Happy.

That feeling… The happiness felt in the wake of hearing Jean’s words – hearing her truth – was something Rosaria had wanted for so long. It was the feeling she’d been missing through all those years of solitude – shutting people out. But it wasn’t that simple. There wasn’t just vindication. To feel happiness as Jean stood before her in pain – wasn’t that…

Wrong?

For the first time since her old life Rosaria had eased the sense that time was slipping away, but… It wasn’t enough. There was still pain – still conflict, and confusion. The instinct she’d followed to bring her here – the sense that listening to Jean was, for Rosaria, the right decision… Had her instincts led her astray? Was any of this really worth it? Was the feeling she’d been deprived of for so long… Was it really just another selfish whim? Another vice to moderate? Another habit to contain? Rosaria just wanted to shut it out. The confusion, the doubt. Why bother making exceptions in conduct when they only lead back to pain? Connection…

What was it really worth?

Jean turned half away. “Forgive me,” she said. “I’m speaking inappropriately. You needn’t concern yourself with my work. We both have somewhere else to be, I’m sure.”

Rosaria snapped out of her reverie. Jean was going to leave. But…

She couldn’t.

The job.

If Rosaria wanted to return to her usual conduct, this was her opportunity. She couldn’t let Jean leave; it was time to finish what she’d come to do.

Ask her for help. Ask her to investigate the spy’s dwelling.

Jean stood with the promise of departure in her posture – paused in the liminal state between staying and going, as if time were slowed.

Rosaria watched Jean’s expression…

Restful and still – yet alive with the subtle shimmer of anticipation. It seemed as if Jean were waiting for Rosaria to speak. Was Jean hoping Rosaria would ask her to stay? Why would Jean threaten to leave if what she really wanted was to stay? Rosaria didn’t understand, and, worse – her request… She couldn’t form the words. The help Rosaria had come to request still seemed impossible to vocalise. On one hand. Rosaria had more reason that ever to believe a request for help would please Jean, and be taken in earnest. Jean wanted to help. She needed to; that was how she felt worth something. But, there was another possibility: What if Jean thought Rosaria pitied her? As if Rosaria asked for help only to make Jean feel better? Asking for help was so far from Rosaria’s usual behaviour, it would seem suspicious at the best of times. Rosaria was overcome with doubt. The exceptional thinking she’d tried to push away… it was tenacious. Now that she was trying to operate from her typical mindset and simply finish the job, she was still distracted and swayed by new and unpleasant thoughts: the thoughts she’d protected herself from for so long.

Stop it .

Think rationally.

On the job…

Feelings don’t matter.

In fact, the more Rosaria thought about it, the more she realised it was true. When Rosaria was on a job, she didn’t have to give deference to Jean’s feelings. It was nothing personal. Just business. Jean, decorated though she may be, was no more deserving of deference than anybody else. Everybody in Mondstadt shared the same dignity – the same humanity. This notion of equality was fundamental to Rosaria’s understanding of Mondstadt – her understanding of the principles that the nation was built on. They were the values Rosaria had grown to share. Therefore, Jean – despite her talent and magnanimity – didn’t deserve special consideration. She wasn’t special. At least…

Not objectively.

But...

If that were the case…

Why couldn’t Rosaria speak?

Jean averted her gaze, and time resumed its normal pace.

Jean’s eyes…

Was it disappointment that Rosaria saw? Surely it seemed like Rosaria was going to let Jean leave, uninterrupted.

Was she?

Why was Rosaria powerless to overcome her doubts? Why was she suddenly allowing what Jean might think – or feel – to dissuade her from accomplishing her own goal?

Rosaria felt sick.

If Jean wasn’t special…

Why did it feel like she was?

Chapter Text

Jean began to walk away. “Lisa is waiting for me. Until next time, Rosaria.”

Suddenly, Rosaria was inspired by a familiar feeling. She’d felt it often: at midnight; dark; silent but for the leaves under her target’s feet. That feeling…

Strike.

Now.

Rosaria spoke assertively. “Wait.”

Jean stopped walking. She turned her head to look back, as if she’d heard a twig snap. The expression in her eyes…

Jean was calm. She didn’t expect to hear anything that might effect her emotions – anything that might hurt or please her.

Rosaria laid in wait… Ready to pounce on her unsuspecting prey. Rosaria could always rely on her animal instincts when it counted. All it took was to see Jean… Slipping away. When the final moments of opportunity were coming to a close… Rosaria was nothing more than an animal.

Finish the job.

It took no effort from Rosaria to keep her expression blank. “I need to ask for your assistance.”

Jean’s body remained half averted. Her calm expression shifted, as the colour of the grass alters when a cloud occludes the sun…

She looked uncertain, as if somebody had just contradicted her.

Rosaria didn’t allow herself to be deterred. She scanned the surroundings once more to ensure their privacy. “It’s about the job we just resolved. There’s an issue.”

Jean directed her full attention back to Rosaria. Her expression remained ambiguous.

It struck Rosaria that, all of a sudden, Jean had become inscrutable. When Jean’s feelings didn’t matter to Rosaria, it was easy to evaluate them; it was easy to see through her. But now… It wasn’t easy. Was Jean happy, or upset? Was she insulted, or pleased? Rosaria was sharp; she knew why this was: It was because she now had a reason to care about Jean’s feelings; would Rosaria get what she wanted, or not? Would Jean help her, or not? Now that Rosaria had an interest – now that she wanted something… Her perception had become compromised. It was perhaps the most irritating thing imaginable. To want something…

And to therefore suffer.

Jean didn’t speak.

But that was good. Rosaria could say what she had to say and get it over with. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you to investigate the mark’s dwellings. I suspect there may be evidence of co-conspirators.”

Jean smiled. She put her hand to her heart.

She was pleased. And that meant…

It was finally done. Rosaria had done the thing she’d been so averse to – she’d asked for help – and… Rosaria was still standing. Things were just the same as always. It hadn’t been that bad.

Jean adjusted her gloves. “Tell me where to go,” she said. “And then consider it done.”

***

Rosaria folded her arms. There didn’t appear to be anyone around, but discretion was the utmost priority. “We should find somewhere else to talk. You understand.”

Jean nodded. “I believe I have a responsibility to put Lisa’s mind at ease. Will the library do?”

Rosaria raised an eyebrow. She had no intention of including anybody else in the matter. Was that part of Jean’s intention? “I don’t want this to go further than the two of us,” said Rosaria.

“No. I–”. Jean took half a step forward. “I trust Lisa implicitly, but that’s not what I’m suggesting.”

Something came over Rosaria’s mind. It happened immediately, before Rosaria had noticed anything was out of the ordinary. As such…

Rosaria’s next words came without thinking. “Do you tell Lisa about the jobs you give me?”

The words seemed to echo through the otherwise silent air.

Rosaria blinked. She realised what she’d just said.

Why…

Jean looked confused. “Rosaria…”

Rosaria turned away and looked out over the Highland. A strange shame had caught her in its shadow. A cloud passed in front of the sun.

“Do you tell her about the jobs you give me?”

Why had Rosaria asked such a strange question? Did it matter? Did it matter whether Jean made a habit of sharing, with Lisa, details of the jobs given to Rosaria? The answer, surely… Was no.

Barbara…

Barbara had asked Rosaria not to tell anyone about Bennett’s story. Bennett, after all, had asked Barbara for that same confidence. In contrast to this – in contrast to Barbara and Bennett’s desire for privacy… Rosaria had no such desire. She never had. It was true that Rosaria prized discretion in her own conduct – she held herself to an immaculate standard; that was why, when Rosaria told Jean the relevant facts, she would finesse any reference to Barbara or Bennett. Both parties would be invisible – untraceable in the narrative. However:

Rosaria expected no discretion from others.

It only made sense; everything Rosaria did, she was happy to own. Privacy meant nothing to her – not for its own sake. Of course, the nature of her work could never be widespread knowledge – if it were, her job would be impossible – but… As long as the people who knew about what she did were themselves discrete, there was no problem. In that case… Why had Rosaria asked about Lisa? Why had Rosaria, all of a sudden, taken an interest in Jean’s discretion?

An eddying breeze suddenly cooled Rosaria’s face. She snapped out of her reverie.

She was taking too long to reply. Jean would grow suspicious. Rosaria turned around to, once again, face Jean.

A concerned expression still lit Jean’s features.

How was Rosaria going to explain herself? It was so embarrassing – to have let herself speak without first thinking.

But Rosaria didn’t have to explain anything.

Jean half turned. “It’s past noon,” she said. “Angel’s Share will already be open to the public, but Diluc will let us conduct our brief in the cellar.”

Damn it.

Rosaria had been too obvious. Jean, in keeping with her character, had already made concessions to Rosaria’s discomfort.

How humiliating…

Jean continued. “I’ll speak to Lisa and then meet you at Angel’s Share. Ten minutes. Is that enough?”

No.

Rosaria shook her head. “There’s no need.” Rosaria wouldn’t validate Jean’s concern. Rosaria was fine. There was no reason for the mere thought of Lisa to affect her, and she wouldn’t cower in the face of such irrational thoughts. She wouldn’t turn away. She was sick of feeling so out of character. She would face what challenged her head on, and prove to herself that she was the same woman as always.

Weakness…

Rosaria simply couldn’t stand it. Jean had to know:

Rosaria didn’t give a damn.

Rosaria stepped forward. “The library works for me.” She reached into her pocket and produced a cigarette. She stepped past Jean, beginning on the path to the Knights of Favonius Headquarters. After a few steps, she looked back.

Jean was standing still. Ambiguity replaced any readable emotion in her eyes.

Rosaria lifted her cigarette, holding it an inch from her lips. “If you’re always so busy” she said, “then you can’t afford to wait around.”

The windmill-sounds swooned; the fountain splashed. Bennett’s spilled Chilibrew had almost completely evaporated from the ground, leaving only a faint, rosy shadow.

Rosaria put her cigarette between her lips, and lit it with a match. She spoke through the first exhalation of sweet, pungent smoke. “So,” she said, “are you coming? Or not?”

Chapter Text

When they arrived at the Knights’ Headquarters, Rosaria didn’t enter the library with Jean. Instead, she waited in the foyer outside the door to Jean’s office. After all, that seemed the most sensible place to conduct their brief.

Having had to dispose of her cigarette before entering the building, Rosaria stood waiting with only her pocket-knife in hand – enjoying its weight and immaculate shine. Four guards were stationed in the foyer: one at each of the doors leading deeper into the east and west wings. Rosaria denied eye-contact to any of the guards, including the one standing outside Jean’s office, merely feet away from where Rosaria herself waited.

She spun her knife around her finger. The intense sensation of four wary gazes intently bearing down on her…

Intoxicating.

The guards, of course, had no reason to expect violence. She was notorious in Mondstadt for her silent, somnolent apathy – not for causing a nuisance. But, still…

Rosaria wondered if the guards ever imagined her pouncing on them – going for their throats. Might they believe she was capable of it? Or, perhaps, they believed…

She was hungry for it.

She placed her finger on the tip of her knife…

Jean emerged from the library.

Rosaria slipped her pocket-knife away – her motion swift, discrete.

All idle fantasies. Meaningless thoughts. Nothing more. Harming the innocent was antithetical to everything Rosaria believed in, and she knew she couldn’t do it – would never want to. But there was something… Undeniable.

She enjoyed the feeling of power. The power of being feared.

Jean closed the library door behind her. “Rosaria,” she said; an expectant look lit her expression. “Open the door to my office.”

The guard stationed outside the office was visibly perturbed, but he stepped aside, allowing access to the door.

Rosaria had never seen Jean’s office; she’d neither visited, nor been invited. With curiosity, she did as instructed, pushing the handle with delicate force.

***

The office was immaculately tidy, just as Rosaria had predicted. The desk was empty but for two objects: a single sheet of pristine letter-writing paper, and a fresh inkwell. The bookshelves entertained not a single out of place volume. The curtains were pulled back, fastened with perfect symmetry, allowing warm daylight to cast itself into the room and gild the sparsely adorned walls with gold. But one thing… One thing was out of place – its presence striking Rosaria as intrusive. Sitting behind the desk, with her hands either side of the pristine sheet of paper…

Lisa.

Across the room, Lisa received Rosaria’s eye contact with a polite smile. She spoke to Rosaria with good humour. “Back so soon?” Lisa shook her head playfully and put her hand under her chin. “You’re too good to me, Rosaria.”

Though she felt irritated, Rosaria forced her expression to remain blank. Besides the absent Grandmaster Varka, Jean was the most elite knight in the nation. Since Jean was such a workaholic, her office was practically her home. And, yet… Lisa had been admitted by the guard – even in Jean’s absence.

Was that normal?

Rosaria knew Jean trusted Lisa, but such liberty was regardless hard to believe. Though Jean’s office was immaculate, the many cabinets, drawers, and books – each in their immutable place – contained the most sensitive and precious documents in Mondstadt. Was Lisa so trustworthy?

Rosaria certainly didn’t enjoy the same privilege. She’d cultivated an aura of danger by choice; if she couldn’t belong, she could at least be feared, and that was good enough for Rosaria. But… In that moment, she couldn’t help but feel the tiniest pang of regret.

What would it be like…

To be truly trusted?

Lisa yawned. She closed her eyes, covered her mouth with her hand, and leaned back in her chair. As she reclined, she allowed the chair to slide, and – the space between the chair and the desk having grown sufficiently permitting – she put her feet up on the desk, beside the inkwell.

Rosaria considered herself free from all hierarchy – outside the conventional structures. She was an outsider, and she felt it, proudly. She might not be trusted, but she had something else. Something greater.

She was free. Free from even…

Belonging.

Rosaria was, by that privilege, the freest of the free: the most free person in The City of Freedom. That was the life Rosaria had chosen. And Rosaria didn't regret it for a second.

She looked back at Jean, and Jean nodded.

Rosaria stepped over the threshold.

***

A feeling.

It felt… Warm. Not physically, but – still – Rosaria couldn’t deny it: it felt good. Standing in that room…

She felt closer to Jean than ever before.

Lisa’s body resolved the tensions caused by her holistic yawn. Feet still on the desk, her posture softened. She opened her eyes – though, for a moment, her gaze remained unattached.

Standing before the desk, Rosaria remained silent; she didn’t need to speak. Lisa had given Rosaria a job, but the missing persons case would be resolved as soon as Lisa saw Jean; a debrief, words, would add nothing to that already adequate resolution. That being so, Rosaria simply moved to the side, clearing the line of sight from Lisa in the office to Jean in the foyer.

Lisa’s eyes lit with apprehension. She removed her feet from the desk and righted her posture, before standing up. “Master Jean.” Her expression softened: from good humour…

To tenderness.

Rosaria grimaced. Lisa really couldn’t hide it. Rosaria sighed, and hid her face with her hand: the same display of boredom she deferred to, day in, day out, to deny the world her emotions. Through her fingers, she watched Jean.

Jean entered the room. She turned back to exchange acknowledgements with the guard and, once the exchange was complete, brought her attention back to Lisa. Jean didn’t close the door behind her.

Rosaria removed her hand from her face and folded her arms: the posture of apathetic dissatisfaction she liked to believe was her signature. She still had nothing to say. She would simply wait for Jean to dismiss Lisa, so they could begin their brief.

Jean would dismiss Lisa…

Right?

Jean nodded at Lisa, and smiled. “I missed our tea. It seems you got tired of waiting for me. Apologies, Lisa. Something came up.”

Lisa removed her gaze from Jean and, instead, looked at Rosaria.

Rosaria, not expecting to be addressed again so soon, shivered a little, but didn’t spoil her signature pose.

Was Lisa going to acknowledge the job she’d given Rosaria? It suddenly occurred to Rosaria that she herself hadn’t mentioned anything about the missing persons job to Jean. Would it make Rosaria seem disingenuous? Like she’d hidden something?

Rosaria and Lisa’s gazes remained locked. After a moment, Jean started speaking – but Rosaria and Lisa remained staring at one another. “I’m afraid,” said Jean, “that I’ll have to make it up to you another day.”

Lisa, staring at Rosaria the whole while, sank back down into Jean’s chair. She lowered herself slowly, as if luxuriating in the wood’s gentle creaking – its sensitive give under the softly applied pressure of her sinking body. “Oh,” she said, addressing her speech to Jean but looking at Rosaria, “I’ve no doubt you’ll make it up to me twofold.” The look on her face was a perfect mixture of humour and malice – equal parts playful and sinister. She looked, still, at Rosaria as she spoke. “Your generosity, Master Jean, never fails to satisfy me.” Her gaze burned. “As you well know.”

Jean cleared her throat.

Rosaria looked away from Lisa, and towards Jean. Jean, her head bowed, brushed her hair behind her ear. “Yes, well…” She seemed… Embarrassed.

Lisa yawned, once again. Lisa’s behaviour towards Rosaria seemed inexplicable. Her inappropriate eye-contact was so intrusive – her words so dripping with intensity. Clearly: she didn’t trust Rosaria.

But, of course…

The smell of death clung to Rosaria like her shadow.

Lisa had the eyes of a cat – the yellow irises and the languorous lazy stare – but perhaps that wasn’t all. Perhaps Lisa’s senses were also feline: attuned to death and danger. Could Lisa perceive Rosaria’s morbid shadow? Was that the reason for her sadistic distrust? That seemed like the most plausible explanation. Regardless: enough was enough. She needed Jean alone. The brief was overdue.

Rosaria addressed Lisa directly. She didn’t speak in frustration, or indignation; she was simply being pragmatic: “If you don’t mind,” she said, “you should leave.”

Lisa and Jean both looked at Rosaria. And then, at the same time… Lisa and Jean both made the same silent laughing gesture.

Jean was first to speak. “Same Rosaria as always…” Rather than surprised at Rosaria’s bluntness, Jean seemed merely amused. Of course, it was presumptuous for Rosaria – who really had no right – to dismiss anybody from Jean’s office. Given Lisa’s apparent carte-blanche, to come and go as she pleased, it was doubly presumptuous. But Rosaria had no time, or inclination, to play for laughs. Lisa may be one to put aside practicalities for the sake of amusement, but Rosaria certainly wasn’t.

Rosaria spoke directly to Lisa, once again. “I meant it,” she said. “You should leave.”

Lisa didn’t look up at Rosaria; her refusal to lock gazes seemed intentional – hostile.

Jean put her hand to her heart and took a step towards Rosaria. “It’s alright,” she said. “You’re among friends, here.”

Lisa remained seated, her attention persistently unfixed. She moved her finger in vague patterns across of the sheet of letter-paper before her on the desk – motions reminiscent of writing in blood.

The witch was stubborn. Rosaria didn’t know whether to be irritated or impressed. But one thing was for sure: Rosaria didn’t feel as if among friends. Lisa’s energy – it was in stark repudiation of Jean’s assurance. Instead, the feeling Lisa emanated was something Rosaria recognised – something with which she had a deep familiarity. It was, after all, the energy Rosaria had spent her whole life embodying. That feeling. It was the feeling of…

A predator.

A predator waiting for its prey to falter.

The light admitted through the window suddenly intensified, as if the sun outside had escaped occlusion by cloud or tower. The glow backlit Lisa, gilding her outline with gold. The shadows on the walls shifted or died, in accordance with their prior position.

Lisa…

Rosaria narrowed her eyes. She approached the desk.

You presume to toy with me? In that case…

Rosaria leaned down and braced her weight against the desk with her left hand.

Lisa finally looked up.

Rosaria, with her right hand, reached out towards Lisa’s face.

Lisa didn’t flinch.

Rosaria, with her adorned fingers, brushed Lisa’s cheek.

Lisa was unperturbed. Defiant. In her eyes was a sly smile. Almost as if… She were having fun.

Rosaria let her fingers come to rest under Lisa’s chin.

If you want to play, I should warn you…

Rosaria spoke quietly, but not so quiet that Jean couldn’t hear:

“Nobody does it better than me.”

Chapter Text

Jean’s voice came softly. “Umm… Guys?”

Rosaria disengaged Lisa with shadow-like evanescence – as if it were nothing at all. She faced Jean. “If I’m among friends,” said Rosaria, “let’s get down to business.”

Jean blinked, as if processing what she’d heard. She nodded. “As you wish.” She closed the door behind her.

Rosaria kept her back turned on Lisa but, at the same time, kept her proprioception attuned to Lisa’s presence. If Lisa wanted to play, Rosaria would oblige. Her preference had been not to include anybody in the matter, but… Rosaria wouldn’t give Lisa that satisfaction. She wouldn’t back down from a challenge. Not when she knew she would win. Rosaria held back a smirk: in her self-awareness, she knew she was far too stubborn. Though…

She loved that about herself.

Jean approached and then passed Rosaria. Rosaria turned and watched Jean pass the desk. She resolved standing before the window, looking out at the city, below.

Lisa remained seated, though she turned slightly in her chair to better accommodate a view of both her interlocutors. Lisa’s expression had returned to the neutral somnolence for which she was notorious. She looked ready to take a nap, there and then.

Rosaria, Jean, and Lisa – arranged in a triangle formation – paused for a moment in silence.

Rosaria addressed Jean, but kept her attention on Lisa in her peripheral vision. “The trade district,” said Rosaria. “That’s where the mark had been dwelling. He was there for a week before I got to him.”

Lisa smiled. “It’s always the trade district,” she said “They think the hustle and bustle will provide distraction enough to obscure their presence, but they never seem to consider the price of predictability.”

Rosaria nodded. “Yes.”

Lisa’s complete lack of perturbation could’ve been a symptom of her characteristic apathy – on the other hand, it could’ve been a sign of prior knowledge: familiarity with the case. Had Jean already told Lisa about this mark, or not?

Jean turned to face Rosaria and Lisa. Her face remained half lit by the sun. “What do you need me to do?”

Lisa leaned forward in her chair and inclined herself towards Rosaria. “If I’m to infer a sequence of events, it seems you didn’t tell Master Jean about this in your debrief. That leads me to believe: it wasn’t relevant. In that case, what has changed between your meeting, this morning, and now?”

Jean put her hand on the back of the chair. “That’s not our business,” she said.

Though Jean and Lisa may have shared mannerisms, their differences were stark.

Jean looked at Rosaria. “When we spoke earlier you mentioned…” She stopped herself. The hesitation in her expression betrayed her inner conflict: ought she freely speak of the things Rosaria had told her outside that room? Or not?

Lisa looked up. “Don’t mind me,” she said, gazing dreamily at Jean. “I’m barely paying attention.”

Ignoring Lisa, Rosaria completed Jean’s thought. “I mentioned evidence of co-conspirators. Yes.”

Jean nodded. “And you suspect there may be more leads, pertaining to his cohorts, left in the mark’s wake.”

“That’s right,” said Rosaria. “I would go myself, but…”

Lisa raised an eyebrow.

It appeared Lisa had been paying attention enough to notice the trace of conflict in Rosaria’s voice. Rosaria immediately regretted having highlighted her own reticence – her unwillingness to do the job. She should’ve finessed that out of the picture. Rosaria looked directly at Lisa. It was time to apply some pressure. “What, exactly, were you doing in here, anyway?”

Lisa met Rosaria’s gaze. The abruptness of the question may or may not have surprised Lisa. It was too hard to tell. “I was waiting for Master Jean, of course.”

Rosaria shook her head. “If your goal was to encounter the Acting Grand Master, staying in the library would’ve been the best way to accomplish it.”

Lisa silently laughed. “That’s true.” Lisa’s willingness to agree was a slight surprise. Regardless, Rosaria didn’t really care what Lisa had been doing in Jean’s office. It was just a way to put Lisa on the defensive. It hadn’t strictly worked, but it had worked well enough to distract from Rosaria’s own momentary slip-up.

Jean stepped forward. “Tell me where to go,” she said, addressing Rosaria. “The best time to begin the investigation would be closing time for the tradesmen. I’ll do it, today.”

Lisa leaned back in her chair. “Forgive me for asking, Master Jean, but what would typically be on your agenda for the time slot we currently indulge?”

The question came out of nowhere. What was Lisa trying to do?

Jean turned around to face Lisa, but – before Jean could speak – Lisa stood up and circled around the desk. Lisa approached Rosaria. The two stood face to face.

Rosaria folded her arms.

Lisa frowned. “Taking up an awful lot of time, today – aren’t you, Sister Rosaria?” Her frown was sarcastic – affected for the purposes of mockery.

Rosaria kept her expression blank. Lisa was relentless. But… She’d just made a big mistake. Rosaria realised Lisa’s game: she was trying to make Rosaria look like a nuisance – trying to make her look bad for taking up Jean’s time. But Rosaria knew better. She’d just learned, at the Adventurers’ Guild, precisely the information that completely declawed Lisa’s plan: Jean would never turn down work. The more work she was offered, the better she felt. In that case, Rosaria needn’t worry about taking up Jean’s time. At all. If Lisa thought she could undermine Rosaria with that plan , she had another thing coming.

Rosaria held back her smile. “I couldn’t care less about the Acting Grand Master’s schedule.” Her words were severe, but Rosaria knew they wouldn’t bother Jean in the slightest. As such, they were perfectly tuned for the situation: severe enough to show Lisa that Rosaria wasn’t intimidated, but nevertheless completely innocuous to Jean.

Lisa’s fake frown changed to a look of fake curiosity. “Oh?” She was seemingly unconvinced that the situation could spin out of her control.

Rosaria had to admit it… Lisa’s composure was impressive.

Jean interrupted. “Pardon me,” she said, addressing Lisa with a gentle but firm gaze. “but my schedule is my own to manage.”

Of course: Lisa’s intervention was unwelcome. Lisa knew Jean better than anyone, and therefore she surely knew that no amount of work was too much. Despite that… Lisa had intervened, anyway. She’d done it just to get under Rosaria’s skin, and she’d thrown aside Jean’s feelings. In light of that… Who was really under who’s skin? Rosaria couldn’t help but feel smug. Lisa gave little away, but it was becoming obvious that her playful cruelty was her weakness, not her strength. It revealed defensiveness and, therefore, it revealed… Vulnerability.

Lisa felt threatened by Rosaria, and now Rosaria knew it.

Jean looked at Rosaria. “Your request won’t be a problem. At all.”

Lisa smirked. She didn’t look perturbed, but…

It registered on her face, regardless, that she’d lost control of the situation. In that moment, Rosaria knew she’d made her point. For now…

She’d won.

She looked Jean in the eye. “Very well,” she said. “Approach the matter as you see fit. I leave the details in your hands. Closing time for the tradesmen – whenever – I don’t care. Just get it done.”

Jean nodded. Rosaria’s tone was aggressive, and her words were impolite, but Jean didn’t seem to care, and Rosaria took pleasure in knowing that Lisa had witnessed it all.

But Lisa couldn’t stay quiet for long. “The location,” she said. Her expression was blank. She looked at neither Jean nor Rosaria as she spoke. “You didn’t mention exactly where the dwelling was. Or, for that matter, what Master Jean ought to look for. How is one supposed to conduct an investigation without proper contextual information?”

Rosaria chose to speak before Jean had a chance. “Awfully interested in the matter, aren’t you?”

Lisa’s aimless gaze found Rosaria. Her expression remained blank. “The dwelling,” she said. “I think I know where it is.”

Rosaria narrowed her eyes. “Is that right?”

Jean put her hand down on the desk. The gesture, though silent, drew the attention of both Rosaria and Lisa. Jean’s eyes were calm. “Since the details of my approach are my own to decide, I insist that the two of you put the issue out of your minds. I know what I’m doing. I know enough contextual information about both the particular Fatui spy in question and the Fatui organisation in general. Leave it to me.”

Lisa sighed.

The meeting was coming to an end. Rosaria could finally put the issue behind her. “The third coalhouse,” she said. From the corner of her eye, Rosaria noticed the briefest shimmer of recognition in Lisa’s blank expression. Was Lisa telling the truth when she’d claimed to already know the dwelling’s location?

Jean nodded. “Thank you. Is there anything else?”

Rosaria shook her head. “No. That’s all.”

Lisa’s expression fully changed. The blankness in her gaze was replaced by her usual look of playful irony. “Oh, Rosaria,” she said. “You’re forgetting something. Aren’t you?”

Rosaria, no longer surprised that Lisa would insert herself, remained silent. She simply looked at Lisa with expectant boredom.

Lisa’s eyes shone. “What are you going to do,” she asked, “about Bennett?”

Chapter Text

Rosaria frowned. How did… Lisa know?

Lisa closed her eyes and silently laughed.

Jean glanced, in turn, at both Lisa and Rosaria. “Bennett?” she asked.

Rosaria made every effort to keep her expression stoic, but felt the strength in her eyes falter.

Lisa opened her eyes and looked at Rosaria.

For several seconds, the two of them just stared at one another. It was obvious what Lisa wanted. But Rosaria wouldn’t play into Lisa’s hands. She wouldn’t ask how Lisa knew. “What are you waiting for?” Rosaria asked. “Did you forget what you were going to say?”

Lisa looked away from Rosaria and addressed Jean. “Master Jean,” she said. “Your lips.”

Jean put her hand to her lips and looked at her fingertips.

Lisa shook her head. “No. That won’t do. The residue is far too slight. However…” She inclined herself over the desk, towards Jean. “Your lips are a shade redder than usual.”

It clicked in Rosaria’s mind. Her memory was astute; she hadn’t mentioned Bennett at all. But… She didn’t have to. Lisa was more clued-in than Rosaria had given her credit for.

A trace of Chilibrew lingering on Jean’s lips…

Lisa had made the connection. She knew Jean wouldn’t drink Chilibrew with anybody else.

Jean put her hand back down to the desk. She smiled.

Lisa smiled in kind. “You both know the young wolf. Razor,” she said. “He’s coming along quite nicely in his practical studies. Developing a nasty bite.”

Rosaria in fact did know of Razor, though she had little to do with him. It was true that Razor and Bennett were best friends, but how was the wolf relevant to the matter at hand?

Lisa’s gaze lingered unfixed as she spoke. “Well, I was teaching the wolf a thing or two about his Vision, yesterday, but… He left our lesson early. Quite uncharacteristic, by all measures. He was adamant about getting back to Bennett. Something about…” She locked eyes with Rosaria. “Bad men. From the land of frost.”

Under her breath, Rosaria laughed. It seems Lisa held, in her hand, more cards than she’d let on, and… It was better for Rosaria to laugh than to allow herself to get angry.

Jean stepped forward, around the desk. “Lisa?” She sounded, perhaps, a little hurt. “You kept this to yourself?”

Lisa shrugged. “The wolf is eccentric. If I reported everything he said that seemed fantastic, I’d bore us all to death. It didn’t seem like anything important at the time, but since the events of today…” Lisa looked at Rosaria and tilted her head. “The Fatui spy you disposed of last night was targeting the Knights, not the Guild. This alleged co-conspirator, however…”

“Yes,” said Rosaria. “I have reports there may be a threat to the Guild. My source, however…” She hesitated. “Isn’t exactly reliable.” It felt bad to say such a thing about Barbara, but it was technically true. Barbara wasn’t even an eye-witness of the alleged attack Bennett had described. The report was hearsay. “It’s for this reason that we mustn’t jump to conclusions.”

Jean looked at Rosaria. “Wait a moment,” she said. “If Bennett is in danger, does that mean… The problem he kept to himself – that he wouldn’t share with me…”

Lisa’s voice came with a touch of mirth. “It seems Sister Rosaria has been holding back some of the relevant information.”

Rosaria glared at Lisa. “Relevance is as my discretion.” Rosaria turned to Jean. “Acting Grand Master. I’ve yet to confirm any actual evidence of a Fatui threat to the Guild. There is only hearsay. I don’t yet believe Bennett is in danger.”

Lisa interrupted. “Forgive my indiscretion, but you’re lying.”

Rosaria and Lisa stared at one another.

Lisa approached. “Sister Rosaria…” There was a knowing look in her eyes. She came too close for comfort. She reached out.

Rosaria didn’t flinch.

Lisa brushed a strand of hair away from Rosaria’s face. “I’m going to the Adventurers’ Guild,” she said, “and you’re coming with me.”

Rosaria pushed away Lisa’s hand. “That’s unnecessary,” she said. “If the Acting Grand Master finds any evidence of a threat, then you can consider putting a protection detail on the Guild. Until then, it’s a waste of time and effort.”

“And besides that,” interrupted Jean, “you wouldn’t be going to the Guild without me.”

Lisa put her finger to her own lips. “Master Jean,” she said. “If you were to arrive at the Guild for a second time in one day, the Fatui would know we were suspicious. Myself and Sister Rosaria, on the other hand…” She looked at Rosaria and winked. “For us, I have the perfect cover story.”

Rosaria winced. “There is no us,” she said.

Lisa was unmoved. “Razor,” she said, “If he’s worried about Bennett’s safety, he won’t go far from the boy’s side. I predict with confidence: the wolf will be at the Guild. Yesterday…” She produced from her pocket a rough brown wolf’s tooth. “Before Razor left our lesson, I removed this from his person. He won’t notice its absence. It’s one of many he wears – merely an adornment. Regardless, it provides a suitable excuse for me to visit the Guild and return it to him.”

Jean shook her head. “Lisa… I thought you said his words about the ‘bad men’ – from the land of frost – didn’t worry you?”

Lisa looked momentarily confused. “Hm?”

Rosaria, however, knew what Jean was getting at. “If you hadn’t thought anything of Razor’s words, why did you steal from him this tooth? Why did you presume any need for it?”

Lisa merely smiled. “Come, now,” she said. “Do you think that little of me?” She looked Rosaria up and down, before resuming intense eye-contact. “I always take out an insurance policy. I let no opportunity slip by.” She made a flourish with her hand and revealed, between her fingers…

A shining brooch.

Rosaria reached for her own shoulder.

Lisa laughed. She gently tossed the brooch to Rosaria.

Rosaria caught it; she closed her eyes and brought the brooch to her nose. It was hers, for sure, but… The smell. The brooch had been away from Rosaria for several hours. Lisa must’ve taken it earlier that morning, when they had spoken in the library. Rosaria placed the brooch down onto Jean’s desk.

Jean’s expression revealed her dissatisfaction before she even spoke. “Lisa.” She glared at the librarian. “You’re making us both look bad. Enough.”

Lisa shrugged her shoulders. “As you wish.”

Rosaria clenched her fists. The brooch. Lisa’s lingering smell…

The humiliation.

A suffocating feeling began to invade Rosaria’s throat and lungs. That feeling – burning and intolerable… It was blinding:

Fury.

She saw nothing. She heard nothing. For a moment… There was all-consuming indignation. It was all she could sense. All she could feel. And then…

Ice.

Bitter, bone-crystalising ice – freezing her blood and numbing the blaze of her anger. In her newfound state of frigid anaesthesia…

Rosaria was newly awake. She was alive.

Power. Fear. Frost…

Clarity.

Rosaria felt the vibrant sensation of her enlivened body, and gave over control – she let her instincts take over. And her instincts…

Launched her across the room. Straight at Lisa’s throat.

The clarity of crystalline ice: it was a beautiful thing. The opposite of rage – the antidote to emotion. But then…

The sting of steel. The lick of a breeze. Frigid cold numbed the pain, but Rosaria still felt it: something had gotten in her way.

Wind… Enveloping her. Rosaria saw her own blood floating in the air – suspended as if in a vacuum. It turned to crimson crystals and evaporated like so much snow.

Rosaria took back control of her body. She relaxed the tension in her muscles, and allowed her ice to dissolve into the cleansing wind.

Jean removed her sword from Rosaria’s stomach. The wind died down to a whisper, and…

Rosaria felt herself begin to fall.

Jean braced Rosaria, preventing her from collapsing.

Rosaria didn’t resist Jean’s embrace. Their gazes locked. A splash of Rosaria’s blood marked Jean’s face. It crossed her lips – deeper red than the residue of any Chilibrew. Without breaking eye contact, Rosaria reached down, and felt for her wound.

Jean’s expression remained completely calm. “The cut I gave you is skin deep,” she said. “It will only bleed for one minute more.”

The whispering breeze ceased completely. The wound… Even though Rosaria was no longer numb… She felt no pain.

The cut was nothing.

Rosaria snapped out of it. She needed no support – no borrowed strength, and so… She slipped from Jean’s arms like a shadow. Regaining independent stature, Rosaria didn’t even look at Lisa – didn’t care to burden herself with the witch’s image for even a second longer. Rosaria turned her back.

The office door was wide open. The guard stood – sword drawn, in fighting stance – staring at Rosaria. Jean’s voice came, unseen: “Wyratt. Stand down.”

The guard paused for a moment, but sheathed his sword, without argument.

Rosaria headed for the door.

Lisa’s voice came dripping with irony. “Oh, my! I fear I’ve offended you…”

Jean’s voice, by comparison, was earnest. “Rosaria. Your brooch.”

Rosaria didn’t pause as she passed the guard – nor did she look back. “Keep it,” she said. She hadn’t retrieved the brooch from Jean’s desk before she’d left. “It has the witch’s stink all over it.”

***

Rosaria watched the Knights of Favonius Headquarters from her perch atop the nearby windmill. She’d been waiting for some time, but nobody had left or entered. With her hand, she gently touched the wound on her stomach. Jean was correct; not a drop of blood. The artfulness of Jean’s cut … It was…

Beautiful.

Jean’s reputation as a swordsman preceded her; it was no surprise she could so delicately restrain her strikes whilst, nevertheless, meeting and suppressing her opponent’s force. However… Rosaria had to wonder: if anyone else had pounced at Lisa like that…

Would Jean have showed the same restraint?

Jean had allowed Rosaria to leave. Why? Wasn’t she worried that Rosaria was a loose cannon? A liability?

Rosaria grimaced. To lose control…

It was deplorable.

The sight of Rosaria’s own blood across Jean’s face… Something about that image wouldn’t leave her. What… What was that feeling?

Rosaria ran her finger along the length of the laceration on her stomach…

A movement, below.

Rosaria composed herself. She shook her thoughts from her mind.

It was Lisa. She’d emerged from the Knight’s Headquarters – but from a side door, not the front entrance. She was being extra careful. Whatever she was up to, she didn’t want to be seen.

Rosaria had meant what she’d said: putting a protection detail on the Guild was a waste of time and effort – at least until concrete evidence of a threat had been ascertained. Regardless, if Lisa was going to the Guild… Rosaria didn’t trust Lisa’s motivations. The notoriously lazy librarian who barely lifted a finger, even to stamp a book… Why would she take such a sudden interest in Bennett?

Jean and Lisa may have been close, but Lisa’s attitude to work was more aligned with Rosaria’s than with Jean’s:

No overtime.

In that case… Lisa’s behaviour didn’t make sense – it was suspicious – and some aspect of her true motivation was hidden.

Rosaria’s grip tightened around the earring she’d stolen when, at the start of their brief, she’d stroked Lisa’s face.

Insurance.

Lisa was no mere academic. Everybody knew that. Chief Librarian of the Knights of Favonius in name, she was far more than a librarian in practice. She was a Vision bearer, after all – and, even though Lisa used her Vision sparingly, it wasn’t for lack of competence; she commanded her Vision with the highest calibre of skill and familiarity. Not only that…

She wielded her Vision with her trademark penchant for sadism. Stories of Lisa torturing an Abyss Mage, for example, had been circulating at the cathedral only the week before. Lisa didn’t take on much work for the Knights, but, when she did, she appeared to enjoy it. Perhaps…

A little too much. In that case…

Lisa…

Rosaria watched as the witch headed in the direction of the Adventurers’ Guild.

What are you up to?

Chapter Text

“Oh, my,” said Lisa. Her voice was completely relaxed. “How did you get in here?”

Rosaria stepped forward into the room. “Don’t play dumb,” she said, almost impressed by Lisa’s impertinence. “It’s about time to cut the crap.”

Lisa laughed. “Good!” she said. “I’m glad to see you’ve calmed down.”

It was the east common room of the Adventurers’ Guild. Lisa was stood at the head of the dining table, presiding over two sleeping boys, dozing away before their already finished plates: the twerp and the wolf – Bennett and Razor.

Rosaria didn’t intend to make nice. She stood aside – thereby unblocking the entrance, allowing Barbara access to the room.

Barbara, apparently unprepared to see Lisa, suddenly blushed. “Oh!” she said. “Miss Librarian!” Her eyes wandered, and her face lit up. “Bennett!”

Lisa raised an eyebrow. “Aha!” she said, glancing at Rosaria. “So that’s how you got past Cyrus.”

Lisa was right. Running into Barbara outside was a mere coincidence, but it’d been a lucky one. Having Barbara in tow was like having the key to the city; the Shining Idol of Mondstadt was impossible to say no to. Everybody was apparently a fan, and everybody trusted her implicitly – even Cyrus, the notoriously arbitrary bouncer of the Adventurers’ Guild.

Barbara’s voice came with relief. “Bennett. He’s… Safe.”

When Rosaria had bumped into Barbara outside the Guild, Barbara had tried to be coy about her desire to see Bennett, but… She’d given up the act almost immediately. She was worried about him, and couldn’t stop herself from checking in.

Barbara and Rosaria shared a glance. After a brief moment, Barbara averted her gaze, as if embarrassed. Rosaria was only at the Guild to pursue Lisa, and she’d told Barbara as much, but Barbara must’ve been worried; she’d promised Bennett that she wouldn’t tell anyone about his story, however… She’d told Rosaria. Barbara surely didn’t want to be found out.

But Rosaria had not intention to break her promise to Barbara. Rosaria would keep Barbara’s secret. “Remember what we talked about, outside,” she said to Barbara. “I’ve got your back.”

Barbara looked up. Her eyelashes quivered, and then she nodded, inner resolve relaxing her expression.

Rosaria stepped deeper into the room. She paused halfway, and reached into her pocket. She’d left the shining brooch in Jean’s office, but… When Rosaria had approached the Guild, she’d found the brooch waiting for her, placed neatly on the roof of the adjacent building. She produced the brooch from her pocket. “Your attention, please,” she said.

Lisa looked up, and Rosaria tossed the silver brooch. Lisa caught it with grace.

Rosaria folded her arms. As soon as she’d found the brooch, she’d figured out Lisa’s game. “This was your plan, all along,” she said, her voice betraying bitter irritation. “In the Acting Grand Master’s office, you said we were both coming to the Adventurers’ Guild. You knew I’d refuse, but you also knew I’d be suspicious of your motives. You knew I’d follow you.”

Lisa winked. “Yes, of course. I knew you’d figure it out. I was quite looking forward to seeing how you’d achieve entry.”

Barbara’s voice interrupted with a nervous shimmer. “Miss Librarian! I definitely wasn’t waiting outside the Guild for any weird or creepy reasons! I was just passing by!”

Rosaria and Lisa’s gazes met. They both ignored Barbara’s outburst.

Lisa smiled. “I do apologise on behalf of the boys. It’s terribly rude of them to fall asleep at the table, but I can’t blame them. My speciality Flaming Red Bolognese is irresistibly comforting – devilishly satisfying.” Humour brightened her expression. “But I wonder… Now they’ve been thoroughly stuffed, might they be in the mood for a little chat?”

Rosaria folded her arms. Bullseye. That was Lisa’s plan. “You’re plying them,” she said. “Filling their stomachs to make them amenable to the questions you intend to ask.”

Lisa’ s eyes lit up . “It appears you know more about males than I gave you credit for.”

Rosaria was still unsatisfied. “Your reputation is for laziness…” She hesitated. She had to be careful what she said; she didn’t want to reveal to Barbara that Lisa knew about Bennett’s Fatui story. “Don’t you have books to stamp?”

Lisa put her hand on Bennett’s shoulder. Still asleep, he didn’t react. Lisa looked upon him with softness in her eyes. “I didn’t… I didn’t come here for him,” she said. She looked up and met Rosaria’s gaze. “It’s about her .”

Rosaria frowned. What did Lisa mean? Was she talking about Jean? “The Acting Grand Master?” asked Rosaria.

Lisa shook her head. “Kind of,” she said. “But more so, her other half.”

Rosaria looked around to where Barbara had been standing, but… She wasn’t there.

Lisa laughed. She removed her hand from Bennett’s shoulder and indicated, with her gaze, the direction of the stove, in the room’s corner.

Barbara, as if feeling the weight of watchful eyes, froze in place – holding a ladle over the bolognese pot. She slowly turned her head. Realising she’d drawn attention, she immediately dropped the ladle. “Oh! I’m sorry!” She hung her head and put her hands to her cheeks. “But… It’s okay, right? It would be a shame for the rest to go to waste…”

Lisa didn’t respond. She simply looked back at Rosaria. She spoke quietly – not that Barbara would’ve heard, anyway: as soon as Lisa had looked away, an innocent expression had returned to Barbara’s face, and she’d resumed applying herself to the ladle. “I could explain,” said Lisa, “but…”. She placed her finger on the tip of Bennett’s nose, and then looked back at Rosaria. “You’re sharp. You’ll figure it out once we begin. For now, just follow my lead, okay?”

Rosaria didn’t fully understand, but she decided to acquiesce. She nodded.

Lisa smiled. She removed her finger from Bennett’s nose, releasing into the air, as she disengaged, the tiniest purple spark.

“Agh!” Bennett started awake, lurching forward in his chair. He blinked profusely for a second, touched his nose, then licked his lips. “Whoa…” He trailed off into silence, and then…

He leapt to his feet, yelling at the top of his lungs: “that was the spiciest bolognese EVER!”

Unimpressed by Bennett’s theatrics, Rosaria scoffed. “Oblivious to your surroundings, as always,” she said. “Zero respect. Zero discretion. Maximally obnoxious.”

Bennett looked up. For a moment, his gaze remained blank, but then…

He jumped in his skin. “Agh! Ro– Rosaria!” He stepped back, and his foot must’ve collided with his chair; he fell into the seat from which he’d stood. “Wh– What are you doing here!?”

Lisa stepped away from Bennett, and reclaimed her position at the head of the table. “Relax, sunshine,” she said. “No need for such a commotion.”

Bennett enthusiastically leaned forward, bracing himself against the table. “Am I… Am I…” His eyes shone with wonder. “Am I… DEAD!? Has Sister Rosaria come to take me to Celestia!?”

Rosaria could barely contain her antipathy. “I’m a nun,” she said, bringing her hand to her face in sheer irritation, “not an angel.”

Lisa’s face lit up. “Nor a demon, for that matter.”

Rosaria ignored Lisa, and glared at Bennett. “You really are mercilessly annoying, aren’t you?”

“Hey!”

Rosaria looked across the table.

Barbara had installed herself in the chair opposite the still sleeping Razor – knife and fork held delicately in her hands. Her spaghetti was pristinely plated before her, and she’d tucked a napkin neatly into her collar. “Don’t say that about Bennett!” she implored. “He’s not annoying!”

Bennett glanced over in Barbara’s direction. Another moment passed in which Bennett’s expression remained blank, and then…

“Agh! Barbara! When did you get here!?”

Lisa addressed Rosaria “Perhaps,” she said, “you could do the honours, and rouse the wolf?”

Razor must’ve been a heavy sleeper. He happily dozed on, despite Bennett’s multiple exclamations.

Bennett’s face flashed with enthusiasm. “Oh! I got this!” He turned to Razor. “There’s only one way to wake him. Trust me.”

Gently, softly, Bennett applied his hand to the nape of Razor’s neck.

Razor’s nose twitched, and a serene smile came over Bennett’s features as Razor’s eyes blinked into activity. The wolf boy looked at nothing for a second, before turning his head to Bennett. “Still together,” he said, staring into Bennett’s eyes. “Good.”

There was a moment of silence in the room. Rosaria didn’t know Lisa’s plan; what was the witch going for, here? But Lisa didn’t speak. Instead, she looked at Rosaria and motioned, with a nod of her head, towards Barbara.

Rosaria turned. Barbara’s fists, almost imperceptibly shaking, were clenched around her knife and fork; a stifled consternation darkened her features as she gazed upon the two boys.

Bennett removed his hand from the nape of Razor’s neck, and turned to Lisa. “Miss Lisa,” he said. “I– Uh…” He closed his eyes and bowed his head. “THANK YOU! Thank you for the food!”

Razor nodded. “Food spicy. Bennett safe.” He put his hand on Bennett’s shoulder. “Razor… happy.”

A slamming sound came from the other side of the table. Rosaria turned to see Barbara leaning forward over her plate. “Yes!” she said, a little too loudly, “It’s just fantastic! The spice is so vibrant – just like my Chilibrew!” Her face reddened as she stared at Bennett, eyeing him intensely. Razor’s hand was still on Bennett’s shoulder. “Don’t you think, Benny?”

Bennett, in response, looked back at her with blank blinking eyes. “Uh… Yeah. I– I guess.”

Another awkward silence graced the room. Lisa looked at Rosaria with a knowing smile. Obviously, she expected Rosaria to begin catching on.

Indeed, things were becoming clearer. Barbara’s fondness for Bennett had always been obnoxious to Rosaria, but, now, the irritation factor had gone into overdrive. The cause? It seemed to be…

Razor.

When Barbara watched Bennett and Razor together… Barbara couldn’t keep her cool. But… What did that have to do with Lisa’s plan?

Lisa addressed the table. “Thank you, everyone. It’s a pleasure to see you enjoy the food.” Her attention lingered over Razor. “I’m glad to see you well, wolf pup.” Her eyes shimmered. “You worried me the other day – you left our lesson early. Remember?”

Razor tightened his grip on Bennett’s shoulder, and closed his eyes.

That’s right. Razor had left his lesson with Lisa because of Bennett – because Razor wanted to make sure Bennett was safe. That was how Lisa figured out that Bennett was spreading tales of the Fatui in the first place: Bennett told Razor, and Razor, though inadvertently, told Lisa.

Rosaria looked at Barbara. She was twisting spaghetti around her fork but glaring intently at Razor. Twisting, twisting… She twisted the fork continuously, inattentively, with no apparent intention to stop.

Razor, by contrast, appeared not to notice Barbara was even there. His eyes remained closed, until he opened them to address Lisa. “Yes. I sorry. But Bennett is Lupical. Razor protect Bennett.” His eyes were resolute. “Bennett more important than lesson with Lisa.”

Barbara dropped her fork.

Though it was the tiniest sound, it somehow drew everybody’s attention. They all looked at her, and she jumped out of her chair. “Bennett!” she exclaimed, locking her gaze onto him. “You– You told Razor!?” Her expression was alarm, pain. “You told him …” She trailed off, her eyes quivering. “…You told him the same thing you told me?”

Bennett jumped to his feet, matching Barbara’s fervour. “Wait! I mean– I didn’t–”

They stood frozen – but shivering, nevertheless, with tension.

The situation began to dawn on Rosaria. Of course. Barbara wasn’t supposed to tell anybody Bennett’s story. It was a secret, told to her in confidence. Told to her… and only her. At least… That was what Barbara had thought. Now, with all of them together, Razor had let slip the critical information:

Razor, too, knew the story. Barbara wasn’t the only one Bennett had told.

Rosaria looked at Lisa. The expression on Lisa’s face as she watched the proceedings was an irritating mixture of happiness and sadness – an expression all too unfortunately familiar. Rosaria thought of Jean, earlier that day…

But Lisa didn’t let the silence linger on for too long. She met Rosaria’s gaze. “Go on,” she said. She nodded towards Barbara, but kept eye-contact with Rosaria. “It’s your turn.”

Rosaria frowned. She hesitated for a moment, trying to process what she’d heard. My turn? She had no idea what Lisa was talking about.

Lisa smiled. “Come, now, Rosaria.” Her eyes shimmered. “Don’t let me down.”

Rosaria took a step back. Was Lisa serious? This was an affront. Lisa’s approval meant nothing to Rosaria, and she had no intention of acting simply to meet Lisa’s expectations. “Watch it,” said Rosaria, her voice bitter, venomous. “Who do you think you are?” If this was some kind of test, Rosaria didn’t care to pass it. She had no idea what Lisa expected her to do. How could she?

“Rosaria,” said Lisa. Her expression remained calm, serene. “It’s not complicated.” She nodded, again, towards Barbara. “Look at her. You’ll know what to do.”

And that was when it happened. From behind Rosaria, there came a soft sound. At first, Rosaria didn’t know what it was, but… before long, it became clear. Behind her…

Rosaria heard the sound of sobbing.

She turned around.

Barbara’s voice came shakily through her tears. She looked down as she spoke. “I thought… I thought it was a secret…”

Bennett braced his weight against the table. His expression was pained. “Barbara… I didn’t…”

Razor put his arm around Bennett. “Lupical…?”

Barbara took a step back. She shook her head and closed her eyes, as if no longer able to bear the sight of the boys before her. And then… Rosaria noticed it:

Barbara’s Vision was glowing.

The light’s rhythm was haphazard – the beat of an unsteady heart. Water droplets began to reveal themselves in the air – iridescent and pristine. Barbara bowed her head. Her body shook and shivered like raindrop ripples on Cider Lake. She put her head in her hands – to hide her tears. And…

The iridescent droplets around her shone into a rainbow of light – a rainbow of sunshine that twinkled and sparkled like a morning glow after midnight rain.

Barbara’s Vision…

Rosaria remembered that morning. Hands soaked in blood. Blood everywhere. Ice melting into flesh. Losing control. Barbara’s hands fearlessly red.

Healing.

Look at her.

Lisa’s words repeated themselves.

You’ll know what to do.

Rosaria…

Rosaria was no healer. Her Cryo Vision granted her no such abilities – nothing to soothe or to mend. Compared to Barbara’s flowing water, Rosaria’s ice was sharp. It was violent. Bitter and cruel. And that…

That was all.

But…

Rosaria came over with a feeling she hardly recognised.

What if…

She suddenly felt something. She felt it in her body. Looking at Barbara sobbing under the rainbow manifestation of her uncontrolled emotion… Rosaria felt an impulse. Something that felt right.

I’m no healer.

But…

In that moment, Rosaria knew what she was going to do. Though she could hardly believe it… It just felt right. And so…

She did it.

Rosaria…

Reached out.

Chapter Text

Rosaria put her hand on Barbara’s shoulder, but Barbara didn’t react; she continued to sob; her sobbing rippled through her whole body, and Rosaria felt it rippling through her own. It felt… Strange. Was it good, or bad? That feeling… Rosaria felt…

Bitterness. Fear. Disappointment. Anger. But something… Something else. Something she couldn’t name.

Rosaria was struck by a memory. Something came from the darkness of her past – from the place in her mind previously blind. Rosaria reached out with her other hand. She took Barbara by both shoulders.

Barbara seemed to stop breathing.

Rosaria kept her touch moderate – not too firm, nor too gentle.

Quiet. A memory. His voice.

Varka.

We’ve killed them.

The charred remains of the bandit camp – when she’d dug her nails into the dirt beneath her, preparing to pounce… and Varka had sheathed his sword…

“Rosaria…”

Suddenly, Rosaria was staring into Barbara’s eyes.

Barbara wiped her tears. “I…”

Rosaria didn’t know what to say. That memory… Varka… Why now? Rosaria felt, under her hands, the weakness of Barbara’s body. And…

Rosaria could hardly stand it. It was too much.

They’re all dead. It’s over.

The feeling of Varka’s blood under her fingernails – the taste of his blood on her teeth… She’d never forgotten, but now… She was reliving it – more vividly than ever before.

Standing there, holding Barbara’s shoulders… Rosaria hated every second of it. She hated the way it felt. She hated Barbara’s weakness. She hated the fragility of Barbara’s shaking body. Her shoulders were so warm, so delicate. Her smallness shimmered under Rosaria’s touch, like a lake’s surface under a fallen leaf… For a moment…

Rosaria felt a sickening urge. She could taste it. She could feel herself digging her fingernails into Barbara’s shoulders. Clawing into her pitiful, shaking little body. The urge to slash, to tear. The urge…

To forget.

Blood.

“Rosaria…”

Rosaria blinked. She was imagining things. Her hands on Barbara’s shoulders remained careful. Not too gentle, nor too firm. The room was quiet.

Barbara’s gaze shone with serenity. A shimmer of something happy crossed her expression; she spoke with kindness in her voice. “Rosaria. Are you okay?”

Rosaria could hardly breathe. She saw blood. Tasted blood. The life in Barbara’s body… Rosaria felt it. And as much as she felt angry – as much as she felt bitter, and hateful – Rosaria finally identified the other thing she felt: the feeling she couldn’t previously name. She felt…

Hunger. Not physically, but… still…

She saw, once again, her own blood on Jean’s face – her own blood on Barbara’s hands.

Barbara’s voice, when it came, was happy; the words she spoke came softly, like a memory. Or a dream. Or maybe… It wasn’t Barbara’s voice, at all.

“Kill me.”

***

“Rosaria. Are you okay?”

Rosaria blinked. She was still looking into Barbara’s eyes – still gently holding her.

The room was silent.

Rosaria softly removed her hands from Barbara’s shoulders, looked away, and then took a deep breath. She felt lucid; her mind was relaxed, clear. What had just happened? She’d been hallucinating?

Barbara’s words. Are you okay?

Rosaria stifled a laugh. She looked up at Barbara. “That’s funny,” she said. “That’s what I was going to ask you.”

Barbara shyly smiled. “Of course,” she said. “I’m fine.” Her body was no longer shaking. She held her hands before her chest, her signature posture of humility and introversion.

Rosaria folded her arms. “Good,” she said. “There’s really no need to cry.” She resisted sighing. “You’re really quite lucky. You know that? You have nothing to cry about.”

Barbara broke eye-contact and laughed. “You’re right.” After a moment, she looked back at Rosaria. “Thank you. I feel better, now.”

A calm silence fell over the room.

Barbara turned to Bennett and Razor. “Bennett…” she said.

The boy looked at her with earnest attention.

But Rosaria didn’t notice whatever happened next. She got lost in her own thoughts.

“I feel better, now.”

Rosaria didn’t understand what had happened. She’d reached out, and she’d made things better for Barbara. Somehow. Some way she didn’t comprehend. But… The memories. The hallucinations.

Why?

Rosaria felt suddenly cold. She turned around, and looked at Lisa.

Lisa met Rosaria’s gaze with a kind look on her face; she touched her hand to her own chin. “A soothing embrace,” she said. “How sweet. It’s enough to melt one’s frigid heart.”

Rosaria narrowed her eyes. A feeling. Something… Something was looming. “Shut it,” she said to Lisa. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

Lisa simply laughed.

That dark looming feeling… A shadow was capturing Rosaria’s mind; a tension was rising in her throat. And then…

Kill me.

Pain shot through Rosaria’s head. She looked away. She averted her eyes from Lisa – averted her attention from everything.

“Sister Rosaria?” asked Lisa.

“It’s nothing,” said Rosaria. “A headache."

Blood…

Ice…

“Rosaria.”

Rosaria spoke aloud with a wretched voice. “What?” She put her head in her hands. But Lisa didn’t respond. And, then… Anger. “Well? What? What’s wrong with you?”

Out of the cold came something else. The opposite. Heat. It was the cut on Rosaria’s stomach – the merciful wound artfully left by Jean’s blade. The cut… It was burning. Rosaria reached down and felt… Felt…

She looked at her hand.

No.

She fell to her knees – into a pool of her own blood.

How?

Rosaria tensed her body – sinking into the cold. The taste of blood on her teeth… She dug her nails into the ground. Warm blood soothed her frozen body.

We’ve killed them.

They’re all dead. It’s over.

The pool of Rosaria’s own blood…

It consumed her.

***

Rosaria opened her eyes. Multicoloured light. She’d been asleep. She sat up.

The cathedral. The sun shining through the stained-glass windows was blue and orange. Barbara – sat beside Rosaria in the pews – smiled, happy to see Rosaria wake up.

Rosaria watched Barbara for a moment. An awkward look flashed through Barbara’s expression as Rosaria’s stare grew uncomfortably long. But… Rosaria had a feeling.

Something was wrong.

Rosaria looked away from Barbara. “How long was I out?”

“Oh. Um… Only an hour.”

Rosaria smiled. Her feeling was right.

The light.

They were sat in the sunny-side of the cathedral. But… It was only sunny before noon. After twelve, the sun passed above the cathedral and the sunny-side turned dim – at least, until the next morning. If she’d only been out for an hour… it would be around three in the afternoon. There should be no orange and blue light flooding through the windows. It meant…

Rosaria reached out. She grabbed Barbara by the arm.

“Wh–” Barbara was alarmed. “What are you doing?”

Rosaria glared into Barbara’s frightened eyes. Rosaria could do anything. It didn’t matter. There were no consequences – in a dream. “You,” she said.

Barbara tried to fight Rosaria’s grip. She grasped at Rosaria’s hand. “Sister Rosaria! That hurts!”

Rosaria’s grip tightened. She lunged forward and grabbed Barbara’s other arm. She loomed over Barbara in the sunlit pews, casting her shadow over Barbara’s cowering body.

Barbara began to cry. It looked like she tried to speak, but nothing came out.

That hunger. What was it? Why did Rosaria crave so desperately something she couldn’t discern? What was it about Barbara? What did she want from Barbara?

The words Rosaria said next came from her mouth before she had time to think about them. “Your sister,” she said. “She’d dead. It’s all over.”

“Please. Don’t…” Barbara’s words came as mere whispers. She didn’t look at Rosaria. She averted her gaze. “Don’t kill me…”

Rosaria slammed Barbara into the pew, and Barbara whimpered like a little girl. Rosaria didn’t let up. “Am I a monster, to you? Is that all?”

Barbara didn’t look up. She closed her eyes, as if looking away would make Rosaria disappear.

“That won’t work,” said Rosaria. “Trust me.”

The hunger…

The light in the air. The stillness of the cathedral. Rosaria was completely calm. Everything felt empty, unreal. Hollow.

Like it always did, in a dream.

***

Rosaria regained consciousness. She found herself back in the Adventurers’ Guild common room, sitting at the table. It was quiet. Before her, there rested a fully loaded plate of piping hot spaghetti, and, beside it…

A languorously dark, voluptuously full glass of deep purple wine.

“Rise and shine.”

Rosaria looked up.

Lisa, sitting adjacent at the head of the table, was smiling. “Don’t worry,” she said. “The boys and Barbara are safe.”

Rosaria sat up in her chair, correcting the somnolence from her posture. That nightmare… The sound of Barbara cracking into the pew…

Rosaria looked at Lisa. “The children,” said Rosaria. “Did I hurt them? Did I hurt Barbara?”

Lisa shook her head. “No.”

Rosaria closed her eyes.

It was just a dream.

A dream…

But what she’d done… Hurting Barbara… Rosaria didn’t know why. And, before that – losing consciousness… Screamingly cold, digging her nails into the ground – into flesh… Consumed by a pool of her own blood.

Rosaria opened her eyes. She reached down, touched the cut on her stomach, and then looked at her hand. “Nothing…” She whispered the word under her breath. Looking up, she saw subtle confusion on Lisa’s face. “Blood,” said Rosaria. “Was there… Blood?”

Lisa narrowed her eyes. “Rosaria…” Her gaze faltered, as if betraying concern. “No.”

Rosaria looked away. She could hardly bear the sensitivity in Lisa’s face – in her voice.

The deep purple wine once again caught Rosaria’s eye.

Irresistible.

Rosaria took the glass, and held it under her nose. The aroma enveloped her. She felt like…

She was losing her mind. Coming undone. The terrors were worse than ever, and it seemed like retribution had finally caught up with her. Was she finally paying the price for her second chance at life? She swirled the wine in its glass. That smell. It was…

Pure. Rosaria put the glass to her lips and took a ravenous gulp – feeling the acrid, luscious pleasure of relief. Her hands began to stabilise – her shaking quelled. That taste… It was…

Real. It wasn’t a dream – wasn’t a nightmare. The wine…

It was sinfully good. No dream could match it. She put down the glass, wiped her lips with the back of her hand, and took a deep breath – the wine’s aroma flowing into her lungs, her heart.

Barbara…

It was only a dream.

Rosaria looked at Lisa. The witch was asking suspiciously few questions. Wasn’t she curious about why Rosaria had fainted? “Well?” asked Rosaria. “Aren’t you going to ask?”

Lisa’s voice came with a droll lilt. “Okay.” She smiled. “Have you ever tried my Flaming Red Bolognese? I promise you: you’ll love it.”

Rosaria narrowed her eyes. That wasn’t the question she’d expected, but… When was the last time she’d eaten? She looked at the still hot plate of spaghetti before her. Wine alone wasn’t enough to keep her going, and, now that she thought about it…

She was famished. “Just so you know,” said Rosaria, her voice intense, “this kind of thing might work on young boys, but I can’t be plied with food.”

“Rosaria…” Lisa’s eyes sparkled. “If I thought you could, I wouldn’t find you nearly so interesting.”

Rosaria picked up the fork waiting beside her plate.

Lisa winked. “Good.”

The spaghetti…

After the first bite, Rosaria finally understood Bennett’s reaction.

The food was damn good.

Lisa’s approach to eating was more performance than practicality. “So…” She applied her fork to the plate like a quill to a page. “Did you figure it out?” she asked. “Why I wanted you to come here?”

Chapter Text

Rosaria, satiated by the food, exhaled. Deeply.

Lisa waited patiently.

Clearly, Lisa had intended all along to provoke the conflict between Barbara and Bennett. That, amongst other things, meant Lisa had only feigned surprise when Barbara arrived with Rosaria. She knew all along that Barbara would come. But… That wasn’t the important thing. Lisa’s lies and half-truths were, at that point, barely a novelty.

Rosaria put down her fork. “You told me earlier: you didn’t come here to protect Bennett. Of course, I suspected as much all along, so that was no surprise. Instead, you claimed your interest was in Barbara. But…” It was time – time for Rosaria and Lisa to put their cards on the table. “I think that was a lie. The truth…” She stared at Lisa intently. “You were interested in me . You wanted to observe me . You set up the situation with Bennett and Barbara, and wanted to see my reaction.”

Lisa didn’t smile, but she seemed pleased. Something ineffable in her expression revealed favour.

Rosaria resumed eating.

After a little while, Lisa finally spoke. “You’re partially right. I wanted to observe you – that’s correct. But you claim that I lied. That’s false. When I said I was here for Barbara, I meant it. You see… I may have taken an interest in you, but…” A pause. “I have a pre-existing interest in the cutie. She is, after all…”

“The Acting Grand Master’s sister.”

Lisa’s eyes shone. “You always call her that,” she said. “Acting Grand Master. You never say her name.”

Lisa was right. But… she was also a hypocrite. “Neither do you,” said Rosaria.

Lisa laughed. “Master Jean. Yes. Adding the ‘Master’ turns her name into something different. It’s subtle, but I’ll grant you that point.”

Rosaria needed answers. “Well?” she asked. “All this. Did you get what you wanted?”

Lisa shook her head. “I won’t lie to you, Rosaria: I brought you here selfishly – as you correctly identified: to satisfy my own curiosity. But…” She took a moment to think, averting her gaze. “I didn’t expect things to turn out like this.”

The two of them sat in silence for a moment.

Lisa looked back at Rosaria. “It’s still not too late,” she said.

Rosaria narrowed her eyes.

Lisa simply smiled. “It’s still not too late for you to go with her; she won’t have set out, yet. Go to the trade district. The third coalhouse.”

A sharp pain flashed in Rosaria’s head. She closed her eyes, and averted her face.

The coalhouse… The mere mention of it…

It sent Rosaria into darkness.

My daughter… I’m her only family…

Rosaria gritted her teeth.

She’d tried so hard to avoid the coalhouse – even to avoid thinking about it. Earlier on that day, Rosaria’s main concern was to avoid any trace of the spy’s orphaned child. She still felt that aversion – still felt every part of her mind pushing away the tragic reality she’d played a part in creating. But…

No. Those thoughts had to stop.

She snapped her eyes open and took a deep draught from the glass of wine. It was time for the darkness to leave her alone. She could suppress it. She just had to do what she always did: she had to know herself.

She had to know her limits.

Rosaria produced, from her pocket, a cigarette. As far as Lisa knew, avoiding work was Rosaria’s default speed, and avoiding the coalhouse was a simple matter of scrupulous dedication to principle. Lisa didn’t have to know a thing about Rosaria’s true feelings. About…

The guilt.

Rosaria lit the cigarette, and took a long drag. “No overtime,” she said. “This visit to the Guild has been purely recreational. As is everything else I do under sunlight.” She inspected the burning tip of her cigarette, watching the orange glow. “What you suggest is work. As such…” She looked at Lisa. “Not happening.”

Lisa’s eyes… She clearly wasn’t buying it. “But you will go.” There was something in her gaze – something peaceful, resigned. “In the end, you’ll be drawn to it… A moth to a flame.”

Rosaria glared at Lisa. She felt irritation growing in her veins. “Jean’s no longer here to protect you,” said Rosaria. “You’re really stupid – for someone so smart.”

Lisa narrowed her eyes. “Jean?” She asked, playful. “Her name. You actually said it.”

Rosaria blew smoke into the air.

Lisa nodded. “Fair enough. Don’t go. I only thought I’d make the suggestion.”

A moment passed. Lisa looked as if deep in thought. She didn’t look up before she spoke. “I don’t expect you to trust me, but…” A pause. She looked up. “I would like to ask you a personal question.”

Rosaria kept her gaze stoic. She didn’t trust Lisa – didn’t fully understand why Lisa had instigated all this. It seemed she had intentions regarding Barbara, but she still hadn’t revealed the full extent of her motivation, or her plan.

Lisa’s expression came over curious. “Rosaria. Why did you stay in Mondstadt?”

Rosaria’s perturbation must’ve read on her face.

Lisa smiled. “Varka. He’s the one who brought you here, correct? The story is common knowledge amongst the Knights.”

Rosaria said nothing. She was unsure how to react – at once irritated and surprised at Lisa’s candour.

“When he brought you here, he didn’t force you to stay. That’s not his way – and, besides, this is the city of freedom. Not since the days of Decarabian’s rule has a single citizen of Mondstadt been prevented from choosing their own fate. If you stayed, it was because you chose to. So…” her eyes shone. “Why did you stay? Why did you join the church, as Varka asked?”

Rosaria sprinkled cigarette ash onto the floor. “You’re right,” she said. “I don’t trust you.”

“That’s just it.” Lisa could barely conceal the humour in her smile.

Rosaria only frowned.

“Trust. You stayed because you trusted him.” Lisa’s eye contact was focused. “Growing up as you did with a pack of beasts… I suppose it’s something you can’t erase, isn’t it?” Her expression was sharp – wry. “You submit to strength. Varka bested the alpha in your previous pack. When strength is all you know… It’s almost cute – such naivete.”

Rosaria didn’t bother to stifle her laughter.

Lisa frowned. It was obvious she hadn’t expected such a reaction…

And Rosaria took great satisfaction in having delivered a surprise. “Strength?” Rosaria asked. “You think I trusted Varka because he was strong?”

Lisa’s expression returned to its typical opacity. She relaxed a little in her chair. “Though you had precociously vicious claws, were you not a kitten, back then? And Varka… Was he not a lion?”

“So cat-like in your own languor,” said Rosaria, “you display surprisingly scant sophistication in your gloss on the feline.”

Lisa braced her elbow against the table and rested her chin on her hand. “Okay, then,” she said. “So why did you trust him? If it wasn’t his strength, what was it?”

Rosaria looked away. She closed her eyes.

Lisa was wrong about Rosaria’s decision to stay in Mondstadt. She hadn’t trusted Varka because he was strong. Likewise, strong though they were, she’d never trusted the bandits from whom she’d been liberated. No…

When Varka asked her to join the church and turn her fate around, his genuine wish to help her was like pure light. Against the darkness of her childhood with the bandits, Varka’s light was rapturous. Rosaria had always thought she’d trusted Varka because he was good. And that was true…

Wasn’t it?

Wasn’t that the reason?

“Rosaria.”

Rosaria opened her eyes.

Lisa was looking at her with kindness. “Do you remember?”

A glimmer of light. Rosaria looked down.

Lisa slid the shining brooch across the table. “Because I remember. I remember who used to wear this brooch. Many years ago.”

Rosaria stopped breathing.

Lisa’s voice came softly. “Remember,” she said.

Rosaria stubbed out her cigarette against the table. She slipped into the past.

“It’s time.”

***

Rosaria’s realisation of the real truth was sudden. Shameful. Rosaria wanted to deny it, but… It was too late.

Touch…

Rosaria had laid her hands on countless people over the years. She was no stranger to the human body. But… Cutting skin. Crunching bone. Whenever she laid hands on someone… She was destroying them. That was what she knew. That was her life. But, on that day…

Barbara.

The way Rosaria had held Barbara’s shoulders… It was different. It wasn’t violent. It wasn’t destruction. It was gentle. Barbara’s sobs; her shaking body under Rosaria’s hands. Rosaria had hated that feeling. At the time, she hadn’t realised exactly why she’d hated it so much, but…

Clarity. Memory.

Looking at the shining brooch, the memory came back to her from the blindness of her past. One hand on each shoulder – not too gentle, nor too firm. The way she’d held Barbara. That embrace…

It was him . It was exactly the way he had done it…

Exactly the way Varka had held Rosaria.

He knelt before her, at the bottom of the cathedral steps. He pinned his own brooch to Rosaria’s lapel. Be cleansed by the light of our Archon. He put his hands on her shoulders… It was like nothing she could remember. You still have a chance to turn your fate around.

Holding Barbara… It had unlocked a memory that Rosaria had suppressed – a memory her subconscious was terrified of. And, in light of that new memory…

Rosaria remembered the truth.

The reason Rosaria had trusted Varka wasn’t because he was good. In thinking that was the reason, Rosaria had only been lying to herself. But now… She couldn’t hide. The reason Rosaria had trusted Varka…

It was the way he’d held her. Gentle. Like nothing she knew.

Neither Lisa nor Rosaria spoke. They lingered in silence.

Before Varka, Rosaria knew nothing but blood. Varka’s touch was the first of its kind. But, at some point along the way…

Rosaria had forgotten it.

The feeling of Varka’s blood under her fingernails – the taste of his blood on her teeth… Those things had always stayed with her. But Varka’s touch, on the day he’d brought her to Mondstadt…

Why?

Why had she forgotten? Rosaria didn’t understand. And, more importantly…

Why did remembering that touch, when she held Barbara, make her lose her mind?

Silence. Candlelight flickered in the common room.

That night… The bandit camp… It had started so violently.

Rosaria spoke as though recounting a long lost dream. “I don’t remember how the flames started,” she said. She looked up at Lisa. “I just remember the burning.”

Lisa’s expression changed. Something unsure caught her in its shadow.

“I crawled through the dirt,” said Rosaria. “I couldn’t breathe, because of the smoke… And when I saw him…” A shiver of spite in her voice. “I just wanted to kill him.”

Lisa didn’t speak.

“I pounced on him, but… He didn’t fight back. He didn’t even notice the gouges I left in his flesh – with my nails, my teeth.” Irritated all over again, even by the memory, Rosaria looked away from Lisa.

Rosaria’s next words were spoken with acceptance – a peacefulness granted by a decade of reflection. “He subdued me as easily as a cat pinching a kitten by the nape.”

Rosaria stood from her chair. She took a step away from the table – putting her back to Lisa. “'Kill me’. I spat blood in his face – his own blood. ‘Kill me.’ I couldn’t stand mercy. I couldn’t stand to be left alive when the rest had burned. I deserved retribution just as much as the rest of them. But…” She turned back to face Lisa.

Lisa’s eyes were calm, but her barely perceptible breathing betrayed something more – some conflicting emotion.

“It didn’t matter how much I clawed – how much I tore and spat. It would amount to nothing. He’d already won. It was his choice to make. And he chose…” Rosaria exhaled a long cold breath. “He chose to spare me. I was the only one left. Again.”

They spent a moment in silence.

Rosaria glared at Lisa, whose face remained conflicted. As Rosaria tried to sort through her own thoughts, her next words came with spite. “You may have heard a version of the story before, but now you’ve heard it from me.” She smirked. “You’re welcome.”

Lisa looked away.

Rosaria narrowed her eyes. “You might think you know me, but you don’t.”

Lisa, keeping her gaze averted, took a deep breath. A moment, and then she finally looked at Rosaria. “I don’t expect you to tell me why you trusted him,” she said. She smiled. “It’s enough for you to have finally figured it out.”

Rosaria’s breath came uneasy. The way Lisa spoke…

Rosaria couldn’t stand it.

The most talented sorceress to ever pass through Sumeru Academia. That was what they said. But Lisa didn’t sound like an academic. There was something about her. No mere witch, no mere sorceress, Lisa seemed, to Rosaria… Like a spectre. A ghost, or an omen – casually yawning at this or that – watching life happen around her. And when Lisa spoke…

It was like she was one step ahead. Always.

Rosaria approached Lisa.

Lisa’s eyebrow raised.

“You…” said Rosaria. “You really piss me off.”

Lisa’s laugh came silently – the laugh she shared with Jean.

Rosaria reached down to the table and took in hand the shining brooch. She held it up to the candle-light.

Why…?

Why did the suppressed memory of Varka’s touch make her crazy – make her hallucinate? Were there answers? And, moreover…

Had she suppressed the memory for a reason?

Rosaria stared at the brooch, and she knew what she had to do.

Rosaria wasn’t afraid of her past. She never had been. Her ability to accept the past was the only reason she’d been able to carry on – despite everything she’d endured. Making peace with the past was what Rosaria knew best. It was her strength. But, now…

Her past had changed.

Rosaria always thought she knew herself completely – accepted herself for exactly what she was – but… she’d been wrong. Contrary to what she’d thought, Rosaria wasn’t created in the moment Varka spared her. No. Instead…

She was created in the moment Varka held her – the very child whose ‘family’ he’d murdered in the name of punishment. The blood was on his hands, but still… He held her.

And Rosaria was born.

And so…

Rosaria had to face it. She had to face her past.

Right now, somewhere in the world, there was a young girl with nobody left. There may not have been flames, but there had been blood – and that blood was on Rosaria’s hands, as it had once been on Varka’s.

A child orphaned by the cold hand of justice – the cold blade of punishment…

An echo of Rosaria’s past was waiting for her – waiting to be heard - and if she heard it... Could she regain her sanity?

The time for hiding was over.

A moth to a flame.

Rosaria lowered the brooch and glared at Lisa, who kept her expression opaque. The witch had been one step ahead. As usual.

Rosaria put the brooch in her pocket.

Lisa watched with a smile on her face.

Rosaria turned away. “Don’t let this go to your head,” she said. She approached the door. “It isn’t about you.”

Lisa’s voice came happily, with the equanimity of resolution. “Remember my advice from before.” Rosaria didn’t look back. She opened the door. But Lisa continued. “It’ll always serve you well. If you’re ever lost… Just look at her. You’ll know what to do.”

Rosaria turned around. She stared Lisa in the eyes. The witch was smug, and Rosaria hated it. “Look at her?” asked Rosaria, her voice impatient. “Who?”

Lisa stared back. She spoke with absolving finality. “They’re two halves of one,” she said, kindness in her eyes. “Just look.”

Chapter Text

As Rosaria stepped through the crisp afternoon light of the trade district, she made a promise to herself:

She wouldn’t let the events of that day change her.

She paused in front of the coalhouse. The sun still shone above Mondstadt, and the day remained vibrant – clear. It wasn’t quite closing time for the tradesmen; the sounds of the market rang out into the afternoon.

What Rosaria intended to do there, that day, was an exception. She wasn’t a changed woman.

Blood.

Ice.

That was Rosaria’s story. And her purpose?

Punishment.

Somebody had to do it – in the name of justice – and Rosaria had no intention of stopping. Not today.

Justice was, of course, a concept of two counterparts. Punishment, and absolution. But Rosaria knew her limits.

Leave the absolution to somebody else.

Yes. Rosaria had accepted her place in this world. But…

Varka.

Rosaria entered the coalhouse to the lingering scent of burnt hay. She shut the door behind her, and the birds in the rafters fluttered and spun, before coming to rest in still silence.

Rosaria didn’t know what answers she expected to find – what truths might dawn on her – but she had to try. It was impossible to be at peace if you were hiding from your past. And so…

That was the only reason Rosaria had gone to the coalhouse. It wasn’t because of her guilt. It wasn’t because she had a responsibility to face the misery her justice left in its wake. No. Instead… Rosaria knew: she couldn’t hide. How could Rosaria accept her moment of creation…

If she couldn’t face a girl that was just like her?

She stepped forward into the coalhouse. She looked up to the rafters – into the sun-rays admitted by the failing straw roof.

Rosaria was selfish. She needed peace.

She knelt down to look closer at a bundle of hay. It was marked… Faint bloodstains. That scent…

The blood was his. The spy.

Rosaria grimaced.

That girl…

Was it possible that she was there?

The door behind Rosaria opened, its sound once again unsettling the birds. Rosaria lifted her head, but didn’t turn around.

Right on time.

“Rosaria?”

Rosaria, still crouching, turned her head to face Jean.

Punishment and absolution, face to face.

Rosaria stood. “Acting Grand Master.”

Jean, expression blank, met Rosaria in the middle of the room. “I didn’t expect to find you, here.”

Rosaria stifled a laugh. She looked at the rafters. “No.” The birds had once again found peace. “And, hopefully, you won’t need me.”

Jean smiled.

A moment of silence.

Rosaria turned back around and applied her attention, once again, to the bloodied hay. “He was definitely here. He’d sustained some minor wounds before I even got to him. This blood… It has his odour.”

Unseen, Jean didn’t respond. Was she really so surprised to see Rosaria that she couldn’t decide what to say? Rosaria sighed. And then…

A sound. The bitter shivering sound of drawn steel.

Rosaria narrowed her eyes.

Silence.

No. The thought she’d just had was crazy. Was she hearing things? Still hallucinating…

But then…

A second shiver. A shiver…

Of touch.

Rosaria held her breath. That feeling…

A pinprick of pressure. At the back of her neck.

Jean’s voice came calm. “Don’t be alarmed,” she said. “I promise, Rosaria… I mean you no harm.”

It wasn’t a hallucination. The tip of Jean’s sword was delicately pointing at the back of Rosaria’s neck.

Rosaria closed her eyes. She released the tension in her lungs, and let her breath come freely. Something…

Something was wrong.

It was strange. To be under Jean’s blade… Why did it feel…

Why did it feel so peaceful?

Rosaria smiled – not with pleasure, but with humour. Perhaps…

Perhaps this was what she deserved.

Silence. Stillness. Several moments passed. Jean was still calm when she finally spoke. “Can you control it?”

Rosaria frowned. “Excuse me?”

The pinprick of pressure remained constant – a touch of unmatched precision. Jean… Her voice was almost a whisper. “The hunger.”

Blood.

An ice-cold shiver ran through Rosaria’s body. She closed her eyes. Another moment passed in silence – motionless.

To be under Jean’s sword. That feeling…

It was captivating.

It was delicious. Rosaria almost wanted…

More.

Eyes still closed, Rosaria gently allowed her body to lean back – mere millimetres of motion. Jean’s sword, steady as a still day, didn’t move, and Rosaria felt…

The tiniest trickle – down the back of her neck.

Blood.

It was enchanting. Like nothing else. But…

Rosaria opened her eyes. Jean was testing her – putting Rosaria in a compromised position to assess her state of mind – to see how she would react. But Jean didn’t have to be afraid… There was no hunger. Rosaria’s mind was still. When Lisa had provoked Rosaria at Jean’s office, Rosaria had lost control. But Rosaria had come to the coalhouse in the spirit of acceptance. She still had unresolved tension in her memories – in her body – but now that she knew what she had to do, she was at peace. Can you control it? She took a deep breath. “You already know the answer,” said Rosaria – her voice almost somnolent. “You can lower your sword.”

The sting at the back of Rosaria’s neck subsided.

Jean’s voice was calm. “What happened earlier – in my office. I didn’t know how else to be certain that you were back in command of your emotions. I’m sorry.”

Rosaria smiled; she’d been right. But, before she could move…

The absent sting at the back of her neck was replaced by something else. At the back of Rosaria’s neck, she felt…

The gentle pressure of an unseen hand – wiping away the trickle of blood.

Rosaria’s mind went cold.

No.

Jean’s hand disappeared from Rosaria’s neck, but…

That touch…

The feeling lingered.

Rosaria heard the shiver of Jean’s sword hitting the floor, and then came Jean’s voice. “I’m glad you’re back to your old self, Rosaria.”

But the words were faint amidst the noise in Rosaria’s head. That touch – Jean’s hand wiping away the blood… It was…

Enchanting.

Suddenly, Rosaria inhaled. Sharp. Cold.

No.

She snapped free of her thoughts, rose to her feet, and faced Jean.

Jean dreamily looked at the blood on her finger.

Rosaria’s blood.

Rosaria took a single step forward.

Jean, blinking out of her reverie, met Rosaria’s gaze. She seemed curious, watching Rosaria with uncertain eyes. “Rosaria?”

That touch.

To be under Jean’s sword. To be under Jean’s hand. It was different. It wasn’t like Varka. It wasn’t like Barbara. Rosaria’s exhalations shivered. Jean’s touch was…

Captivating.

They stood in silence.

Rosaria, glaring at Jean, kept her gaze focused. “Pick up your sword,” she said.

Jean narrowed her eyes. She looked about to speak, but… She didn’t find the words.

Rosaria’s hand drifted down to the cut on her stomach. She could just about stand to let her fingers barely graze the cut as she stood in reverie, enchanted by her thoughts. The pinprick of pressure against Rosaria’s neck – delicate, precise. Jean’s blade. Rosaria’s blood across Jean’s face – on Jean’s finger. The cut I gave you is skin deep. Jean’s gentle eyes. It will only bleed for one minute more.

Rosaria couldn’t move. “Pick up your sword,” she said, “and…”

Your blade …

Rosaria’s words faded like whispers in the breeze.

Let me feel it once more.

But Rosaria couldn’t speak.

Jean looked at Rosaria with uncertainty in her eyes. She didn’t reach to retrieve her sword from the ground…

And then a sound.

Footsteps.

Rosaria and Jean both turned at the same time.

But the coalhouse was still – motionless. There was nothing – only sunlight against the hay and coal.

Rosaria inhaled. Deeply. She was back to normal; the shiver in her body was gone. She remained alert – sensitive to both movement and sound as she scanned the creaking coalhouse. “You heard that?” she asked. “Right?”

“Yes.” Jean stepped past her sword, in the direction from which the footstep-sounds had come. “It’s unusual for anyone to be in here at this hour.”

Rosaria contained a shudder. Was she really prepared? Prepared to face her past?

Jean paused after a few steps. She reached for her hip, and then realised that her sword wasn’t there.

Rosaria suppressed a laugh.

But then both of them turned immediately in response to the next sudden sound.

A riotous crash came from the rafters; sparks flew against the coalstacks.

“Rosaria! Get back!” Jean, without hesitation, stepped in front of Rosaria and threw out her empty hand, sending forth a blast of wind to carry the sparks away from the coal.

Rosaria turned to face the source of the sparks.

The perpetrator had no time to hide.

Chapter Text

Rosaria felt a singing lick of disappointment. She lowered her guard. The perpetrator… It was just…

Klee.

The little girl stood with her hands over her eyes. “Uh oh…”

Jean’s voice came with exasperation, but not impatience. “Klee? What are you doing in here?”

Rosaria turned to watch Jean stride across the coalhouse. Jean knelt down and placed her hand on Klee’s cheek, turning the girl’s face this way and that, checking for injury, before doing the same with her arms and legs. “That’s it,” she said, firm but not angry, staring into Klee’s anxious and contrite eyes, “solitary confinement for one whole week!”

Rosaria turned away.

She listened to the rafters – the birds wheeling.

Klee spoke through tears. “I saw – I saw you come in here and I – I wanted to follow you and I – I didn’t mean to – I didn’t mean…”

But Rosaria tuned it out.

The wheeling of the birds… Was that… Was that the only sound?

Rosaria watched straw and feathers drifting in the air. She traced backwards the path of the feathers’ descent, and trained her eyes on the broken spot in the rafters – from where there came the slightest sound… The sound of…

“Rosaria.”

Rosaria turned around.

Jean was standing beside Klee, looking at Rosaria with apology in her eyes. Beside Jean…

Albedo. Klee’s babysitter. He held his chin and entertained, on his face, a puzzled expression. “The singe marks on the wall over there – their pattern is consistent with the form expected when evanescent pyro sparks are carried on a current of tunnelling anemo breeze.” He glanced at Jean. “I must, one day, ask you and Klee to recreate this performance in a controlled experimental environment. I’d quite like to incorporate markings such as these into some observational sketches I’ve been intending to produce.” He shook his head, and let his gaze wander to the singed wall. “The semiotic significance of pyro-anemo synthesis eludes me to this day. But, as you’ve demonstrated, the symbols created are clearly meaningful – reminiscent of brush strokes in a forgotten language.” He looked at Rosaria. “Don’t you agree?”

Rosaria didn’t know what to say. She didn’t even know if she’d understood.

But Jean relieved Rosaria of the need to speak. “Albedo. Klee is unharmed.”

Albedo regarded Jean with a blank expression. “I’m pleased to hear it. Apologies, Acting Grand Master, for any trouble caused.”

Klee spun around and put herself behind Albedo – as if hiding, or just otherwise keen to avoid Jean’s gaze.

Albedo didn’t react. He simply gazed at Rosaria. “I’ll take her home. She is, after all, my responsibility.”

Rosaria looked away. She looked back at the rafters – into the hazy sunbeams that bloomed around the straw – searching for…

No. It was gone. Or, perhaps, was never there at all.

But what if… That sound…

Hadn’t she heard the whispering sound…

Of prayer?

Jean’s voice. “Do you see something?”

Rosaria turned back, but didn’t lock eyes with Jean. “No. It’s just the straw buckling – in the roof. I thought I heard…” She shook her head, and then met Jean’s gaze. “It was nothing.”

Jean hesitated, searching Rosaria’s gaze for some hint of the unspoken – as if she didn’t trust that Rosaria was being truthful. But… Jean nodded.

The coalhouse door clicked shut, and Rosaria realised that she and Jean were alone, once again. Albedo had left, taking Klee with him.

Jean stepped towards her sword and retrieved it from the ground. “Come,” she said. “Let’s investigate.” She twirled her sword in a pattern indicative of her Knight’s training – a performative flourish emblematic of Favonius Bladework.

That sword…

Jean closed her eyes. She brought the blade to a point of stillness before her chest, and…

Rosaria’s eyes narrowed. What she noticed, then, put a chill in her throat. Jean’s sword: a drop of Rosaria’s dried blood marked the blade’s very tip, but besides that…

The blade was spotless.

The cut I gave you is skin deep.

That morning. Rosaria’s wound may have stopped bleeding exactly when Jean had said it would, but… It had still bled. Rosaria’s blood had still splashed on Jean’s blade. Which meant…

Rosaria shook her head. “Acting Grand Master,” said Rosaria, still glaring at the blade. “You’ve cleaned your sword since this morning.”

Jean, still holding her sword before her chest, opened her eyes. She glanced at Rosaria – her expression revealing subtle curiosity.

Rosaria’s gaze didn’t falter. “You’ve cleaned it… Since you last stained it with my blood.”

Jean frowned. But she didn’t speak. For a moment, it seemed as if she might, but…

Rosaria shook her head. It was such an innocuous fact: Jean’s sword was clean. But to Rosaria it was more. The sight of that near pristine sword… Jean still held it before her chest. The single drop of Rosaria’s blood that marked its tip – from the pinprick on Rosaria’s neck – began to slowly trickle down the blade, and Rosaria felt as she watched, deep down… Some feeling was rising in her chest. But…

What?

The image of Jean’s bloodstained face flashed once again before Rosaria’s mind. Rosaria’s wretched blood and Jean’s perfect blade. Darkness, and light. Punishment, and absolution. Light tainted by dark. Perfection tainted by blood. And then…

A thought. A memory.

That morning – Rosaria’s debrief with Jean, at the cathedral. Rosaria had sat before Jean and thought closely about the differences between Jean and herself.

Jean…

Rosaria and Jean were alike insofar as they both dedicated their lives to Mondstadt in one way or another, but the difference between them… Rosaria had always suspected that the biggest difference between them wasn’t their demeanour – nor was it their patience or Rosaria’s lacking magnanimity. No… That morning, Rosaria had wondered the same thing she’d always wondered, sitting in the dark side of the pews…

Had Jean ever killed a human?

At the debrief, Rosaria hadn’t bothered to ask. Though it was a question she’d often pondered, she had no interest in taking on Jean’s burdens… The burdens of Jean’s fears… Jean’s memories. Rosaria’s own burdens were enough to bear. But…

Rosaria felt the irresistible weight of a question, dying to be asked.

It wasn’t that she felt any differently about taking on Jean’s burdens. She still felt exactly the same: there was nothing to be gained from hearing Jean’s answer other than to share in Jean’s pain – her fear of killing, or her memories of remorseful bloodshed. In either case, Rosaria wanted none of it. But, still…

The sight of that spotless blade made Rosaria burn with curiosity. She didn’t want to share Jean’s pain. She didn’t want to add more burdens to her own. But…

Blood.

Rosaria felt powerless to resist the forbidden words that threatened to escape her throat. She had to know…

Had Jean bathed in anyone else’s blood…

But Rosaria’s?

Rosaria’s blood. On Jean’s face.

The feeling in Rosaria’s chest; Rosaria finally recognised it. It was…

Jealousy.

Rosaria glared into Jean’s unsure eyes. “Acting Grand Master.”

Jean, reciprocating Rosaria’s gaze, sheathed the sword.

That sound… The shivering whisper of steel. The way Rosaria felt… Under Jean’s sword – under Jean’s touch…

Jean didn’t speak. She just gazed at Rosaria, as if waiting.

Rosaria approached Jean, stopping mere feet away. “Have you ever…” She smiled. Subtly, but still… “Have you ever killed a human?”

For a moment, Jean’s breath faltered. But it was only a glimmer. She quickly regained composure, and when she finally spoke, her voice was relaxed. “Excuse me?”

Rosaria narrowed her eyes.

Jean broke eye contact averting her gaze. “I…”

The two of them stood in silence. A moment passed in which there was no sound but for the birds in the rafters.

Varka.

Rosaria stepped forward – drawing closer, still.

Jean looked up. She watched Rosaria approach.

When Rosaria finally stopped, she and Jean were dangerously close – almost as close as when Jean had braced Rosaria after she’d struck her – made the delicate cut on Rosaria’s stomach…

That blade.

Without breaking eye contact. Rosaria reached out and placed her right hand on the pommel of Jean’s sheathed sword.

Jean’s inhalation shivered. But that was all. She didn’t break eye contact, or push Rosaria’s hand away.

Rosaria’s exhalations came burning. She couldn’t get that sword out of her mind. “You couldn’t bear my blood on your blade…”

Jean’s eyes shimmered, silent.

Rosaria shook her head, keeping her hand on Jean’s sword. She couldn’t help but feel like that sword’s edge belonged to her . It should only be marking Rosaria’s flesh. Only be drinking Rosaria’s blood. “You’re such a good girl,” said Rosaria. “Too good.” She searched Jean’s eyes for an answer – some feeling. “Is it possible that you could’ve spilled more blood than just my own?”

Rosaria wanted so badly for the answer to be no.

The birds in the rafters. The sun against the coal. Silence. When Jean finally reacted…

She softly smiled. She didn’t look away as she spoke. “The investigation,” said Jean, calmly. “It won’t complete itself.”

An energy captured Jean’s body – as if she were abut to walk away. Her eyes averted and her shoulders almost turned, but…

No.

Rosaria leaned forward and braced her left hand against the wall behind Jean, inclining herself even closer and preventing Jean from walking away.

Jean didn’t flinch. She looked back, but…

She didn’t speak.

Rosaria shook her head. “You’re the Acting Grand Master. Is it even possible to be in your position without having spilled blood? Human blood. Grand Master Varka…” Rosaria hesitated. She glanced away from Jean’s face for a moment, before looking back. “We both know that he’s a killer. So…”

Wasn’t it possible that Jean could be a killer, too? Rosaria couldn’t bear the thought. Jean’s sword…

It was Rosaria’s. Hers to be cut by, and hers alone.

Jean breathed calmly. She adjusted her body so as to be directly – peacefully – engaged with Rosaria’s looming presence. But…

She still didn’t speak.

Rosaria felt as if her fingers could crunch through the wall. Why was Jean refusing to answer? Was the truth so shameful? Had Jean killed before, but was too ashamed to admit it? Or was the truth the opposite – the reality of her pacifism too humiliating given her station within the Knights?

The jealousy…

Rosaria couldn’t stand it. She wanted, so badly…

To be the only one.

The only one whose blood had tarnished Jean’s blade.

Rosaria stared into Jean’s serene eyes. “Why won’t you speak? Why?”

Jean blinked, and something warm came into her gaze. “Rosaria…” She hesitated half way through a gentle inhalation, and then she spoke. “I trust you.”

Trust.

Rosaria grimaced. She didn’t relent or back away. She didn’t understand. What did trust have to do with it? “What do you mean?” she asked. “What does…”

And then…

Pain. A sharp, searing feeling in Rosaria’s lower back.

Rosaria disengaged from Jean and the wall. She reached for the source of her pain and felt… Slow-flowing blood. She turned around. Standing behind her…

There was an unfamiliar little girl – holding a bloodied knife.

Rosaria narrowed her eyes. She felt her breath hot in her throat.

The girl wasn’t Klee. It was somebody else – filthy and weak, in rags. The girl stepped back, brandishing the knife. “You,” the girl said, her voice fragile. “I know who you are.”

Rosaria’s head spun. The wound on her back was shallow – far from critical – but she was nevertheless dizzy. She stood in the coalhouse, before the unfamiliar child, under a beam of dusty sunlight…

Dizzy amidst an echo of the past.

Chapter Text

Rosaria stared at the unfamiliar girl, and she knew…

It was the orphan.

The girl held herself as if anticipating a predator’s pounce, brandishing her knife as a kitten bares its claws.

And then…

Rosaria felt Jean’s touch, unseen, against her body. A subtle breeze picked up around Rosaria’s feet, lifting hay and dust into the air…

No.

Rosaria spun around. She grabbed Jean’s wrists.

Jean looked up, entreaty in her eyes. “You’re bleeding. Let me help.”

Rosaria pulled Jean’s hands up.

Blood.

Jean’s hands were covered in it – Rosaria’s freshly spilled blood – and Rosaria felt a passionate tremor of vindication.

Yes.

My blood.

The sight gratified something deep within her.

I don’t know about your past, but…

It’s my blood on you, now.

As it should be.

Always.

The voice of the child “No!”

Rosaria felt another slash through her back. She flinched, but didn’t buckle. The pain rippled through her – sharp and sweet. But…

Rosaria didn’t care. She couldn’t. She couldn’t take her eyes off Jean.

And then…

The breeze blew into life – like a twirling song. Jean stared kindly into Rosaria’s eyes. The burning at Rosaria’s back…

It subsided, and Rosaria realised:

Jean was healing her.

Rosaria didn’t let go of Jean’s wrists. Blood streamed along Jean’s fingers until it dripped – slowly, like languorous wine – to the floor.

And then another slash. The orphan growled and snarled as she ran the knife across Rosaria’s back – again, and again.

But…

The breeze continued. And each time the girl slashed into Rosaria’s back, the pain subsided immediately after. Over and over, each lash of pain subsided as Rosaria’s blood dripped from Jean’s hands, and Jean’s peaceful exhalations came like whispers of absolution through the song of twirling breeze.

Eventually, through the blood and the wind, a voice came into Rosaria’s awareness. It was…

Jean.

“It’s okay.”

Rosaria looked up. She stared Jean in the eyes.

“It’s okay for me to trust you,” said Jean. “We trust whoever we choose. And… We have our own reasons.”

Blood.

Ice.

But…

The orphan.

Rosaria let go. She released Jean’s wrists.

She remembered.

Rosaria had been so distracted by Jean – by her sword, by her secrets – that she’d forgotten what she’d gone to the coalhouse to do. But now… That girl. The child Rosaria had orphaned. Rosaria had gone to the coalhouse to face her.

Rosaria turned around and, in a motion at once swift and elegant…

She enveloped the child in a shadow-like embrace.

Darkness. Stillness.

Rosaria’s embrace sapped the feverish slashing motion from the orphan’s limbs and effortlessly pacified her resistance…

Like a cat pinching a kitten by the nape.

The child… The rage in her slashing – the helplessness in her body under Rosaria’s shadowy touch… Rosaria understood those feelings. She understood them because…

She remembered them. It had once been her.

The girl didn’t move in Rosaria’s arms, but Rosaria could feel, nevertheless, the shivering fear and rage in the girl’s small, weak body.

And then… The feeling of Jean’s hands, against Rosaria’s back, and the last lingering embers of pain disappeared in a caressing breeze.

The girl’s shivering energy subsided and, though Rosaria stayed close, she allowed her shadowy embrace to relax, revealing the girl’s closed eyes – her blood soaked face.

Rosaria’s blood.

And Rosaria was looking at an echo. A memory.

Herself.

The orphan’s eyes were still closed – her body still motionless – but…

She still gripped the knife in her shivering hand – tightly, her knuckles white – as if…

As if she still hadn’t given up fighting.

Though the child’s body was at rest – no longer animated by rage or pain – the feelings were still inside her… Even if she didn’t show them.

The shivering of her hand gave it away.

Darkness. Rosaria’s heart…

Rage. Pain.

Everything seemed still.

And…

Varka.

Rosaria gripped the girl’s hand – the hand in which she still held the quivering knife.

The orphan startled – her inhalation came sharp, and her eyes darted to Rosaria’s hand, then back to her face.

Rosaria shook her head. “You know who I am, don’t you? In that case…” She felt an overwhelming tingling in her body. “I understand why you want to kill me.”

The girl didn’t speak. She stared at Rosaria’s eyes – her expression revealing a mixture of fear and grief.

Rosaria closed her eyes. She let go of the girl’s hand.

Rosaria remembered spitting blood in Varka’s face – his own blood.

She remembered clawing at his skin – biting into his flesh. She’d become an animal when he’d approached her amongst the smoke. All she’d wanted was to kill Varka, or…

Have him kill her.

Kill me, too.

She’d deserved to die just as much as the rest of them.

She opened her eyes once more.

The orphan was looking down – at the knife in her hand – her breaths coming unsteadily.

Rosaria put her hands on the girl’s shoulders.

The girl didn’t look up.

Death. Varka or Rosaria… It almost didn’t matter. Rosaria had just wanted one of them to die. “I know you want to kill me,” she said to the girl.

Tears began to fall down the girl’s averted face.

“I’m sorry,” said Rosaria. She took one hand from the girl’s shoulder and touched the blade of the girl’s knife. “But neither of us is going to die, today. You can’t kill me, and…” Rosaria gripped the knife’s blade. The bite of steel in her skin was like pure relief against the rage and pain in her heart. “And I’m not going to kill you.”

The girl finally looked up. She met Rosaria’s gaze with still eyes. Her breathing had seemed to quieten. That look in her watery eyes…

It was almost tranquil.

Rosaria let go of the knife. Those eyes…

Rosaria had intended to face the orphan for selfish reasons; she’d only wanted to face her past so that she could fully accept it. But, now, staring into the girl’s eyes, Rosaria felt an unfamiliar urge. She wanted, for the girl…

Rosaria wanted desperately to help her.

But…

She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what was right. Nothing she could say would change anything. Nothing she could say would save the girl; she was cursed, just like Rosaria. Their fates had been shaped by the same rage and pain, and Rosaria knew first hand…

The girl was now forever broken.

Punishment.

Rosaria didn’t stifle her laughter. She let it come naturally. It was, after all, funny – in a morbid sort of way.

The girl’s father had deserved to die. As had the bandits who’d been Rosaria’s surrogate family. But… That didn’t change the girl’s fate. Just as it hadn’t changed Rosaria’s. They were both victims…

Victims of justice.

Rosaria’s laughter came to a whispering end. The truth… It was almost a relief. Rosaria didn’t know the right thing to do – she didn’t know how to be good, kneeling before the girl she’d orphaned – but…

It didn’t matter. After all…

Varka’s goodness hadn’t saved Rosaria.

“Rosaria.”

The voice was Jean’s.

Rosaria didn’t look away from the girl’s streaming face.

Varka’s kind touch on Rosaria’s shoulders was the most good thing Rosaria had ever felt, and still… It hadn’t fixed anything. Rosaria was still broken. So, even though Rosaria didn’t know how to be good…

She didn’t have to be good. Kneeling before the bloodied and crying orphan…

Rosaria could just be herself.

After all…

Jean’s voice came, again – not alarmed, but increasingly firm. “Rosaria.”

…Rosaria was the sword, and Jean was the shield. Some jobs were better suited to someone like Jean.

Rosaria let go of the girl.

The girl flinched, as if freed from a binding enchantment. She stumbled a little, and then regained her footing a couple of steps away. She kept both her hands on the knife and watched as Jean approached her.

Jean knelt softly by the girl’s side. She braced the girl’s shoulders, and searched for her gaze. “Hey,” she said, “you’re safe.”

Rosaria remained kneeling. She took a deep breath, and looked at the fresh cut on the palm of her hand.

The pain was good. That was the kind of pain Rosaria knew how to handle.

She looked up at Jean and the girl.

Tears still streamed down the girl’s face. Jean’s hands – on the girl’s shoulders – were still covered in Rosaria’s blood, but… It didn’t matter to the girl; the girl was covered in Rosaria’s blood, already. The girl seemed consciously to avert her gaze as Jean assessed the girl’s face and body – as she’d assessed Klee, prior – and satisfied herself that the girl wasn’t injured. Returning one hand to the girl’s shoulder, Jean placed her other hand against the girl’s cheek, once again searching for her gaze. “Hey,” said Jean, softly. “It’s okay to look at me.”

Rosaria flung out her wounded hand – to shake off the excess blood. She remembered the promise she’d made to herself as she’d approached the coalhouse:

She wasn’t a changed woman.

Rosaria was a killer. She was, in a way, capable of doing good, but the good that Rosaria could do was limited to one thing…

Rosaria was only good for punishment.

And…

The girl was innocent. As such, Rosaria had nothing to offer. But Jean…

Jean was different.

Rosaria watched as the orphan gave up her resistance. The girl, sobbing now with vigour, buried her face in Jean’s chest.

Jean held the girl close. “It’s okay,” she said. She embraced the girl and stroked her hair as the girl continued to cry. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

Rosaria watched them – silent. It was clear to her, in that moment, that she’d been right to ask for Jean’s help. As for Rosaria…

There was nothing she could do for the girl. For a moment, as she’d stared into the girl’s eyes, Rosaria had thought there was a chance – a chance she might be able to help. But, Rosaria knew the truth: she’d already done the best thing she could do to help the orphan.

She’d brought Jean to the orphan’s side.

And then, as Rosaria watched Jean and the orphan embrace, Rosaria couldn’t stop herself from whispering the words that came, in that moment, from somewhere deep within. “You don’t deserve any of this,” she said. She knew the girl couldn’t hear. The words were too quiet, but… Rosaria spoke, anyway. “I’m sorry that your innocence didn’t save you from this pain.”

And then…

Rosaria tasted blood.

Chapter Text

Rosaria stood. She put her fingers to her lips, and then looked at her hand.

Why?

She cleaned her bloody fingers against her arm.

Jean’s voice. “Rosaria.”

Rosaria looked up.

Jean was standing with the child carried in her arms. The child had her face buried in Jean’s chest. Jean smiled, meeting Rosaria’s eyes with kindness, and spoke with confidence. “The blood… It’s probably trauma caused by the wounds you sustained. Even though I healed you… Your body’s been through a lot.”

Rosaria was sceptical. The blood, to her, seemed like more than that. For a moment, there was stillness. And then…

Jean said something that turned Rosaria’s exhalation to a shiver.

Jean’s voice…

“I’m going to take the girl to the cathedral.”

And Rosaria felt her body go cold.

Varka.

For a moment, Jean stood carrying the silent orphan and Rosaria stood staring blankly, her mind nearing numbness.

The cathedral.

Rosaria felt in her pocket for the brooch she hadn’t yet put back where it belonged.

Be cleansed by the light of our Archon.

Many years ago, Varka had taken Rosaria to the cathedral, and now…

Jean.

Standing with the orphan in her arms…

Jean was his echo.

Rosaria had always known that Jean was a worthy successor to Varka’s legacy, but now…

The reality of it was overwhelming. And Rosaria began to feel a twinkle of something unusual in her heart…

What…

What was that feeling?

Jean’s voice once again came through the fog of Rosaria’s mind. “Come with us. Let the Deaconess give you some medicine.”

Barbara.

Rosaria remembered Barbara’s earnest eyes – her healing hands. The cathedral was the best place for the orphan – there, she’d be tended to and nursed back to health. They’d cleanse her body, wrap her up warm, and sing her to sleep under twinkling candlelight and gentle prayers. Rosaria knew it better than most.

Because she remembered.

Rosaria ran the back of her hand across her lips and flung the excess blood to the floor with a flick of her wrist. That blood – in her throat, in her mouth… Rosaria didn’t believe any medicine could help her. It felt like the blood was coming from a deeper wound than any potion could salve – something immaterial. She looked at Jean with doubtful eyes.

Jean’s eyes shone. She spoke with kindness. “I know you don’t want to come. But please…” she paused, and then…

Something in Jean’s expression made Rosaria suddenly feel warm.

And Rosaria hated it.

Jean’s eyes were sincere. They carried in them some emotion that Rosaria couldn’t quite name.

Jean smiled, and she finally finished her words. “Do it for me.”

Rosaria felt her cheeks flush.

Damn it.

She quickly looked away.

Jean’s voice came into Rosaria’s awareness, soft and careful. “I won’t rest unless I know you’re okay. Let Barbara check on you.”

That feeling twinkling in her heart… Rosaria could hardly bear it, but the truth of it was impossible to deny. The truth… It was…

Rosaria was feeling a twinkle of affection.

It was something she’d felt earlier, that day. With Barbara, in the graveyard. Seeing the earnestness in Barbara’s eyes – hearing the naivete in her request for help… Barbara was such a good kid, and – even though she was different from Jean in the most superficial ways…

Rosaria looked up, once again. She met Jean’s gaze.

Barbara and Jean had exactly the same eyes.

Lisa’s voice. A memory of Lisa’s words.

If you’re ever lost… Just look at her. You’ll know what to do.

And…

Rosaria was almost irritated. How bothersome.

How bothersome that Lisa was right.

Jean’s eyes shimmered.

Do it for me.

Hearing those words had made Rosaria feel so…

Good.

It felt so good that Jean cared for her. And…

Rosaria couldn’t say no.

Rosaria’s voice came irritated, but resigned. She was still incredulous that she was about to say it, but… “Fine,” she said. She kept her expression controlled. “I’ll come with you.”

Jean’s expression brightened. She nodded.

Rosaria closed her eyes.

That twinkling feeling… Warm, vibrant… Rosaria couldn’t believe what she was feeling, but – it was undeniably…

Pleasant.

She didn’t know what she was going to do about the girl. Perhaps she didn’t have to do anything. If she gave responsibility for the girl over to Jean and Barbara, this was the end of Rosaria’s involvement. As such, she didn’t want to go to the cathedral for the orphan. No. Instead… She wanted to go for Jean – because Jean had asked, and the tenderness in her voice had been so irresistible.

Rosaria opened her eyes and spat blood onto the floor.

Jean began to turn away. “The sooner we get there, the better,” she said. “For the girl’s sake.”

There was a moment of stillness. And then… Jean began to walk away, carrying the orphan with her in her arms. The coalhouse was quiet, but the birds in the rafters had once again resumed their singing and flitting.

Rosaria frowned, and let out a shiver of irritated laughter as Jean opened the coalhouse door.

Affection…

What a nuisance.

And then…

A glimmer of light caught Rosaria’s eye.

She turned, and stared into the dirt and dust on the ground. Steel, catching light…

Rosaria stepped towards the glimmering knife, and knelt down to take it in her hand. She turned it towards the light. The girl must’ve dropped it – when Jean picked her up.

Rosaria glanced over to the entrance.

Jean, still holding the girl in her arms, was waiting in the open doorway. She watched Rosaria with a curious gaze.

Rosaria turned back to the knife. It was covered in blood. But even still, Rosaria could make out the markings on the handle – the unmistakeable craftsmanship of the blade. And…

Rosaria felt a chill.

She recognised that steelwork. It was from…

Sumeru.

But…

The girl’s dead father was a Fatui – from Snezhnaya. Why would he have, in his possession…

Rosaria looked up, once more, towards Jean.

Something about Jean’s posture began to reveal concern. Her voice was faint. “What is it?”

Rosaria shook her head. She stood.

Jean seemed to grow impatient. “Rosaria?”

Rosaria cleaned the knife against her clothes. She brought it to the light, once again. “This blade…” She looked at Jean.

Jean, bracing the girl even tighter to her body, began to step forward.

Rosaria gripped the knife tighter in her hand. She gripped its handle so hard she felt her arm shiver.

Sumeru…

There was only one person in Mondstadt with ties to that place. But that meant…

The witch.

A dark and cynical possibility suddenly twisted Rosaria’s mind. Could it be? Could it really be…

That Lisa had been in cahoots with the Fatui?

Why else would the spy’s daughter have Lisa’s knife?

Rosaria looked Jean in the eyes, and spoke with a shudder of bitter venom in her voice. “Go to the cathedral. But I’m not coming with you.”

The look in Jean’s eyes changed. She shook her head and stroked the girl’s hair. “The knife,” she said. “Give it to me.”

Rosaria turned her back. She didn’t know whether Jean had also recognised the knife – whether or not Jean knew what Rosaria suspected…

Lisa.

Rosaria tried to think rationally; she didn’t know for sure the extent of Lisa’s involvement with the Fatui spy; maybe Lisa had only met him in passing. Maybe she’d given the knife to him not knowing who he was. Or maybe he’d stolen it. Those were all possibilities, but…

Rosaria felt in the pit of her stomach a snarling darkness. Even though there were so many possible explanations for the spy’s daughter possessing that knife…

Rosaria didn’t believe any of them.

The bitter feeling in her stomach…

Rage.

Jean’s voice came assertive. It was the most commanding tone Rosaria had ever heard from Jean. “Stop this,” she said. “I need you to trust me.”

Rosaria restrained a growl.

So that’s how it is?

Jean did recognise the knife? Had she… Been trying to hide it?

Rosaria, keeping her back turned, put the tip of the knife against her finger. “Weren’t you going to say anything?” she asked. “Or did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

“Please, Rosaria. Trust me.”

Rosaria didn’t turn around. Jean was a good girl – her goodness was as absolute as Rosaria had ever known, but…

Jean couldn’t stop Rosaria. Rosaria couldn’t even stop herself. She saw in her mind Lisa’s ironic smile – heard, as if a hallucination, the sound of Lisa’s disgusting laughter. Lisa had been acting so strangely all day, and now it all began to make sense. Lisa’s endgame… Whatever it was, Rosaria knew:

It was wretched.

The witch had to be dealt with. Before it was too late. Whatever her involvement was with the Fatui…

Rosaria would find out. The best way she knew how.

I wonder…

Rosaria let the knife draw the tiniest drop of blood from her fingertip.

Will you recognise the sting of your own blade? If I touch it to your skin?

Jean’s voice came authoritative but serene into Rosaria’s awareness. “I need you to trust me. Rosaria… Come to the cathedral… Do this for me.”

Rosaria flicked the knife into her belt. She smiled, and shook her head. There was no thinking – no decision. Rosaria’s anger had set in motion Lisa’s fate.

Do this for me.

Rosaria closed her eyes as she spoke – her single word to Jean was calm, tender.

“No.”

And then…

Rosaria leapt. She bounced off a coalstack, landing in the rafters with grace – like a bat lighting upon its perch.

“Rosaria!”

Rosaria was cold – frigid and numb with the ice chilling her blood. She looked down at Jean, and spoke one last time. “Don’t follow me.”

And then Rosaria flitted, like a shadow, through a gap in the failing straw roof, into the dying light of the fading afternoon.

Lisa.

Rosaria felt once more, in her frozen heart, the bitter anaesthesia of indignation.

I’m coming for you.

Chapter Text

Evening.

The sun had set over Cape Oath, but Lisa’s location was easily discernible by the purple glow between the trees.

It had taken all evening, but…

Rosaria had her prey cornered. The nook of purple-lit trees was at the far reach of Cape Oath – the cliff’s edge.

There was nowhere for Lisa to run.

Rosaria approached the nook of trees. She was silent – invisible. She brushed against the leaves without a sound, and saw before her a small glade. It was lit from the centre by a magical lantern emitting flickers of purple electric light. And gazing at the lantern, sat on a curved root at the base of a tree…

Lisa.

Rosaria took a deep breath, and then she spoke. “You.”

Lisa lifted her chin. She looked up from the lantern and gazed into the middle distance, clearly not having discerned exactly where Rosaria’s voice had come from. After a moment, a flicker of apprehension lit Lisa’s eyes. And then…

Lisa smiled.

Rosaria was calm, collected; that was how she’d been trained; but…

The urge to destroy Lisa was shivering in Rosaria’s guts.

Still…

Rosaria knew she had to control it. She hadn’t come to kill Lisa – she’d only come to interrogate her. Though Rosaria didn’t trust Lisa – she couldn’t act on her rage before confirming her suspicions. She had to find out the truth of Lisa’s involvement with the Fatui, and interrogation…

It was the only way Rosaria knew – the only way to get the truth.

Rosaria’s voice almost quivered, but she contained her emotion as she spoke, keeping her words pristine. “Do you have anything you want to say?”

She always gave them a chance to speak – her prey… Before she struck. Of course, they always spoke eventually: when they were bleeding out, or when they could barely keep enough breath in their lungs to form words greater than whispers…

Rosaria felt for the Sumeru knife under her belt. She’d considered – when the time came – that she might like to use that very knife to make the first cut…

Blood…

But then Rosaria took her hand away from the knife.

No.

It was an interrogation, but no blood had to be spilled. Rosaria could get the information she needed without going that far. She was good at her job, after all. And even though she still felt a snarling rage in her stomach when she thought of the witch’s duplicity…

Rosaria would control herself. She didn’t have to harm Lisa. She didn’t want to harm Lisa…

Right?

Lisa’s gaze finally found Rosaria in the darkness. Lisa smiled. “Perhaps you already know this,” she said, her voice somnolent, almost happy, as she looked at Rosaria in the dim purple light, “but, Cape Oath… Master Jean often dreams of this place.”

A shudder.

Hearing Lisa talk about Jean made Rosaria feel even angrier. Rosaria didn’t know why, but…

It just did.

But it didn’t matter. Rosaria was going to stay calm. She wiped from her lips the blood that stained them – residue from her earlier bloody coughs. Her condition had only worsened since the coalhouse; all evening, Rosaria’s throat had been bloodier and bloodier.

But that was irrelevant. Lisa was what mattered. The truth was what mattered.

Lisa looked up, into the leaves shielding her from the light of the moon. “From here, you can look out between the trees and see the whole of Mondstadt – the white stone of Thousand Winds Temple, the clouds obscuring Starsnatch Cliff… The spires of the cathedral far away, and – behind them – the swirling mist of Old Mondstadt: Dvalin’s lair.” She finally looked up, locating Rosaria and fixing her with an electric stare. “You know… Cape Oath is where lovers come to be alone.”

Rosaria was barely listening. The irony in Lisa’s provocative speech washed over Rosaria. Rosaria wondered, did Lisa know she’d been found out? Did she know why Rosaria had come? Lisa’s words gave little away. Of course, Rosaria had to remember: it was still possible that Lisa was innocent. If that were the case, Lisa would have no idea about Rosaria’s intentions – her anger.

Rosaria spat blood into the leaves at her feet.

Lisa didn’t seem to notice – she was too wrapped up in her monologue. She laughed. “It’s no wonder. A place like this…” She gazed through the trees – into the dark blue sky beyond the cliff’s edge. “I don’t expect you’ve much to say about love, however. I suppose someone like you…” The light from her purple lantern danced over the grass and leaves. Lisa looked back at Rosaria and smiled – softly. “What do you think about? When you’re not thinking about death?”

Rosaria stared into Lisa’s eyes.

Lisa frowned. “Rosaria. That mind of yours… Do you have any thoughts, at all?”

Rosaria didn’t take the bait. She was too focused to be fazed by such trite provocations.

Lisa shook her head. “Just how much of you is left?”

A shimmer of moonlight broke into the glade as a breeze shifted the leaves.

Rosaria didn’t speak. Lisa couldn’t win, so why not let her enjoy her last moments of control?

Lisa folded her arms. “Why did you come here?” she asked. “You didn’t come all this way simply for the view.”

So Lisa didn’t know? Or was she playing dumb?

Rosaria felt a snarl itching the corners of her mouth.

More games. With Lisa, things were never simple. There was never any trust – never any sincerity. But…

That didn’t matter. There was one way to proceed, and one way only. If Lisa were innocent, or if she were guilty… Either way, Rosaria would find out – the one way she knew how.

It was time.

Rosaria pulled the knife from her belt. She had no intention to use it, but… If she wanted to get the information she needed without spilling blood, she had to at least put on a convincing act. She stared at Lisa. “What a waste of words,” she said. “Neither poetic, nor profound. From people in your position…” she looked at Lisa with intense eyes. “I’ve heard far, far better.”

There was a moment of stillness in the glade. The purple lantern continued to produce licks of electric light, glimmering in the leaves and threatening the unstable shadows. Lisa brought her gaze to the knife in Rosaria’s hand.

Would she recognise it? Rosaria wondered… Would Lisa’s expression reveal familiarity? Guilt?

And then…

Lisa laughed – silently – bringing her hand to her mouth and bowing her head.

Guilty.

Knife in hand, Rosaria pounced.

A rippling shiver shook the night as the sleeping birds stirred, and the trees of the glade came alive with wing-shimmering echoes.

Electricity.

And then Rosaria realised her teeth were clenched.

Resistance. Searing.

Rosaria became aware of her body – her limbs – fighting against snapping, searing electricity. She tensed her grip on the knife in her hand. And then, before she knew it…

She was overpowered – pushed away like a shadow chased away by new light.

Her feet drove into the grass beneath her as she slid back under the pressure of purple, unrelenting energy. She came to rest with her arms braced before her – braced against the burning snaps of power still arcing from Lisa’s lantern.

Rosaria looked up.

Lisa’s eyes shone. She sat as if nothing were amiss, looking at Rosaria as if waiting for the answer to a question.

You…

The witch was more alert that Rosaria had given her credit for. Lisa was proficient in combat, yes, but Rosaria hadn’t thought Lisa’s reactions would be fast enough to defend herself in time.

The electricity from Lisa’s lantern continued to hum against Rosaria’s braced arms, and Rosaria felt her anger begin to fade. Lisa had for sure looked guilty when she’d clocked the knife, but Rosaria should never have pounced in anger. She should’ve been in control – aware that a guilty face wasn’t the same as a true confession.

Braced against the electricity, Rosaria forced her feet down further into the ground, anchoring herself for what she was about to do. A little electricity was nothing, and Rosaria had more power that Lisa realised. Rosaria didn’t have to be angry to be in charge. She could remain cool – and she would keep that cool until she got a definitive confession from Lisa’s lips. Rosaria smiled.

My turn.

It was time to turn things around.

Rosaria let a guttural exhalation of strength escape her lungs. She flung out her hand, sending forward a drift of glittering snow.

And the lantern went out.

Darkness. Even the birds were quiet.

Rosaria felt satisfaction settle over her mind. That ought to show Lisa who was really in charge, here.

Against the trees, silvery words of moonlight spoke whispering leaf-patterns in the silence – moving against the stillness of the dark. But…

Rosaria’s body felt weak. Her satisfaction was short lived as she noticed her muscles quivering.

Immediately, she recognised her mistake. Ice. Electricity. The two elements convergence had sent a sparkle of energy-sapping silence over the glade. Superconduct.

And then Rosaria’s legs gave out.

She fell, but reinforced herself against the ground in a crouching position, bringing her free hand down to redistribute her weight evenly across a low centre of gravity.

Damn it.

Ice and electricity had a way of taking the breath from your lungs. Rosaria cursed her foolishness – she’d been so eager to match Lisa’s power, but… She should’ve been more careful.

She looked across the glade.

Lisa had fallen to the floor. She lay languorously in a gloss of moonlight – before the tree under which she’d been sheltering.

Rosaria took it as a small consolation: Lisa had suffered the same weakening affliction. There was a level playing-field.

Lisa’s eyes were cast down, averted from Rosaria, but then… Lisa looked up. Her expression remained blank – visible only by ephemeral moonlight admitted through the shifting leaves. “Oh, my…” said Lisa. “Look what you’ve done to me…” And then… She smiled. “You’ve made me weak at the knees.”

And for a moment…

Rosaria felt anger itching in her guts, once again.

The witch was so… Annoying.

She was always so smug.

Lisa’s voice continued. “Before I allow you to lay your hands on me, I’m going to have to ask for a favour.” Gently, carefully, without lifting herself from the ground, she lifted one hand, and held it out. “Give me back my knife.”

As Rosaria and Lisa glared at each other across the glade, Rosaria tried to reassure herself that there was still room for doubt. The knife was for sure Lisa’s, but Rosaria hadn’t forgotten Lisa’s penchant for playing games – her love of mischief, and staying one step ahead. It was still possible that Lisa’s knife had gotten to the Fatui by perfectly innocent means. Lisa’s sense of humour was so sardonic, it wasn’t completely out of character for her to allow Rosaria to get angry, just for the fun of it. And therefore…

The anger welling in Rosaria’s stomach was just a burden – it was nothing worth acting on. Rosaria wouldn’t lose control – wouldn’t buckle under the tension of that anger. If she did…

She was allowing the possibility that Lisa might win. And that was unacceptable.

Rosaria dug her nails into the dirt. She stared Lisa in the eyes.

Lisa was lying still before the tree. She hadn’t stood, and was, instead, content to reciprocate Rosaria’s stare.

Rosaria had to escalate. She was still in control of her anger, and would inflict no serious wounds, but…

It was time to pounce.

But then the moonlight disappeared. The trees shifted in a flickering breeze, and the glade was thrown into darkness.

Rosaria couldn’t see. She brought as much strength as she could into her still shaking legs and rose to her feet.

Lisa.

Where are you?

Flashes of moonlight shifted and flickered as the new breeze played through the trees, but the ephemeral light wasn’t enough to reveal Lisa’s location. She was nowhere to be seen. Rosaria closed her eyes, and listened. Nothing. And then…

Rosaria remembered the moment Lisa had relinquished her brooch, at Jean’s office. She remembered putting it to her nose.

That stench.

Rosaria smiled.

Got you.

Rosaria flung herself into the darkness, landing on Lisa at the precise moment a purple flash of electricity arced between Lisa’s hands.

They slammed into a tree, and Lisa let out a sharp exhalation of pain; the gentle purple light still glowed in Lisa’s hands, revealing in purple gloss the features of Lisa’s gently grimacing face.

Rosaria put her hand around Lisa’s throat. Firm enough to restrict Lisa’s movement, but not so firm to risk permanent damage. “Your smell gave you away,” she said. “The smell of you… It disgusts me.”

Lisa’s grimace turned to a sarcastic smile. “You always seemed to me much more elegant,” she said. “I expected more grace in your approach. I never knew you were such… A brute.”

Lisa was a tough nut to crack.

Rosaria felt the blood from her throat welling in her mouth. She located a spot on the tree trunk and spat, splashing blood across the tree.

Apparently not intimidated, Lisa only laughed. And Rosaria knew – if she wanted to truly shake Lisa…

Spitting blood wasn’t enough. Rosaria was going to have to go even further. Perhaps…

Rosaria thought, once again, of the knife.

Perhaps she would have to use it, after all.

But then…

Silent, delicate, a pinprick of pressure found the back of Rosaria’s neck.

Stillness.

Of course.

Rosaria almost laughed. The breeze in the trees – the breeze that had disturbed the moonlight and cast the glade into darkness… Rosaria should have realised it, then.

Jean.

Rosaria growled. “Acting Grand Master,” she said, addressing Jean whose sword she could still feel at the back of her neck. “Leave us be.” She fortified her eye-contact with the silent Lisa before her. “This is what she deserves.”

Jean's voice was calm. "Rosaria..."

Rosaria didn’t know if Jean assumed the worst. Did Jean think Rosaria was trying to kill Lisa? If that was what she thought, Rosaria knew she had to allow Jean to think it – that was the only way to truly intimidate Lisa… The only chance at finding out the truth about that knife, and how it had gotten into the Fatui’s hands.

The next words that Jean spoke came confident. “Lisa, that’s enough.”

Lisa?

Rosaria felt a tingle of irritation. That was all Jean could say? She was appealing to Lisa? As if there were any reason to trust the witch after her lies?

Under Rosaria’s hand, Lisa began quietly, joyously, to laugh.

No.

Rosaria tightened her grip around Lisa’s throat.

I’ll crush the laughter right out of you, witch.

As Rosaria felt her grip around Lisa’s neck tighten, she knew the anger she felt, in that moment, wasn’t the same anger she’d felt, before. Yes, she was still convinced that Lisa had betrayed her – still convinced that Lisa had intentionally consorted with the Fatui as a part of some twisted game. For this, Rosaria was still enraged. But, if that were all, she could’ve controlled that anger until she’d gotten her confession – just as she’d controlled it prior. No… The anger that animated her, now, it was different.

Lisa’s laughter, as Jean defended her – as Jean tried to undermine Rosaria’s interrogation…

Jean still trusted Lisa, and Lisa knew it. And that…

That was what made Rosaria so newly angry.

Lisa was so smug – she enjoyed so arrogantly Jean’s unconditional trust and confidence. And Rosaria…

Rosaria knew that Lisa didn’t deserve Jean’s trust.

It made her so angry that Jean didn’t see that – so angry that Lisa would shamelessly play with Jean’s good will – with Jean’s good heart.

Rosaria stared into Lisa’s eyes as splutters of strained breath began to break Lisa’s laughter.

But Rosaria only got angrier as her grip tightened, because even though the life was being crushed from Lisa’s eyes…

Lisa didn’t stop smiling the whole time.

And then…

Wind.

Chapter Text

All Rosaria felt was wind – flowing around her body and eliminating the breath from her lungs. And before she knew it…

Rosaria was upside down. Flying across the glade.

She flung out her hand, allowing her spear to materialise in her grasp. Utilising her momentum, she thrust the spear into the dirt and used it as an anchor to flip herself around, bringing her feet once again to the ground.

The breeze died down, but didn’t cease flowing completely,

Rosaria looked across the glade – at Jean standing before Lisa. Jean and Lisa both were watching Rosaria with apprehensiveness. Jean’s eyes cautious, and Lisa’s eyes…

Happy.

Rosaria gritted her teeth and pulled her spear from the ground with a flourish. She could hardly stand the look on Lisa’s face – she couldn’t bear to see Lisa so satisfied that Jean would never lose faith in her.

Jean’s voice roused Rosaria’s attention. “Lisa.”

Jean was holding her sword by her side. She was turned half towards Lisa, half towards Rosaria. “Lisa. Explain yourself. Put an end to this.”

Lisa stepped forward.

But Rosaria didn’t care to hear what Lisa had to say. Jean still put value on Lisa’s words, but Rosaria knew that Lisa would only lie – only play more games. If Lisa’s words were going to mean anything, they had to be words uttered with the threat of Rosaria’s blade at Lisa’s throat. Rosaria believed in her ability as an interrogator: if she had her way with Lisa, she’d get the truth out of her once and for all, and as long as Lisa was free from Rosaria’s grasp, her words would continue to be part of a wretched little game. But Jean…

Jean was a problem. There was no way that Jean would allow Rosaria to interrogate Lisa. For some reason, Jean still believed that there was a valid explanation for why the Fatui had been in possession of Lisa’s knife, and she wasn’t going to let Rosaria escalate. Jean simply didn’t acknowledge the necessity.

Rosaria shook her head. “Move,” she said, signalling for Jean to stand aside. “Just get out of my way.”

Rosaria knew, however, that her entreaty would be useless. Jean wouldn’t move – she wouldn’t stand aside and let Rosaria have her way. And so…

What could Rosaria do?

Jean simply looked at Rosaria. Jean’s expression, as Rosaria predicted, revealed no intention to relent.

And Rosaria felt a whisper of disappointment in her heart.

Now that Lisa knew about Rosaria’s suspicions, Rosaria had spent her element of surprise. If she let Lisa leave the glade without having gotten from her the truth, Rosaria might never again be able to pin Lisa down. Not the way she needed to. In the glade, Rosaria had Lisa alone – away from the city. When would another opportunity like that present itself? It could be weeks. Months. And in all that time, Lisa would be spinning more plans – more lies.

But…

That wasn’t the worst of it.

Perhaps, if that had been all, Rosaria would’ve been able to relent – able to let Lisa go until she could get her truly alone. Rosaria was a professional, after all, and she was better at her job than anyone. No matter how long Lisa had to scheme, Rosaria could counter with enough cunning to get to the truth. But…

There was something else.

Jean finally spoke. “I know you don’t trust her, but Rosaria…” She put her hand to her heart. “Trust me.”

Rosaria looked away from Jean, and across to Lisa.

The real reason Rosaria couldn’t let Lisa leave… It was…

Lisa still stood slightly behind Jean. She’d stepped forward a little, but remained still in the shadows, under a cloak of darkness. But even still – even though Lisa stood concealed in shadow – the expression on her face somehow caught a glimmer of moonlight.

She was smiling. That same smug, ironic smile.

Rosaria narrowed her eyes, and looked back at Jean’s earnest face.

Jean’s heart was kind, and her judgement magnanimous, but, this time…

Jean was being taken advantage of.

Lisa…

And that was it. That was the reason that Rosaria couldn’t just let Lisa walk away.

Trust…

Rosaria trusted Jean’s heart to be good, but…

Sometimes, being good wasn’t enough. Sometimes, if you were good, bad people would get the better of you with their manipulations. And for that to happen to Jean… Rosaria just couldn’t stand it. And, of course…

Rosaria was uniquely positioned to do something about it.

Rosaria’s heart may not have been good, but nobody got the truth out of people more reliably than she did. You didn’t need to trust anyone when you could get people to spill their guts. When you had Rosaria’s talents, and the stomach to employ them…

Blood was more powerful than trust.

And so…

Rosaria knew what she had to do. She wouldn’t let Lisa take advantage of Jean’s goodness. Therefore…

Rosaria had no choice but to get Jean out of the picture – at least for long enough to find the evidence she needed of Lisa’s guilt… Long enough to hear a confession from Lisa’s own lips.

Rosaria twirled her spear. It felt wrong to think about striking Jean – even just to incapacitate her – but Rosaria didn’t have a choice. She would inflict no harm – and Jean would understand Rosaria’s actions in the end, once Lisa’s guilt was revealed. As long as Jean was unharmed, it would be okay.

Anything to protect Jean from the wretchedness of Lisa’s cruel smile.

Rosaria looked away from Jean and glared, instead, at Lisa. “Trust…” she said. “Trust has nothing to do with it.” Rosaria wiped blood from her lips. She stared at Lisa, and smiled. Her words were calm – clear. “You can’t run.”

Frost.

And then Rosaria disappeared into a cloud of snow.

***

Rosaria could only enter the immaterial realm for a split-second, but in that flash of frozen time she could travel several meters in the blink of an eye, and even circumnavigate obstacles in her path. It wasn’t teleportation, but it was close enough. In a flash, Rosaria would reappear in a flurry of snowflakes – behind Jean, and then…

She’d incapacitate Jean as gently as one falls asleep. A skilful strike to the head, controlled and precise – enough to sweep Jean into unconsciousness without even the briefest pain. It was a useful skill in Rosaria’s line of work – one she’d mastered perfectly.

It was as easy as that.

But…

A voice. At the moment Rosaria disappeared into her cloud of snow, she heard something. It was Jean, and the word Jean whispered into the night… It was a word Rosaria recognised well. It was, after all, the name of the god she herself supposedly worshipped.

“Barbatos.”

And when Rosaria reappeared, on the other side of Jean, in a burst of snowflakes…

Rosaria suddenly felt a vicious exhalation pull every last whisper of breath from her lungs.

***

Wind. An unrelenting, blitzing song of pious wind swirled through Rosaria as soon as she reappeared in the material realm. The wind swirled the snow Rosaria had materialised – swirled it into her lungs – turning her own ice against her.

She felt herself weightless – in midair – and she saw, in the darkness, glimmering dandelions catching the moonlight as they floated to and fro. And standing in a gleam of moonlight…

Jean – her sword held before her, eyes closed.

“Barbatos.”

The word had been Jean’s incantation – her appeal to the anemo archon as she’d summoned a circle of wind in the glade, just in time to swirl Rosaria’s ice.

Rosaria clenched her fists and tensed her muscles. “Acting Grand Master…” Her voice was shaky as she fought for her breath against the pious breeze that cradled her – that kept her floating.

Jean had acted so fast – so… Heroically.

But…

Why didn’t Jean realise that Lisa wasn’t worth protecting?

Rosaria searched for Jean’s gaze, but Jean’s eyes were still closed. And then…

Jean opened her eyes.

And Rosaria fell to the ground.

But she didn’t let herself collapse; Rosaria saved herself from eating dirt, landing instead like a cat in the leaves, crouched with her hands down to stabilise her. She lifted her gaze from the ground and looked up at Jean.

Jean made a flourish with her sword and met Rosaria’s gaze, but… Jean didn’t step forward. Her expression…

It was suddenly so serious. Was Jean angry? Upset? What was it? That expression seemed so out of character…

Rosaria spat frosty blood into the leaves, and looked again into Jean’s ambiguous eyes.

Jean…

It would, of course, make sense for Jean to be angry. Rosaria had, for the second time, threatened Lisa’s life, and Lisa was Jean’s closest confidant. But the last time Rosaria had pounced on Lisa, at Jean’s office…

Jean had been so gentle. Her sword had been so kind against Rosaria’s stomach – her hands so light against Rosaria’s body, and her breeze a mere whisper against Rosaria’s skin.

But now…

Why didn’t Jean’s face look as gentle as it had back then?

And then Jean stepped forward.

Rosaria was so surprised by the sudden movement that she almost flinched. But she held her composure.

And when Jean stopped, mere feet away…

Jean held out her sword – pointing its tip right at Rosaria’s face.

Rosaria could hardly believe what was happening. She cast her mind back and saw, once again, Lisa’s smirk as the life was slowly being crushed from her eyes, and Rosaria had to wonder…

Had Rosaria finally pushed Jean to her limit? The last time Jean had held her sword to Rosaria, it had only been a test – to see if she’d been in control of her emotions. But, now…

Jean was acting to protect Lisa. This time…

It wasn’t just a test. It was real.

And it hurt Rosaria so badly to see Jean protecting someone who didn’t deserve it.

The glade was quiet. Neither Jean nor Rosaria moved, and Lisa’s shadow was now invisible against the darkness of the trees. But, at that moment… Lisa was almost completely irrelevant. It seemed like only Jean mattered. Like…

Jean and Rosaria were the only two people who mattered at all.

Rosaria stared at the drop of her own blood on the sword’s tip. Her voice came quiet, almost against her will. “Acting Grand Master…”

Back in the coalhouse, Rosaria had asked Jean if she’d ever killed a human, but… Jean hadn’t answered. Their conversation had been interrupted by the orphan slashing into Rosaria’s back, and Rosaria had never gotten the truth – the truth about Jean. But now, as Jean stood, once more, with her sword pointed at Rosaria – her face so defiantly serious…

Rosaria’s curiosity burned more desperately than ever.

But…

The question she had for Jean wasn’t exactly the same question as before.

Rosaria spoke transfixed by the sword – its bloodied tip. “At the coalhouse,” she said. “Do you remember what I asked you? Before…” She paused, and then looked at Jean.

Jean was still watching with that look in her eyes – serious, calm.

And Rosaria tasted blood on her tongue as she finished her words. “I still don’t know the truth,” she said. “Maybe you have killed a human. To satisfy the title of Acting Grand Master, I think spilling blood is almost a necessity, for better or worse…” Rosaria looked down. She looked at the leaves and dirt beneath her – beneath her hands. “But even if you have killed someone, I still have to wonder…”

Yes.

There was still another question.

Rosaria looked up.

Jean’s eyes had begun to shimmer. There was some nascent emotion in those eyes that Rosaria recognised as the beginning of tears.

Even if Jean had killed, before, there was still another question that had to be asked. Rosaria felt passionate – enchanted. “You might have killed someone, but Acting Grand Master… Even if it were necessary…” Rosaria’s eyes burned. “Could you ever kill me?”

There was a moment of quiet. For a moment, Lisa was gone, the birds in the trees were gone.

And then Jean let go of her sword.

There was a momentary shiver of surprise in Rosaria’s exhalation, but as Rosaria’s attention moved to Jean’s falling sword…

A guiding twirl of wind captured the sword and suspended it in the air – suspended it by Jean’s shoulder. The sword floated in midair with the tip of its blade still pointing at Rosaria’s face, and Rosaria…

Rosaria knew the sword was ready to fly at her – at a moment’s notice. The snap of a finger… The whisper of a command…

Rosaria looked back at Jean’s stoic face. Her eyes revealed nothing. She was like stone.

So that’s how it is?

And Rosaria looked down.

Because she knew the answer to her question.

Jean.

So…

You would choose Lisa over me?

It was almost…

Funny.

In a twisted kind of way.

Rosaria smiled, staring into the dead leaves beneath her.

How funny that Rosaria had convinced herself, even for a moment…

That she and Jean might’ve had something special.

Chapter Text

Rosaria didn’t look up. Still kneeling on the ground before Jean, Rosaria kept her gaze low, and stared into the dead leaves under her hands. Surely, Jean was bluffing. She wasn’t really going to strike Rosaria down. Jean was counting on Rosaria yielding – wilfully making peace. But…

Was Jean right? Was making peace something Rosaria could actually bring herself to do?

Rosaria felt her breaths coming carefully in the silence. Rosaria’s initial plan… It wasn’t going to work. And Rosaria’s heart…

Was about to burst with frustration.

Jean…

As Rosaria had discovered, she couldn’t incapacitate Jean without a fight, and that… That was a problem. Fighting was too risky: Jean might get hurt. And that meant…

Rosaria had no choice but to yield. Lisa had won. Rosaria had to leave the glade without the answers she sought – without a confession of guilt from Lisa – and Lisa got to leave the glade still enjoying Jean’s trust.

Rosaria spat blood into the dead leaves.

Lisa was going to smugly get away with her deceptions. It was despicable, but Rosaria had no choice.

Rosaria felt her shoulders shaking as she tensed her hands and her fingernails dug into the dirt.

If only Rosaria could show Jean that Lisa wasn’t worth trusting… If only Rosaria could expose Lisa’s guilt and lies – then, Jean would understand that protecting Lisa wasn’t worth it. Lisa was no good. But, for some reason…

Jean just couldn’t see it.

Jean…

Why?

Rosaria closed her eyes and tried desperately to rid her mind of the images… The memory of Lisa’s wretched laughter as Rosaria had almost crushed the life from Lisa’s eyes…

Could Rosaria really walk away? Could she really leave Cape Oath knowing that Jean was wrapped around Lisa’s little finger? And if Rosaria couldn’t do it – if she couldn’t control her anger…

Blood…

The thought of Jean’s blade plunging down – plunging into Rosaria’s flesh…

Rosaria couldn’t even tell if it frightened her.

If Jean made the decision to strike, Rosaria would have to defend herself, and that would mean a chance of harming Jean. But… There was something else. Something else bothered Rosaria even more than that. It was a question – the question Rosaria had asked when Jean had pointed her sword at Rosaria’s face.

Could you ever kill me?

Could Jean…

Could she really do it? Really try?

Rosaria took a deep breath. She kept her eyes closed. She was completely lost in thought.

And Rosaria became aware of a new part of herself. It was something in the darkness – something that only became real once Rosaria had considered the choice she now had to make.

Trust.

Over the years, Jean had grown to trust Rosaria. Or, at least… That was what Rosaria thought. And, though it was a nuisance to admit it, Rosaria couldn’t pretend otherwise: she actually… Was happy. She was happy that Jean trusted her.

Of course, Rosaria made no habit of taking satisfaction from the judgements of others, but… In this case, it had been different. Perhaps it was due to the close frequency with which she and Jean had worked together on contracts – perhaps it was more a professional thing than a personal thing. That made a lot of sense. But, either way, if Rosaria couldn’t find it in her to yield, and let Lisa escape…

Rosaria knew she was about to discover a hard truth.

If Rosaria didn’t yield – if her body revealed a shiver of violent intentions – Jean would pick up on it. Rosaria would ready herself to pounce across the glade, towards Lisa, and Jean would have a split second to decide: would she strike? Would Jean thrust her sword to defend Lisa, before it was too late?

The answer to that question…

Was Rosaria willing to face it?

If Jean made the decision to strike, there would be a moment when Jean’s sword was first piercing Rosaria’s flesh. And in that moment, Rosaria would know…

Jean had lost her trust in Rosaria.

Or, perhaps…

Jean had never trusted Rosaria, at all.

How would that feel? To know that the trust was destroyed? Or that it was, and always had been, a fantasy?

Trust…

For some reason…

Rosaria didn’t want to let it go. It wasn’t like her, but… It was just the truth.

As she pondered her thoughts, Rosaria tasted blood.

And then…

Rosaria felt Jean’s hand against her face.

Rosaria’s whole body stirred. Before she had time to think, she opened her eyes and looked up, meeting Jean’s gaze. And what Rosaria saw… It actually surprised her.

Jean’s expression was so serious.

But…

It didn’t made sense. Wasn’t Jean about to strike? But now… She was holding Rosaria’s cheek. Did it mean… Jean couldn’t go through with it? She couldn’t bring herself to strike? Or did it mean… She’d never intended on doing it in the first place?

Rosaria didn’t know.

Jean…

Do you trust me?

The glade was suddenly alive. Once silent, the birds reclaimed their voices and the voices of their wings, singing and fluttering in the shadows.

Jean’s eyes were so serious…

They gave nothing away. Was Jean angry? Hurt? Rosaria couldn’t tell, and it made the strangeness of the situation even more unbearably confusing.

What are you thinking?

The feeling of Jean’s hand was so strange against Rosaria’s cheek. It was like Rosaria wanted to pull away, but, at the same time… It was like she wanted it to last and last. Did it feel good? Or bad? That touch… Rosaria couldn’t even tell if she was breathing; she couldn’t feel anything but Jean’s closeness. And Rosaria felt, in the darkness of her confusion…

Enchanted.

And then, in Jean’s free hand – as if by magic…

There it was.

Rosaria’s brooch.

Chilled with realisation, Rosaria felt sudden inhalation in her lungs – like the sight of the brooch had woken her from sleep. Lisa must’ve stolen the brooch, once again, during their fight. But, more than that…

Rosaria was struck by a memory – of someone else, from the past.

Varka.

Jean’s voice was calm, and Rosaria, transfixed by the brooch, didn’t look up to listen to the words. “You still have a chance.”

And the familiarity of those words cut through Rosaria like ice.

Wait.

Rosaria looked at Jean.

Jean’s face was still serious and unreadable. “Turn our fates around.”

Those words.

Rosaria’s inhalation shivered as she stared into Jean’s ambiguous eyes.

They were…

His words. Varka’s.

And Rosaria felt her exhalation go cold as the memories overcame her mind.

***

There was stillness. The sky was blue. It was outside Mondstadt cathedral, at noon. The bottom of the stairs leading up to the front door. And Rosaria…

Was only a child.

She stood three steps higher than Varka, and Varka knelt before her. He pinned his brooch to her lapel. “You still have the chance to turn your fate around.”

The brooch was Rosaria’s, now.

And then…

Moonlight.

***

Rosaria stood.

Jean’s hand came away from Rosaria’s face; Jean made space into which Rosaria could rise, but remained close. Her eyes…

Still serious. Why?

Rosaria, now standing face to face with Jean, stared into Jean’s serious eyes, and tried her best to calm her shivering breaths.

There was no way – no way that Jean could’ve known the exact words that Varka had said. Rosaria had never told anybody… But, even still… Jean had used them. Had she done so on purpose? Had she known that Rosaria would recognise them? There were too many questions; Rosaria didn’t know which to ask, first.

And then…

Jean reached forward. She pinned the brooch to Rosaria’s lapel.

And Rosaria felt like time collapsed in on itself.

Darkness.

Silence.

A memory.

Kill me, too.

And that was the moment. That was the moment…

Where Rosaria realised the truth.

The glade was lost in time. No sound – no shadows.

Jean… She wasn’t just Varka’s successor in name. It was more than that. She was… His echo – an echo of Varka’s magnanimity, and, more importantly…

An echo of Varka’s mercy.

Rosaria felt cold.

All those years ago, when Rosaria should’ve died with the rest of the dogs…

Varka had refused to kill her.

And so, when it came to Jean, even if Rosaria deserved it – even if Rosaria had refused to yield – Rosaria knew the truth.

Jean was never going to strike Rosaria – no matter what.

Rosaria felt an unnamed bitterness bracing her heart.

The truth was…

There was no way to escape Jean’s mercy.

None.

Just as there had been no way to escape Varka’s mercy, all those years ago…

And in realising this…

Rosaria felt so foolish.

A stillness lingered in the glade as Jean removed her hands from Rosaria’s lapel.

Rosaria closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

Trust…

In the end, Jean hadn’t struck Rosaria – she would never have killed Rosaria – but… Jean didn’t restrain her blade because she trusted Rosaria. On the contrary…

Jean restrained herself because she had mercy on Rosaria.

Rosaria had been absolved, but…

Had she ever been trusted?

Suddenly, Rosaria wasn’t so sure. And she simply felt…

Cold.

Like, to Jean…

Rosaria might’ve been a stranger.

Trust…

Was it a fantasy? All along? Was it ever real? Or…

Was Rosaria just another sinner to be forgiven? Just like all the rest?

And Rosaria felt, in her body, something crackling – like the shivering birth of new ice.

Rosaria and Jean stood before one another without speaking, the lingering moment attenuated only by the shifting of the shadows and the rhythm of the birds in the dark.

No.

Rosaria gritted her teeth.

The realisation about Jean had threatened to break Rosaria’s control – her control over her emotions. If she lost control – like she’d done at Jean’s office – she wouldn’t be able to restrain herself. Her self-control was the only thing stopping her from doing what she really wanted to do…

Witch.

There was nothing Rosaria wanted more than to pounce towards Lisa – to get the confession of deceit she so desperately needed.

But, if that happened… A fight between Rosaria and Jean was inevitable. And – even though things had changed… Rosaria still couldn’t allow that. Even though Jean would never strike Rosaria – never strike to kill – a fight could still result in harm to Jean. And even if Jean had never trusted Rosaria…

That didn’t change the way Rosaria felt about Jean.

Yes. Rosaria would control herself. Because… Rosaria had to acknowledge the truth…

The mercilessly annoying truth.

Even if Jean only saw Rosaria as a sinner to be forgiven… Even if Jean didn’t care about everything she and Rosaria had been through…

Rosaria cared.

Jean hadn’t moved. Her expression hadn’t changed. She continued to meet Rosaria’s gaze, and the glade was now silent. And Rosaria…

Rosaria felt her hands twitch – she felt her teeth shiver – like some motion was itching to be unleashed.

In response, Jean’s expression shimmered – as if noticing Rosaria’s restlessness and ready, if necessary, to react.

Jean…

It irritated Rosaria furiously to acknowledge it, but the way Rosaria cared… If she ever hurt Jean… That memory would leave a scar more gruesome than any of the others Rosaria had survived.

Ice.

Blood.

Rosaria’s body quivered.

What a nuisance.

And then…

Rosaria turned away. She claimed control, deciding that her emotions wouldn’t get the better of her – not this time.

She took a deep breath.

Not this time.

And she began to walk away.

Rosaria approached the softly shadowed trees at the edge of the glade. She listened to the crackling leaves underfoot and the fluttering birds above.

The sounds of Cape Oath…

They soothed Rosaria – soothed her as she walked away from both Lisa and Jean… Away from the mistake that was just waiting to be made.

The sound of Lisa’s voice, when it came, was soft – so soft that Rosaria could’ve missed it – and it took Rosaria a few seconds, after the words were finished, to comprehend what Lisa had actually said.

“Come to the cathedral.”

Rosaria pushed aside a branch of violet leaves, not turning around in response to Lisa’s entreaty.

The cathedral?

Lisa spoke again. “Be there at dawn.”

Rosaria hardly knew what to make of it. She had planned on being at the cathedral at dawn, regardless. She had a good streak of attendance going, and it was keeping the other sisters off her back. But did Lisa know that? And, moreover…

What was Lisa planning?

Rosaria didn’t turn around. She didn’t respond at all, but she spared a moment, as she stepped between the parted branches of two trees…

To think of Jean.

She thought of Jean’s face, and wondered: what, at that moment, as Rosaria walked away, was the expression showing in Jean’s eyes? Would she look happy? Disappointed?

Rosaria…

Somehow cared to know.

But…

Rosaria shook the thoughts from her head.

Whatever Lisa was planning, there were still several hours before dawn. There was still enough time to return to Mondstadt, and…

Rosaria could taste it, already: the sweet voluptuous taste of twilight wine. She really, really, needed a drink.

She wasn’t about to miss out two days in a row.

And when the sun finally rose… Rosaria would have to make a decision.

The cathedral.

Lisa…

Leaving behind the shadows of the glade, Rosaria looked at the moon in the sky.

What are you planning?

Chapter Text

The taste of the potion…

It was sickeningly sweet.

Rosaria spat the concoction back into its vial.

Barbara turned, slight alarm flashing in her expression as she fumbled and re-stabilised the bundle of vials she carried. “Oh! Did I mess up the recipe, again!?”

Rosaria put down the potion on the infirmary table.

The infirmary…

It wasn’t so bad.

The infirmary was a wing of the cathedral cloistered away from the congregation. Sometimes, Barbara would tend to a patient in the pews – as she’d done so for Bennett, the morning prior, as Rosaria and Jean had held their debrief in the shadows. But most of the church’s healing was done in the cosy confines of the infirmary proper.

Rosaria wiped her mouth. The lingering taste of Barbara’s potion… It was way too sweet – not like the soothing embrace of the wine Rosaria had been so enjoying earlier that morning.

Ahh. Yes.

Wine.

That morning, Rosaria had drank the hours away. And it only took one mouthful of perfection for Rosaria to decide, once and for all:

She wasn’t going to take Lisa’s invitation.

Rosaria didn’t want to give Lisa that satisfaction. Whatever Lisa had wanted – whatever her reason for telling Rosaria to come to the cathedral at dawn… Rosaria didn’t care. And she’d spent the morning sun-bathing on the rooftops, shunning her sisterly duties in the most delightful way.

But…

There had been a problem.

Rosaria hadn’t stopped coughing up blood.

Candlelight danced in the infirmary. Rosaria softly inhaled. She pushed away Barbara’s sickly potion – sliding it across the table – and leaned back in her chair.

She’d hoped her condition would stabilise; she’d hoped that the blood she’d been spitting, since the episode at the coalhouse, would eventually dry up. But… It didn’t.

She hadn’t, of course, taken lightly the decision to seek Barbara’s help. Going to the cathedral, on that morning, meant taking a risk. She’d have to pass through the congregation hall to get to the infirmary, and what if…

Lisa was still there?

But, Rosaria had waited many hours since dawn, just to be safe. And though, on another occasion, Rosaria might’ve been able to put up with the coughing for even longer – days, or even weeks – on this occasion, Rosaria hadn’t been able to ignore one most unpalatable side effect…

The taste of blood had almost ruined the flavour of Rosaria’s wine. And that, as far as Rosaria was concerned…

That was one inconvenience too bothersome to bear.

Rosaria shivered.

She’d been relieved, upon arriving at the cathedral, to see that Lisa was nowhere to be found. She’d been lucky – lucky that Lisa hadn’t waited for Rosaria long enough for the two of them to cross paths. That, at least, was a relief.

But now, waiting for Barbara’s verdict on the nature of Rosaria’s bloody cough…

Rosaria almost regretted having come.

Rosaria glared at the potion Barbara had given her – the potion she’d just slid back across the table. It was useless – Rosaria could hardly get it down; it was so sickly and disgusting to her.

Hmm…

Rosaria frowned.

What a nuisance.

Barbara’s voice came with a shimmer of nervousness. “Does it taste bitter?”

Stirred from thought, Rosaria looked up.

Barbara shook her head – her expression betraying profound embarrassment. “It’s supposed to taste only mildly bitter with a predominantly sweet flavour! But it tastes more than mildly bitter, doesn’t it? Oh! The wolfhook harvest is so inconsistent, and the red wolfhooks are so hard to find…”

By that point in her speech, Barbara was staring into space. Her face was red and her hands were on her cheeks. “And I have to harvest the berries all by myself! Because nobody else can identify the ripe ones amongst the nascent…”

And then…

Barbara suddenly startled, as if remembering that she wasn’t alone. She looked back at Rosaria. “Oh! Sister Rosaria! I’m really really sorry! I’ll make you another one!”

But Rosaria…

Simply shook her head. She closed her eyes.

The infirmary fell quiet, once again. There was no hustle or bustle – nobody else in the cosy, candle-lit room to disturb the peace. At least…

Nobody awake.

Because there was somebody else in the infirmary.

Rosaria opened her eyes. She looked across the room, towards the only occupied bed.

The orphan was asleep, soundly – as if truly resting.

And Rosaria had to admit…

Coming to the infirmary hadn’t been a total waste of time.

Seeing the girl quietly recovering… It had made Rosaria feel a little better. More so than any potion ever could.

The sound of Barbara’s voice shook Rosaria from her thoughts. “It’s okay.”

Rosaria looked up.

Barbara was smiling gently. “The child can rest, now.”

Rosaria returned her gaze to the orphan, and remained still.

The infirmary was quiet.

Rosaria wasn’t sure how much Barbara knew – how much detail Jean had given when she’d brought the child to be tended to. Presumably, Barbara didn’t know the full story about how the child had attacked Rosaria – and, certainly, Barbara didn’t know that Rosaria had killed the girl’s father.

Did Barbara even know who the girl was?

The sound of Barbara clinking her medicine vials twinkled in the air. Then, her voice. “Poor thing… She must’ve been through so much.”

When Rosaria looked, Barbara was staring across the room, watching the girl with a peaceful melancholy in her eyes.

So, Barbara knew at least something about the orphan’s situation – enough to put such melancholy in Barbara’s eyes.

Rosaria took a deep breath. “Yes,” she said. “The girl’s been through a lot. But…” Rosaria didn’t think Barbara knew the half of it. “It isn’t nearly over.”

Barbara appeared unsure how to interpret Rosaria’s words. She looked away for a moment, before allowing Rosaria to recapture her gaze. Barbara smiled, but her words were melancholy. “No. I guess not.”

Rosaria looked down. She felt a little bad. She hadn’t meant to sound pessimistic. It was just…

Rosaria knew exactly what it was like to be that little girl. And it wasn’t easy. Death – all the death the little girl had endured… It was only the beginning. Life still waited for the girl. And life… It could be so much harder than death. At least…

For some people.

Rosaria smiled. It was almost funny – in a twisted sort of way…

How unfair life could be.

And the orphan slept on, in silence, as Rosaria watched.

After a moment, Rosaria turned back to Barbara. “I’ll try another potion, but this time…”

Barbara turned to Rosaria with a curiosity in her eyes.

And Rosaria smiled as she finished. “Make it bitter. Can you do that, for me?”

For a moment, Barbara hesitated. There was silence, and Barbara’s expression was blank. But then…

Recognition flashed in Barbara’s eyes. She nodded, and her expression turned assured. “Yes. Of course. It’ll be ready in one minute!”

And with that, Rosaria stood. She walked across the room to the orphan’s bed, and, remaining several feet away, watched the girl’s peaceful sleeping.

The sounds of Barbara tinkering with her potions brought a levity to the air. The candlelight flickered and smiled.

Rosaria couldn’t help but wonder: when Jean had brought the orphan to the infirmary, had Barbara and Jean spoken? The two of them seemed to almost strenuously avoid talking, despite how unusual it was, and Rosaria regretted not having been able to witness the moment Jean had arrived – the orphan in her arms. Whatever conversation Barbara and Jean may have had… Rosaria was undeniably curious. Might Barbara and Jean have said something, to one another, that might’ve revealed the reason for their strange relationship?

And then…

That was when Rosaria noticed something.

She saw it from the corner of her eye. It was such a small thing, she might easily have missed it. But it managed to find Rosaria’s attention, regardless. There, on the nightstand beside the orphan’s bed…

There was a photograph.

Photographs were quite a rare sight, all things considered. The technology for creating such snapshots of time was still a novelty, and not many people had in their possession the gadget that could do it. Rosaria couldn’t even remember its name – the peculiar device – but she remembered well enough that the inventor had been from far-away Fontaine. As such, photographs were few and far between in Mondstadt. Which meant…

Seeing one in the infirmary was quite strange.

Rosaria approached the nightstand, to get a better view. She folded her arms, and stared down at the photograph.

She couldn’t stop the words from escaping her lips – what she saw was so intriguing to her. “Hmph.” A smile just barely lit up her face. “Would you look at that.”

It was a photograph of Barbara and Jean.

The tinkering sounds of Barbara’s potioncraft suddenly paused.

Rosaria looked up.

And Barbara was standing before Rosaria in no time at all.

Barbara reached past Rosaria and took the photograph from the nightstand. “Oh! Did I leave that lying around!?” Her voice was urgent, but quiet – as if she couldn’t contain her alarm, but, at the same time, wanted to keep her volume down for the sake of the sleeping child. “I apologise! It’s really rude of me to leave things out like that!” She turned away, to hide her reddening face, and sharply stepped away, across the room.

But Rosaria couldn’t help her curiosity. “Barbara. Wait.”

Barbara hesitated. She turned and fixed Rosaria with a nervous gaze.

Rosaria held out her hand. “If you don’t mind,” she said. “I’ve never seen a photograph so close up.” She smiled. “May I?”

Rosaria’s words, unfortunately, had been a white lie. Rosaria had seen enough photographs to feel no special curiosity about the technology. But…

She was just so taken aback by the way the photo had looked: the way it depicted Jean and Barbara…

Together.

The two sisters were so distant from one another – avoiding talking at all costs. In that case… Why would they have a photograph like that? It seemed inexplicable, and Rosaria wanted to see it, again. She wanted…

A better look at the expressions on their faces.

Might she see, in that snapshot of time, some clue? Some sense of the true feelings the sisters had for one another?

Barbara appeared to be thinking. She cast her gaze down and brought the photograph to her chest – as if to bring it closer to her heart.

And Rosaria was only more intrigued. Barbara clearly had strong feelings about the photograph. In that case, it surely held some profound meaning.

All the more reason to see it again.

And then…

Barbara smiled. She looked up at Rosaria.

And Rosaria smiled back.

Barbara approached. She took one last look at the photograph, and then offered it to Rosaria.

Rosaria took the photograph, and Barbara spoke in a hushed tone. “The little one is out like a light – but, let’s keep our voices down. She needs her sleep.”

Rosaria brought the photograph to the candlelight, to see it more clearly.

And she couldn’t help but smile at what she saw – at the little detail she’d almost missed.

The photograph, indeed, depicted Jean and Barbara. They were standing in the cathedral – in the aisle, between the pews – and the light through the stained-glass windows was vibrant in the air. But the way the sisters looked…

Rosaria couldn’t deny: it was almost funny.

Each sister, in the photograph, was a picture perfect representation of exactly what you’d expect – exactly the personalities that each of them showed to the world. In Barbara’s case, her expression was a cute and enthusiastic smile – the perfect look for Mondstadt’s Shining Idol. And, as for Jean: her eyes were stoic – the chivalrous gaze of a proud knight.

But even more interesting than that…

They were close. The two sisters were closer, physically, than Rosaria had ever seen.

In fact… Rosaria found it quite intriguing. Jean was standing relaxed, but Barbara was hanging off Jean’s arm with enthusiasm. It looked, to Rosaria, almost like a photograph of the Acting Grand Master and a school girl – like a little girl had just met her hero, the most prestigious Knight in the land, and the little girl had asked for the moment to be immortalised, as a souvenir.

Rosaria looked up, back at the real Barbara, before her.

Barbara, making gentle eye-contact, still appeared shy.

Rosaria felt her expression soften – felt the peacefulness in her heart, after looking at the photograph, reflected in her eyes. “It’s beautiful,” said Rosaria.

Barbara shyly smiled. And…

Rosaria’s heart glowed. It wasn’t like Rosaria to be so sentimental, but she couldn’t deny that the photograph was somehow heart-warming. And, besides…

Rosaria thought it better to be earnest than cynical.

She didn’t want to make Barbara regret the kindness she’d shown in sharing the photograph.

Rosaria smiled. “Thank you for showing me.”

Barbara nodded. She appeared as if thinking, for a moment, and then spoke – as if she’d finally decided to say something that she’d almost not said. She met Rosaria’s gaze. “A lot of people know me in Mondstadt. You know? All the people who’ve seen me sing – they ask me to sign their prayer sheets or their hymn books all the time…”

And then Barbara’s dreamy expression suddenly shifted, as if she’d just noticed that her words might be misinterpreted. She balled her fists with vigour. “Oh! Don’t get me wrong! I love all my fans! Autographing things for them and sharing well-wishes… It brings me great joy! I’m so lucky to have so many friends!”

Rosaria nodded.

Barbara relaxed her hands and the tension in her face subsided. She came over, once again, dreamy, her gaze wandering. “But on that day – the day the man from Fontaine visited the cathedral…” Barbara put her hands to her heart and closed her eyes. “Master Jean… I’ll never forget it.” She opened her eyes, and gazed gently, at nothing, as Rosaria listened. “I was autographing prayer books for the congregation, and Master Jean…” Barbara nodded – her eyes finding Rosaria’s and lighting up with glee. “She asked me to autograph hers!”

And Rosaria found herself smiling in return.

Barbara brought her hands to her cheeks. “It was such a surprise, but that wasn’t even the best of it! When Master Jean asked for a photograph … I could barely believe it! I thought it was impossible! After all, the man from Fontaine had already told everyone his Kamera was off limits, but… I don’t know what Master Jean said to him, but she spoke to him and brought him over, and she asked him to take a photograph! Of us ! Master Jean said she wanted a photograph with the Shining Idol – that it would be a privilege. It was…” She pumped her fists. “It was so cool!”

Rosaria was silent. She gazed into Barbara’s shining eyes.

Barbara sighed. She let her gaze once again wander, as if the next thing she had to say made her feel self-conscious. “Of course, Master Jean made it sound like she was the one who wanted the picture – like she was a fan who wanted a keepsake. But… I admit: in the photograph… It looks the other way around!” She glanced at Rosaria, and smiled. “Right?”

Rosaria looked, again, at the picture.

Barbara was right.

In fact, when Rosaria had first examined the picture, wasn’t that what she’d concluded? That Barbara looked like an enthusiastic school-girl meeting her hero? The way Barbara smiled as she clung to Jean’s arm, and the way Jean stood so stoic and steely.

Rosaria looked up, and Barbara let out a small laugh, before speaking with a gentle voice. “I’m so used to doing favours for fans, but, on that occasion…” A shimmer of humour crossed her eyes. “I couldn’t stop the truth from being captured by the Kamera, could I?” She laughed. “It was me who ended up looking like the fan!”

Rosaria offered Barbara back the photograph, her mind the whole time distracted by thoughts.

It was, of course, strange that sisters would have such a relationship. There was no obvious reason for Jean and Barbara to be so distant, and if Barbara admired Jean so much, it seemed bizarre, to Rosaria, that Barbara didn’t make more effort to pursue a relationship. Wouldn’t that… Be a good thing?

Rosaria, still holding out the as of yet untaken photograph, narrowed her eyes. “You are sisters, right?”

Barbara didn’t immediately take the photograph from Rosaria’s hand. Instead, her expression went momentarily blank. And then… She blushed. She abruptly took the photograph, and then looked down. “Well, yes. Of course. That’s hardly a secret. But, why does that matter?”

Rosaria felt a shiver in her now empty hand. In seeing Barbara’s defensive reaction, Rosaria regretted having asked the question. She felt bad to have made Barbara blush. She still didn’t understand the dynamic between the sisters, but if asking such questions made Barbara feel bad, Rosaria would abstain. She shook her head, and smiled. “It doesn’t matter. You’re right.”

Barbara’s expression relaxed. She lifted the photograph just enough to glance at it, and then slipped it under her arm. After a moment, she looked up at Rosaria with renewed enthusiasm in her eyes. “Oh! Sister Rosaria! Would you like…” She hesitated, and then, after a moment, nodded her head with ardour. “Would you like to see something cool?”

Rosaria blinked. She hardly knew what to make of Barbara’s question. The topic had changed rather suddenly.

Barbara leaned down and gently addressed the sheets of the orphan’s bed – checking as she did that the girl was still soundly asleep. Then, satisfied that things were in order, she flitted over towards the potion station. “First,” she said, “please drink this!”

Rosaria watched as Barbara put the finishing touches on the potion that had been brewing whilst they’d spoken; the potion was stirred, sprinkled with something pink, and then Barbara plucked it from its rack and carried it over to where Rosaria stood.

Barbara appeared kindly attentive. “How are you feeling, by the way? This should really help, and it should suit your tastes much better than the last one.”

Rosaria took the potion from Barbara’s hands.

She’d almost forgotten that this was why she’d come.

Rosaria smelled the potion, and then, judging the situation likely favourable – or, at least, worth a shot…

Rosaria knocked back the potion in one swift gulp.

Damn.

It hit her throat almost like wine. It was…

Good.

Rosaria wiped her lips with the back of her hand, and Barbara looked on with barely concealed curiosity. “So?” she asked. “How is it?”

Rosaria offered Barbara the empty vial. “Bitter,” she said, and she felt herself unable to conceal her smile. “Perfect.”

Barbara pumped both fists. “Oh! I’m so glad!” She carried away the empty vial. “You should notice an improvement in your symptoms within the hour.” She deftly placed the vial back on its rack, and turned to look, again, at Rosaria. “Now,” she said, her eyes practically bursting with excitement, “if you like photographs, there’s something I just have to show you!” She winked, and set off towards the door, indicating for Rosaria to follow. “It was only this morning: Miss Lisa brought me the most wonderful gift. You’re going to be so amazed!”

And Rosaria could barely stop herself from choking on the potion’s residue.

She felt her whole body shiver.

Lisa?

Rosaria stared at Barbara with a suddenly chilling gaze.

And Barbara’s enthusiastic expression turned to a look of concern.

The witch…

Rosaria thought back to the night, before. When Lisa had invited Rosaria to the cathedral… Had her business been something to do with Barbara? Rosaria shook her head. “The librarian. You saw her this morning?”

Barbara, apparently unsure how to feel about Rosaria’s sudden change in tone, hesitated before she spoke, and when she finally did speak, she did so with a quiver of nervousness in her voice. “Well… Yes. But…”

Rosaria felt bad for souring the mood, but she was simply too preoccupied with doubt.

Barbara stepped forward. “Is something the matter?” she asked. Her eyes alarmed. “Is Miss Lisa in danger?”

And Rosaria shook her head. She realised she was only making Barbara worry – and that wasn’t Rosaria’s intention. “No. No. It’s not like that.”

Barbara appeared to relax, and Rosaria was relieved.

It was true that the news about Lisa was perturbing to Rosaria. She didn’t know what Lisa’s plan at the cathedral had been, but it had never crossed Rosaria’s mind that Barbara might’ve been part of Lisa’s intentions. Then again, maybe it was just a coincidence. It was possible that Lisa’s meeting with Barbara was unrelated to Lisa’s business with Rosaria. But…

Did Rosaria really believe that?

It seemed too much of a coincidence to be possible, and Rosaria couldn’t deny what she believed:

There was some connection. The reason Lisa had asked Rosaria to go to the cathedral… It had something to do with Barbara. And Rosaria…

Had a bad feeling.

Rosaria, suddenly aware that her voice had been raised, glanced at the orphan, and seeing that the child was still peacefully resting, Rosaria felt relieved. She felt her heart come to rest, and took a step towards Barbara. “I’m sorry,” she said. “The potion was good, but it took a moment to settle. I feel better, now.”

The excuse seemed to put Barbara’s mind at ease. Barbara hesitated, but couldn’t hide the relief from her expression. She smiled. “Okay! Good!”

Rosaria had to control her agitation. She was probably right to be concerned – the new information about Lisa was a serious problem – but it didn’t serve Rosaria to make Barbara panic. Rosaria had to stay cool. And, besides, in the immediate alarm that had followed the mention of Lisa’s name, Rosaria had almost forgotten what Barbara had said. Hadn’t Barbara said…

That Lisa had given Barbara a gift?

Rosaria needed to know more.

Barbara, with a flick of her head, indicated the door. “In the room we’re about to enter, the lights are all out. But whatever you do, don’t light a single candle! Trust me; it’s very important.”

And Rosaria found herself more curious than ever.

Barbara and Rosaria crossed the room, and when Barbara reached out to open the door, Rosaria couldn’t stop herself from inquiring. “This gift that Lisa gave you…”

Barbara looked back, her hand hovering over the door handle – her expression patient, but eager.

Rosaria frowned. “It has to remain in the dark?”

Barbara laughed. “Rosaria… You’re not afraid, are you?”

And then Barbara began opening the door.

Darkness.

But…

Something else.

Rosaria peered over Barbara’s shoulder into the yawning darkness of the partially revealed new room, and then…

A soft purple glow – from the depths of the darkness.

Lisa.

And Rosaria braced her hand against the door, stopping Barbara from opening it any further.

Barbara flinched. “Oh!”

Rosaria gripped the door tightly, and placed her other hand on Barbara’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“No…” Barbara took her own hand from the door and looked back at Rosaria.

The darkness…

Rosaria felt like her grip on the door could shatter it to splinters.

But the purple glow was gone.

Rosaria blinked. She felt her breath come back into her lungs.

Barbara put her hand on Rosaria’s forehead. “Do you feel hot, sister Rosaria? Fever may persist for a while after taking the potion, but you should be feeling better before too long.”

Rosaria let go of the door.

The door swung gently open, revealing only the shadows of the next room. The room was too dark to see all the way in. It was like gazing into an abyss.

Rosaria shook her head. Hadn’t she seen purple? “Barbara…”

Barbara blinked.

Rosaria stared into the darkness. “Did Lisa leave? After your meeting with her this morning?”

A moment passed as Rosaria continued to stare into the shadows, and then Barbara’s voice came – carefree. “Oh! I didn’t tell you?”

Rosaria looked at Barbara.

Barbara was smiling. “Miss Lisa is waiting in here! She stayed to help me set up my gift!”

And then Barbara disappeared into the darkness of the room.

And Rosaria watched as a purple glow, once again, grew amongst the shadows.

Chapter Text

Rosaria couldn’t control her impulse. She leapt into the purple darkness of the room without a second thought.

It may have been a mistake. It was possible that keeping calm was the best course of action. Barbara, for instance, seemed confident that Lisa posed no threat. If Rosaria leapt into the room to face Lisa head on, it could cause more trouble than it solved. But…

Action was Rosaria’s instinct.

Even if Barbara wasn’t afraid, Rosaria knew better – knew that Lisa couldn’t be trusted. Any time spent alone with Lisa was time in which Barbara was in danger, even if Barbara herself didn’t realise it. Rosaria simply couldn’t take that risk. And so…

Rosaria had acted.

Rosaria flew past Barbara and landed in a crouched position, cat-like and ready to pounce. She lifted her attention and looked straight ahead into the darkness.

But…

Rosaria felt a shiver of confusion as she peered, incredulously, at what she saw.

The room was dark, due to the absence of candlelight, but the soft purple glow of Lisa’s lantern was enough to barely reveal the scene.

Lisa didn’t look up; she remained, standing in the light of her lantern, carefully working over a table in the darkness.

Rosaria narrowed her eyes, trying to adjust her vision.

And Lisa, without looking up, finally spoke. “You’re late.”

A moment of quiet. And then…

Rosaria could barely contain her grimace of irritation.

Rosaria still hadn’t gotten the full truth from Lisa about the Sumeru knife – still hadn’t gotten Lisa’s confession.

It was enough to turn Rosaria’s blood cold.

But, still…

Control yourself.

Rosaria took a deep breath.

She couldn’t fight Lisa – couldn’t interrogate her. Not in the infirmary with Barbara right there. Even if Rosaria got Barbara to somehow leave, it would be too risky. Anyone could walk in. Rosaria knew…

She had to stay cool. It wasn’t the time to finish things.

Lisa looked up from the table, but… Her face caught no light, and so her expression was impossible to read. “You were supposed to come at dawn. Did you forget?”

And Rosaria, against her better judgement…

Felt her body relaxing.

She still didn’t know what to make of the situation, but Lisa’s attitude was so casual… It had sapped the urgency from Rosaria’s body. Whatever Lisa was up to, Rosaria was glad to realise…

It seemed like there was no immediate danger.

But, in that case… What was going on? What was Lisa doing in that room?

Rosaria stood up straight. It was almost embarrassing – how Lisa had been so relaxed after Rosaria’s dramatic entrance.

Barbara’s voice came brashly from behind. “Oh! Please say you didn’t bump into the table!”

There was a moment in which Rosaria processed Barbara’s words, and then, just as Rosaria went to turn around…

Rosaria felt Barbara bustling past her.

Rosaria, caught off guard by how quickly Barbara had approached, found herself silent – simply watching as Barbara approached the table over which Lisa was working.

Lisa turned a little, allowing her face to catch a gloss of purple light. She met Rosaria’s gaze – her expression, in the whispering light, now visibly playful – and then, after a moment of silent eye-contact, Lisa turned her attention to Barbara. “No. It’s fine.” She put one hand on Barbara’s shoulder, to indicate that approaching the table wasn’t necessary. “The photographs are developing nicely.”

And Rosaria shivered.

Photographs?

Now thoroughly disabused of the notion that Barbara was in any danger, Rosaria only felt intrigued. Did Lisa mean to say…

Rosaria stepped forward. She stopped next to the table, and tried her best, despite the dark, to make out what Lisa had been doing. And, indeed…

It was exactly as Lisa had said.

And it all clicked in Rosaria’s mind.

The shadows…

It was a darkroom – for developing photographs after they’d been taken.

Rosaria remembered what she knew about photographs. The gadget… What was it that Barbara had called it…? A kamera. Yes.

Rosaria looked at Barbara. “Deaconess.”

Barbara, apparently satisfied that everything on the table was in order, looked up.

And Rosaria frowned. “This was your gift?”

A moment lingered as Barbara considered what Rosaria had asked, and then…

Barbara smiled – the light of Lisa’s purple lantern just enough to capture it. “Yes! Look!”

Rosaria followed the direction indicated by Barbara’s pointing finger, and…

There it was, just barely visible in the residual purple glow:

The kamera – placed at the edge of the table.

Rosaria could hardly believe her eyes. A kamera… Lisa had really tracked one down? And, moreover…

She’d given it to Barbara?

Why?

Rosaria took a step back. She breathed deeply and glared at Lisa through the shadows.

Lisa met Rosaria’s gaze with calm composure. “It’s a shame,” said Lisa, “that you weren’t here at the beginning, but that’s the magic of a kamera, isn’t it?” Lisa smiled. “Once the images are developed, you’ll be able to see everything you missed.”

Rosaria folded her arms. She scanned her brain for anything she knew that could help explain this – how Lisa could’ve made this acquisition. It didn’t sit right with Rosaria that Lisa had been so resourceful. What kind of shady deals had Lisa been a part of to secure a treasure as valuable as a kamera?

If Lisa had been up to no good, Rosaria needed the details.

But then…

There was light.

Rosaria was roused from her thoughts. She looked up.

It was a candle – flickering and speaking new light into the once dark room. Lisa held the candle in her hand and gazed into its flame. “Barbara. Light another.” She placed the candle down on the shelf. “They’re ready.”

Barbara did as instructed. Another candle shimmered into life, and Barbara placed it on the shelf beside Lisa’s, and then Barbara and Lisa both applied their attention eagerly to the photographs that lay face down in nameless liquid on the table.

And Rosaria…

Barely knew what to think.

It was quiet. The two candles created enough light to reveal the extent of the room. It was just another part of the infirmary that Lisa and Barbara had apparently commandeered for the day.

So…

Lisa had intended for Rosaria to witness this? That was what Lisa had said. It’s a shame that you weren’t here at the beginning. Those words implied that Lisa had given Barbara the kamera at dawn – the time Rosaria had been told to arrive. But… Why did Lisa want Rosaria to see that? It didn’t make sense. And why did Lisa give Barbara a kamera in the first place? Were Lisa’s intentions nefarious? Was it some kind of scheme? Or was it all a ploy to get at Rosaria, and Lisa had only involved Barbara as a means to an end?

Rosaria didn’t like it. Not one bit. It was all way too suspicious.

And then…

Lisa’s voice, coming through the haze of Rosaria’s thoughts.

“It was my knife. Yes. But…”

Rosaria shook the cold from her body and brought her attention back to the room around her.

Lisa’s expression was earnest – sincere. “I gave it to Razor, months ago.”

And Rosaria felt her inhalation quiver.

Lisa and Rosaria stood staring at each other in silence. Barbara appeared not to be paying attention, her focus drawn, instead, by the photographs on the table.

Rosaria frowned. What had Lisa said?

The knife.

It was Lisa’s, but… She’d given it to Razor? Was that supposed to be Lisa’s alibi? To explain why she wasn’t responsible for the knife ending up in the Fatui’s possession?

Lisa’s gaze remained gentle.

But Rosaria shook her head. “Save your breath,” she said. “Spare me your lies.”

Lisa appeared unperturbed. She only smiled. “Perhaps, then, you’ll believe this, at least…”

Rosaria shot Lisa an icy stare. But…

Lisa’s expression was uncharacteristically soft – almost convincingly sincere. She nodded. “Everybody knows I’ve been teaching Razor how to control his Vision ever since he came to Mondstadt; that’s not something you’ll doubt. And you know this second fact, too; Razor and Bennett had already been in contact with the Fatui. Put two and two together: the knife didn’t come from me.”

Rosaria, totally incredulous, scowled.

It was true that Lisa’s facts were correct; her proposed explanation accounting for the knife was plausible. But… That was how liars could be so convincing: they use facts to fuel their fabrications.

Rosaria turned away. She watched Barbara gently lifting the photographs from the unnamed liquid.

Lisa’s story couldn’t be true.

If Lisa had no ties to the Fatui, and the knife had gotten into the orphan’s hands by some innocent means, that would entail that Lisa had intentionally strung Rosaria along. Lisa had allowed Rosaria to think Lisa was guilty, despite her innocence, and what’s more… Lisa had allowed Rosaria to take things so far.

Rosaria saw, once again, the smirk on Lisa’s face as the life was crushed from her eyes – as Rosaria had strangled her against the tree, in the glade.

Why would Lisa push Rosaria so far into violence, if she were innocent the whole time? It wouldn’t make sense, and, as such, Lisa must’ve been guilty. Her alibi must be fraudulent.

Liar.

And then…

Barbara’s voice.

“They’re amazing!”

Rosaria found her reverie shattered. She looked up.

It was a curious sight. Barbara had begun hanging up the photographs: clipping them to a cord, resembling a clothes-line, that had been rigged above the table. The angle and light relative to where Rosaria stood, however, didn’t permit a good view of exactly what the photographs depicted.

Barbara couldn’t contain her excitement. She looked in the midst of celebration as she gazed almost lovingly at the hanging photographs. “Miss Lisa! Thank you so, so much! This is just the most incredible gift ever!”

Rosaria glanced at Lisa. And then…

Lisa averted her eyes, turning her attention, instead, to the photographs.

Rosaria felt about to lose patience. Did Lisa think she could offer a half-baked excuse and that would be that? Like her pitiful explanation for the knife was enough to convince Rosaria of Lisa’s innocence?

Hardly.

Do you take me for a fool?

And then…

Lisa’s voice.

It was soft – calm though the confusion of Rosaria’s emotions.

“Look.”

Rosaria blinked – returning to the real world.

Lisa indicated, with a gesture of her head, the photographs. “Just look.”

And then… Rosaria’s curiosity overwhelmed her irritation.

She looked.

And what she saw…

She didn’t know what to make of it.

A stillness caught the air in the room. The dancing of the candlelight was the only motion. Rosaria focused her eyes to better discern the photographs.

The images…

They all depicted something different.

As Rosaria drew her gaze across the row of photographs, she made out several subjects. Bennett, Razor, Lisa… All of them were amongst the array. But…

Rosaria felt a shiver.

Her gaze came to rest upon one photograph, in particular. It was the one right in the middle – the one that Barbara had suspended in pride-of-place amongst the others. In fact, it was the one photograph that Barbara was currently looking at; she gazed upon it tenderly, with her hands clasped to her chest. It was…

Barbara and Jean.

Barbara was seemingly overjoyed. She reached up with her hand, as if about to touch the central photograph – but she stopped short, perhaps remembering that touching the photograph so soon might ruin it.

That image.

Rosaria looked closer.

The photograph of Jean and Barbara was different to the one Rosaria had already seen, just minutes before, on the nightstand. But… It was so similar – as if an echo of the same image, only slightly altered. And Rosaria wondered…

What, exactly, was different?

It was on the tip of her tongue – the difference…

And then Barbara turned to face Rosaria.

Rosaria almost flinched – the sudden movement had been so unexpected.

Barbara smiled. “Sister Rosaria!” She pumped her fists. “Now do you see why I wanted to show you?”

Rosaria looked back at the photographs suspended above the table, and then…

Rosaria smiled.

The difference between the photographs…

That’s it.

Rosaria brought to her mind’s eye the first photograph she’d seen of the sisters, on the nightstand by the orphan’s bed.

Barbara was used to doing favours for fans – but in the first photograph with Jean…

Barbara had been the one who looked like the fan.

Rosaria remembered it, now. In that first image… Barbara was gripping onto Jean’s arm and beaming – like a little girl meeting her hero. And Jean… She was looking gracefully into the kamera – like a proud knight standing to attention.

And in the new image…

Rosaria located – in pride-of-place amongst the array of new photographs – the new image of Barbara and Jean.

And Rosaria saw the difference. In the new photograph, she saw…

Jean was the one holding Barbara.

Jean had one arm bracing Barbara’s shoulders, her hand resting delicately on Barbara’s arm, and with her other hand…

Jean was making a peace sign at the kamera.

It was no surprise that Rosaria had almost missed it – it was such a small detail. But, regardless, it totally changed the vibe of the image. In the new photograph, it no longer looked like a stoic knight posing with a little girl. Instead…

The two actually looked like sisters.

Rosaria turned her attention back to Barbara.

Barbara was waiting with patient eyes.

And Rosaria didn’t know what to say.

The photograph left on the nightstand had been so special to Barbara. But… Had Lisa known about it? If Lisa had known how important that photograph was to Barbara, couldn’t that help explain things? Was that why Lisa had brought Barbara this gift? So Barbara could have even more special memories immortalised?

That seemed like one plausible explanation, but…

That didn’t seem like something Lisa would do. At all. Would Lisa ever do something so…

Kind?

Barbara’s gaze, looking patiently into Rosaria’s eyes, remained peaceful.

And Rosaria couldn’t form words. “I…”

But Lisa relieved Rosaria of her need to speak. “Barbara.”

Barbara turned around.

And Lisa smiled. “Did they turn out okay?”

Barbara nodded, and then turned her attention back to the new photographs hanging above the table. “They’re perfect.”

Lisa looked at Rosaria.

Rosaria felt her spine tingle; what was she supposed to think about all this? Lisa’s gift to Barbara…

Was it possible that there was no ulterior motive? Was it possible that Lisa had just wanted to give Barbara something she would genuinely love?

Not looking away from Rosaria’s tense face, Lisa smiled. “What do you think, Sister Rosaria?” Lisa touched her own hat, absent-mindedly, with her left hand. “Master Jean will be pleased by her depiction. No?”

Rosaria felt stubborn. She didn’t want to reply. She averted her gaze from Lisa and looked at the new photograph of Barbara and Jean, hanging there above the table.

Jean’s face… In the new picture, Jean did look happy. It seemed like the kamera was more than just a gift for Barbara; in a way, it was also a gift to Jean – the happiness captured in the sisters’ faces made it hard to deny. But…

Lisa wouldn’t give a gift with no ulterior motive. It wasn’t like Lisa to care about the happiness of others…

Was it?

Lisa’s voice came confident. “It’s been long enough, Deaconess. You can touch it.”

Rosaria glanced at Lisa – at her patient expression – and then watched as Barbara nodded at Lisa.

Barbara turned to the table, and softly took the new photograph of herself and Jean from the cord. She held the photograph before her, and then…

She looked up at Rosaria.

Rosaria felt suddenly vulnerable. Something about the look in Barbara’s eyes… Barbara seemed so happy. And, seeing Barbara like that… It almost made Rosaria feel happy, herself.

And then, staring into Rosaria’s eyes…

Barbara held out the photograph. “Will you do me a favour?”

Rosaria frowned. “Excuse me?” She hadn’t expected Barbara to say that. What did she mean?

Barbara smiled. “Master Jean doesn’t come by the cathedral often. So…” She emphasised the photograph. “Can you make sure she gets this? Can you make sure it gets safely into her hands?”

And Rosaria was suddenly confused.

Barbara, once again, emphasised the photograph with a subtle motion of her hands – as if instructing Rosaria to take it. “If it isn’t too much trouble!”

Rosaria felt a new tension gripping her chest. Had Rosaria understood right? Barbara wanted Rosaria to give the photograph…

To Jean?

It took a moment for Rosaria to realise how she felt. In the first place, she hadn’t expected that Barbara would give the photograph away. Nevertheless, upon reflection, it wasn’t such a strange supposition; photographs were, culturally speaking, often given as keepsakes or mementos, and Rosaria was familiar enough with that. But…

Why would Barbara ask Rosaria?

Wouldn’t it make more sense to ask Lisa? Lisa, after all, was Jean’s right-hand woman.

Rosaria shook her head. She felt almost indignant – like she’d been mocked. “Why are you asking me?”

Barbara blinked – a moment of uncertainty appeared in her gaze. “Oh! I’m sorry.” She looked regretful, and the hands that held out the new photograph retreated slightly – as if Barbara were no longer confident that she should offer it for Rosaria to take. “I just thought… Aren’t you and Master Jean…” She blinked. “Friends?”

And Rosaria’s eyes tensed up.

Friends?

Was that what Barbara thought?

Rosaria clenched her teeth. A shiver of vexation braced her body. To hear Barbara say that word… It had almost been…

Painful.

There was silence in the room. Rosaria broke eye-contact with Barbara and gazed, instead, at nothing in particular.

Friends.

Rosaria felt her expression become even more intense. The truth was…

Rosaria and Jean weren’t friends. In fact, Rosaria didn’t have any friends. And that…

Hmph.

That suited her just fine.

Rosaria looked back at Barbara.

Barbara’s gaze was patient, but uncertain – reflecting apprehensiveness in light of Rosaria’s stark reaction.

Rosaria narrowed her eyes. Of course…

Rosaria wasn’t in denial.

Rosaria cared about Jean; that much had become clear at Cape Oath. There had been a moment of truth, and Rosaria had been unwilling to put Jean in danger, even though it had meant letting Lisa get away with her manipulations.

Caring…

It was a notion, to Rosaria, most irritating. But even if Rosaria couldn’t deny the part of her that cared about Jean, that didn’t change the facts. Rosaria had never thought she and Jean were friends. The truth was…

You don’t kill people for your friends. You kill people for your clients.

And that’s all Jean ever was to Rosaria. A client. Whether or not Rosaria had cared about Jean…

Rosaria was a contractor – nothing more.

And that was the way Rosaria liked it.

After all, she’d made it that way for a reason. Solitude, shadows, the night…

That was where Rosaria belonged.

Rosaria looked away from Barbara’s patient gaze. She couldn’t bear the eye-contact any longer. But, to be fair…

Rosaria could hardly blame Barbara for what she’d said. Barbara had seen Rosaria and Jean meeting in the cathedral time and time again. In fact, every time Jean had been to the cathedral… It had been to see Rosaria. Barbara, of course, had no idea about Rosaria’s dirty work, and, therefore, from Barbara’s perspective…

Perhaps it really had looked like Rosaria and Jean were friends.

And then Rosaria noticed a subtle motion, in the corner of her eye. She returned her attention to Barbara just in time to catch the hesitation in Barbara’s hands.

Barbara was looking on with uncertainty. She seemed as if about to retract her request – as if about to bring the offered photograph back to her chest. But Rosaria…

Did Rosaria want that?

Barbara suddenly moved. She lowered the photograph.

And Rosaria actually felt a little…

Disappointed.

She didn’t understand why, but… Had a part of her wanted to accept Barbara’s request? To do Barbara this favour? How could that be?

In the wake of Cape Oath, Rosaria had thought she wouldn’t see Jean again for some time. Given the sensitivity of the situation, Jean would probably abstain form bringing new contracts to Rosaria, and Rosaria had to admit…

She’d been okay with that.

It wasn’t that she was afraid – far from it. It was simply that any more business between herself and Jean would inevitably be darkened by the shadow of Cape Oath. It just made sense for the two of them to cool off, and Rosaria…

She was fine with that.

It promised a long overdue chance to smoke undisturbed in the pews, or sunbathe on the rooftops, all without a job or contract to weigh on her mind and compromise the restfulness of her respite. But now…

Barbara’s request had threatened that expectation.

And now that Rosaria had been thrown back into confluence with Jean, Rosaria was surprised to notice…

She was almost glad.

And even though it was annoying, wasn’t it clear? Was there a part of Rosaria that didn’t want to wait? Was there a part of her that wanted…

To see Jean again?

And Barbara’s request, to give the photograph to Jean… Wasn’t this the perfect excuse?

“Aren’t you and Master Jean… Friends?”

Barbara shook her head. “I’m sorry, Sister Rosaria. I didn’t mean to be presumptuous…” Her tone was fragile – like she was embarrassed.

Rosaria folded her arms. She hadn’t meant to make Barbara feel bad; and, therefore, Rosaria came over a little guilty. But… She nevertheless had something to get off her chest.

Rosaria stepped forward.

And Barbara almost flinched.

Even if a part of Rosaria wanted to accept Barbara’s request, there was a greater, wiser part of her that knew something was off. Rosaria shook her head. “Even if the Acting Grand Master and I were friends,” she said, “Lisa sees Jean far more often than anyone else does.”

Barbara looked uncertain, but attentive, as she waited for Rosaria to finish.

Rosaria sighed. “I’m not sure why you want to give the photograph away, but if that’s what you truly intend…” She gestured with her head. “You should ask the witch.”

Barbara averted her gaze. For a moment, it looked as if she were thinking, and then…

She looked up.

Rosaria was almost surprised. The look in Barbara’s eyes was unexpectedly resolute. And when Barbara spoke…

It was confident.

Barbara fixed Rosaria with a calm gaze. “I just thought you might like to see Jean’s reaction,” she said. “That’s all.”

And Rosaria narrowed her eyes.

Excuse me?

What did Barbara mean by that?

Rosaria corrected her posture – making herself feel more composed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Barbara blushed, but… She didn’t avert her eyes. She didn’t bow her head. She continued to meet Rosaria’s gaze; despite Barbara’s obvious embarrassment… She stayed resolute. She spoke in an almost melancholy voice. “I just thought it would be nice.”

And then the room fell quiet. The glow from the two candles and Lisa’s purple lantern whispered across the walls – shed silent light over the rest of the photographs suspended above the table. And then…

Rosaria felt the tension in her body start to dissipate.

What Barbara had said… Rosaria imagined the scenario: she imagined taking the photograph to Jean, and imagined Jean’s reaction. Would Jean be happy? That was what Barbara seemed to think.

Rosaria looked down – down to where Barbara had lowered the new photograph.

Barbara’s hand twitched. She moved, as if realising what Rosaria wanted, and once again held out the photograph.

And Rosaria took it.

Rosaria looked at it – she looked at Jean’s face.

In that moment – the moment of frozen time caught by the kamera – Jean did look happy. Didn’t it make sense, then, that if Rosaria brought this photograph to Jean… That Jean might show some tender emotion? Wouldn’t it bring joy to Jean’s heart, seeing that happy moment, again?

And Rosaria couldn’t deny it. What Barbara had said… It had been right. Rosaria would quite like to be a part of that.

That would be nice.

Rosaria looked up.

Barbara was smiling. She fluttered her eyelashes. “So… Can I count on you?”

Rosaria smiled in return. She knew that this wasn’t like her; it wasn’t typical for her to run such mundane errands, but perhaps this was a job she could accept. It wasn’t killing, but…

Surely Rosaria could make an exception.

Rosaria didn’t know how Jean would react to seeing her again, but with the photograph in hand, Rosaria was confident that the shadow of Cape Oath wouldn’t eclipse completely the opportunity she’d been given…

The opportunity to make Jean happy, even if only for a moment.

She just had one more question.

Rosaria put the photograph carefully between the folds of her habit, and looked, once again, into Barbara’s eyes.

Barbara appeared peacefully happy.

Rosaria nodded. “Consider it done. But, if I may ask…” She hesitated, and then came out with it. “Why are you giving it away?”

Barbara blinked. She looked momentarily uncertain.

Rosaria frowned. “Wouldn’t you rather keep it? Isn’t it… Better than the other one?”

And, after a moment of stillness…

Barbara couldn’t contain her laughter.

Rosaria frowned. She moved slightly back, her body as confused as her mind.

Why was Barbara laughing?

Barbara shook her head. She smiled at Rosaria. “Better than the other one?”

Rosaria shook her head. Barbara’s reaction didn’t make sense. The truth… Barbara had admitted it, herself: though the first photograph had been taken at Jean’s behest, Barbara had been the one who looked like the fan. The photograph didn’t represent the two as sisters, but, rather, represented an asymmetrical abnormality. Rosaria stuttered out her objection. “You…”

But Barbara held up her finger. “I know what I said.”

And Rosaria hesitated.

Barbara lowered her hand. “But that first photograph – the old one. It looks…” She put her hands to her heart. “It looks perfect to me.”

Rosaria didn’t know what to make of it. Did Barbara’s words… Make sense?

Barbara closed her eyes. She bowed her head. “How I look in the photograph… That doesn’t matter. I didn’t take another photograph to replace the first one, or because the first one was somehow ‘wrong’. No…” She opened her eyes, and looked at Rosaria with a gentle gaze. “When I look at mine, it makes me so happy. And… I wanted Jean to be able to feel that way, too. I wanted her to have a photograph of her own.” She put her hand to her mouth to conceal a small laugh. “After all… Even though it was Jean’s idea to take the first photograph, I was the one who ended up keeping it! Isn’t that strange?” She nodded. “It’s only fair that I put things right! Don’t you think?”

Rosaria let Barbara’s words linger.

Barbara’s intention, all along…

Was to make Jean happy.

Rosaria looked past Barbara; she found Lisa’s gaze.

Lisa had been watching quietly the whole time, and now… Lisa’s expression was kind.

Rosaria still hadn’t changed her mind; she still didn’t believe that Lisa would offer a genuinely thoughtful gift with no strings attached. But Rosaria couldn’t deny it: the kamera really had brought a lot of happiness into Jean and Barbara’s lives. Did that make it more plausible that, maybe… Lisa’s intentions had been genuine? Though Rosaria didn’t trust Lisa, she believed one thing for sure:

Lisa loved Jean.

That much had been obvious to Rosaria since the first time she and Lisa had met. In that case… Wasn’t it plausible that Lisa had no ulterior motive?

Could Rosaria really believe that?

Rosaria looked back at Barbara just in time to see Barbara take a step away from the table. Barbara’s voice was gentle. “I’m just going to check on the little girl. I won’t be one minute.”

Rosaria had almost forgotten that the orphan was asleep in the adjacent room. Rosaria watched Barbara slip away from the table and pass through the door, and then…

It was just Rosaria and Lisa.

And the look on Lisa’s face showed a glimmer of anticipation, as if Lisa had been waiting, the whole time…

For precisely that moment.

Chapter Text

Rosaria kept her gaze on Lisa, suddenly aware of the sensitivity of the situation now that they were alone. But… Lisa wouldn’t dare start a fight.

Right?

Lisa sighed, and then her voice came relaxed. “You still don’t believe me? Do you?”

Rosaria narrowed her eyes.

As if.

But Lisa appeared as if deep in thought. “I shouldn’t have let things go as far as I did. I’m genuinely sorry for that. But…” She smiled. “You have to admit: you put on quite the show. At Cape Oath… Your anger.” Her smile turned, once again, to a look of contemplation. “It would’ve been a terrible shame – to miss out on something so spectacular by cutting it short with the truth.”

Rosaria remained silent. She eyed Lisa with a deadly cold stare.

It was true that Lisa loved a spectacle. She’d proven that time after time. And so, maybe it was true, after all, that Lisa would allow Rosaria to get so angry – even if Lisa had been innocent the whole time. But…

That still didn’t mean Lisa wasn’t guilty.

A shiver ran through Rosaria’s body.

The alibi Lisa had given was still completely unverified. If the knife had truly been given to Razor, months prior, then Lisa would have to provide proof. Anything less was insufficient.

Rosaria wasn’t about to take Lisa’s word for it – for anything.

The idea of trusting Lisa make Rosaria almost laugh.

Rosaria shook her head. “At Cape Oath,” she said. “You’re lucky that the Acting Grand Master was there to save you. How many times is that, now? I would’ve had my way with you in Jean’s office if she hadn’t been there to stop me. And then, at Cape Oath… If Jean hadn’t interrupted us, things would’ve gone very differently for you.” Rosaria smiled. “Do you always rely on her? Are you really so dependent on another woman’s protection? How does it feel…” And Rosaria felt the venom in her words. “To be so weak?”

Lisa put her hand to her chin, assuming a posture of contemplation. She appeared completely unperturbed by Rosaria’s words, and Rosaria was disappointed that Lisa hadn’t taken the bait.

Lisa smiled. “If you really think so little of me,” she said, “then how…” she hesitated. A glimmer of mirth appeared in her eyes. “How do you rationalise Jean’s behaviour?”

Rosaria felt the silence that fell over the room. The flickering of the candles and the purple lantern were the only motion.

What did Lisa mean?

Lisa continued. “If I’m so terrible, and yet Jean so consistently protects me…” Her eyes shone – smug. “What does that say about Jean?”

And Rosaria scowled.

Lisa shook her head. “Haven’t you thought about that?”

Rosaria narrowed her eyes. She was irritated, but, the truth was…

She had thought about it.

Rosaria remembered kneeling in the dirt at Cape Oath; she remembered being so frustrated with Jean – frustrated that Jean trusted Lisa so completely, despite all the red flags. Rosaria had wanted nothing more than to show Jean how nefarious Lisa had been – to free Jean from Lisa’s manipulations.

But…

Rosaria hadn’t been given that chance. Nor had she been given an opportunity to really understand why…

Why did Jean trust Lisa so much? Despite it all?

What Lisa was saying, now – the point she was making – Rosaria had to admit: it was a good question. If Jean trusted Lisa so much – was so willing to protect Lisa, at all costs…

Did that reflect poorly on Jean’s judgement?

And what about the alternative? What if Jean’s judgement was unclouded, and she saw the red flags perfectly well. Wouldn’t that mean… That Jean was okay with Lisa’s bad behaviour? Okay with…

Lisa’s evil?

Laughter rang in Rosaria’s ears. She looked up.

Lisa hadn’t bothered to contain the sound of her mirth. The expression on her face was vibrant as she laughed, and then, once her laughter was over, she spoke with a droll, ironic tone, meeting Rosaria’s gaze. “Doesn’t it make Jean just as bad as me? In the end?”

Rosaria felt a shudder of anger in her body, but…

She contained it. She looked away from Lisa’s face.

Rosaria wouldn’t lose control; she saw right through Lisa’s plan. Lisa was still toying with Rosaria – still trying to get under her skin – but Rosaria knew better. The things Lisa had said, though they were good points… Rosaria knew none of it mattered. Because…

Rosaria knew the real truth about Jean.

It was obvious, really. But it was only now, after a stiff drink and a little time to reflect, that Rosaria could admit it. It was, after all, hard to admit, because…

It was just so disappointing.

The truth…

Rosaria looked back at Lisa.

Lisa was watching on with curious eyes – apparently eager to see how her question for Rosaria had landed.

And Rosaria had to admit… She didn’t know how Lisa would react to what she was about to say.

Jean wasn’t as bad as Lisa; Jean didn’t approve of Lisa’s evil. No. The truth was…

Jean’s judgement was clouded.

By what?

Rosaria felt a shiver of nausea in her stomach. The answer… It was…

Love.

Jean’s judgement was clouded by her love for Lisa.

Rosaria had always been party to the rumours. The day prior, at the library – the first time that Rosaria and Lisa had directly spoken… From that first conversation, Rosaria had known the rumours were true. She’d heard the truth in the tone of Lisa’s voice: Lisa loved Jean. Therefore, it was only natural, in the end…

That Rosaria would be forced to acknowledge the other side of that coin.

Jean loved Lisa, too. They loved each other.

Rosaria closed her eyes and sighed. She looked up, and stared at Lisa.

Lisa raised an eyebrow. The smugness on her face revealed that she felt completely in control.

And that really pissed Rosaria off.

The caprice of love had compromised the judgement of many great minds. In Rosaria’s years of dirty work, she’d interrogated and killed people from all walks of life. How many men and women had Rosaria interrogated only to find that their evil deeds… Had started with an act of love? How many strong, otherwise admirable people had Rosaria eliminated because love had ruined their lives, putting them on a path of corruption?

It had been too many to count. Rosaria would never be able to un-see the truth. Love…

It was a liability.

And Jean…

She had fallen victim to its influence. That was why Jean trusted Lisa – why she was willing to overlook any number of warnings to protect the woman she believed in.

Rosaria folded her arms.

Lisa’s posture revealed a shimmer of expectation – as if eager to hear what Rosaria would say.

It was time. Rosaria had to put Lisa in her place. She had to remind Lisa who she was talking to.

Rosaria kept her gaze icy as she spoke. “I know, Lisa, that you are no stranger to bloodshed.”

Lisa raised an eyebrow.

But Rosaria didn’t alter her inflection. She continued with composure. “Your reputation precedes you, and the stories of your violence, conducted in the name of the Knights, have been whispered in the cathedral for the better part of a decade.”

Lisa smiled. She seemed pleased to be reminded of her notoriety.

But Rosaria shook her head. “Your experience pales in comparison to mine.”

And Lisa’s smile turned to a look of intrigue.

Rosaria contained her satisfaction – she didn’t allow it to show on her face. “Whilst you were studying with the dusty old sages in Sumeru, before you returned to Mondstadt to join the Knights – during those years… What do you suppose I was doing?”

Lisa put her hand to her chin, but… She didn’t respond. She only watched Rosaria with intense eyes.

Rosaria let out a derisive shiver. “Hmph.” She felt a twinkle lighting her gaze. “You know what I am. What I do. I know more about the nature of evil than you could ever learn on your nasty little field-trips for the Knights. I’ve witnessed, first hand, exactly what drives people – exactly what shapes and distorts them. I’ve seen the darkest parts of countless minds, and I’ve cast judgement on the sickening reality of countless transgressions. I’m…” Rosaria shook her head. “My hands. My blade. Me .” She smiled. “I’m justice.”

Lisa’s expression turned dark. She seemed, for a moment… Uncertain.

But Rosaria didn’t relent; she maintained her icy stare. “There’s nothing you can teach me about judgement. Your philistine questions about Jean – about her trust in you, and what it means… Don’t embarrass yourself. Such sophistry…” Rosaria scowled. “It’s beneath a woman of your erudition.”

There was a moment of silence as Rosaria and Lisa stared at one another.

Rosaria tasted blood in her throat. “I know Jean isn’t perfect. The love that binds her to you… Its a corruption. The longer it feeds on Jean’s heart, the longer it decays whatever goodness is left. Evil… It isn’t beyond anybody. We both know that. And if Jean doesn’t come to her senses, her good heart won’t be enough to protect her from eventually making the wrong decisions – all in the name of love. But…”

Lisa’s uncertainty had slowly become a look of calm consideration. She appeared as if deep in thought.

Rosaria sighed. “It’s just a shame… A shame that something as dangerously beautiful as Jean’s love… Is wasted on a woman as wretched as you.”

The candlelight flickered.

And Lisa…

Bowed her head.

Lisa lowered her head enough that the brim of her hat obscured her face.

Rosaria frowned. Unable to see Lisa’s expression, Rosaria found herself anxious. She wasn’t afraid of what Lisa had to say – whatever it was, Rosaria didn’t care. She felt untouchable – fully confident in what she herself had said. But the ambiguity of Lisa’s hidden face was enough to put Rosaria on edge.

And then…

Lisa looked up. She met Rosaria’s gaze. And Lisa’s eyes…

They were so peaceful.

Rosaria felt almost confused. She found it strange, that look in Lisa’s eyes. What was Lisa thinking?

Lisa folded her arms. “Rosaria. The truth is…” She shook her head – softly, almost imperceptibly. And then…

Lisa smiled. “Jean doesn’t love me.”

And the words lingered in the silence of the candle-lit room.

Rosaria’s body felt cold.

Lisa couldn’t be serious.

Lisa’s gaze didn’t falter. She spoke again. “Really – Master Jean…” Her words came easeful, as if speaking them somehow soothed her heart. Her eyes were gentle. “I don’t think she’s capable of love.”

And no matter how many times Lisa said it…

It didn’t make sense.

Rosaria inhaled, sharply. She felt her confidence threatened by new chills of doubt. She considered speaking, but…What would she say? If Lisa’s words were true, then…

How could Rosaria have been so wrong?

Rosaria had been so convinced that Jean loved Lisa. It was the only explanation for Jean’s unwavering trust. So…

Could Lisa’s words really be true?

There was a moment in the flickering candle-light where neither woman spoke. If not for the unchanged rhythm of the shifting shadows cast by the flames, Rosaria might’ve believed time had slowed down.

Lisa sighed. “I know her like nobody else. You said it yourself.”

But something in Rosaria’s heart was unwilling to accept Lisa’s claims. Lisa was surely lying – playing a game, just like always. Jean did love Lisa…

Right?

Lisa remained calm. “Master Jean… Her heart. She… She protects her heart too closely.” She allowed a smile to barely brighten her expression. “Surely you’ve noticed how she and her sister are so distant? You didn’t think that was strange?”

Rosaria looked down – momentarily driven by uncertainty to seek respite from eye-contact.

It was true that Barbara and Jean had a strange relationship, for sisters, and this abnormality had struck Rosaria as curious ever since she’d first noticed. But…

That didn’t mean anything. And it certainly didn’t mean what Lisa was implying.

If Jean didn’t love Lisa, why did she trust Lisa so much? And why…

Rosaria thought back to Cape Oath. She remembered how Jean had stood between Lisa and Rosaria – how Jean had pointed her sword at Rosaria’s face. If Jean didn’t love Lisa…

Why had Jean chosen Lisa? Chosen, in that moment, Lisa over Rosaria?

Lisa stepped forward.

And Rosaria, roused from her thoughts, looked up to meet Lisa’s gaze, once again.

Lisa hesitated after only half a step. “It’s not that she’ll never love. I think, one day, she might. At least…” She smiled. “I hope she will.” Lisa gestured towards the photographs hanging above the table. “Let me ask you this: why do you suppose I brought Barbara this gift?”

Rosaria frowned. More disingenuous questions? Rosaria couldn’t stand it.

“Why,” asked Lisa, “do you think I wanted Barbara and Bennett to meet, at the Adventurers’ Guild?”

Rosaria shook her head. “Spare me the riddles.”

Lisa laughed. “There was nothing I could do for Jean. Jean knows, more than most, how fast time flies. But still…” Lisa’s eyes shimmered. “Years passed. And nothing changed. Nothing that I could say…” She shook her head. “Nothing made a difference.”

Rosaria felt herself growing irritated. What help did Jean need from Lisa? What change was Lisa expecting from Jean, over the years? And what did Barbara have to do with it?

Lisa must’ve picked up on Rosaria’s impatience. “I’m sorry. There’s so much to the story that I don’t want to say – so much that I have to keep for myself. But it’s important to me that you know this.” She touched – gently, with her hand – the only empty peg above the table: the peg in which the new photograph of Barbara and Jean had once been suspended. “I can’t help Jean, but maybe…” She looked back at Rosaria. “Maybe Barbara can.”

And then Barbara came bustling back through the door.

Rosaria, reacting automatically, turned to face the interruption.

“She’s sleeping like an angel! I just re-administered the–”

But then Barbara stopped short; she realised that she’d just walked into a tense situation. “Oh! Umm… Is everything okay?”

Rosaria folded her arms. She looked at the floor.

After the intensity of her conversation with Lisa, Rosaria was almost glad that Barbara had returned – glad for someone to interrupt, and make time for Rosaria to think.

Could Rosaria really take Lisa’s words at face value? The answer was, surely…

No.

Lisa’s claims about Jean may have been unexpected, but Rosaria wasn’t about to let her guard down. She’d already decided, only minutes ago, that trusting Lisa would be foolish. As such, Rosaria would hold Lisa’s most recent claims to the same standard of scepticism as all the rest.

Did Jean love Lisa?

Lisa denied it, but… Rosaria wasn’t about to accept Lisa’s claim just like that. This could easily have been nothing but Lisa’s latest lie, designed to further confuse and manipulate Rosaria’s mind. Rosaria couldn’t forget who she was dealing with.

After a lingering silence, Lisa was first to reply to Barbara’s question. “Yes. Everything’s fine. Of course.”

Rosaria looked up.

Lisa was smiling softly, like she and Rosaria might’ve been talking about something as insignificant as the weather.

The witch…

She was a piece of work – that was for sure.

Lisa was like a chameleon, able to adapt her demeanour to any situation – whatever might help her manipulate the perceptions and expectations of those around her. To Rosaria’s mind… That made Lisa a very dangerous woman, indeed.

Barbara seemed, for a moment, to be considering Lisa’s words, and then… Barbara smiled. “In that case – if you don’t mind…” Barbara locked eyes with Lisa. “Could you go and sit with the girl, Miss Lisa? Just to keep an eye on her?”

Lisa cast a glance in Rosaria’s direction…

And Rosaria felt an impulse of uncertainty. Rosaria looked at Barbara.

Barbara’s eyes were earnest – hopeful.

Was Barbara asking for some time alone with Rosaria? Was that why she’d just made an excuse for Lisa to leave?

Lisa’s voice came relaxed. “Of course.”

Rosaria watched as Lisa stepped away from the table.

Barbara nodded. “Thank you!”

And Rosaria, as she watched Lisa leave, couldn’t deny that she had mixed emotions. She didn’t want Lisa to drop such a bombshell and then just disappear. It gave Lisa too much control. But, even if Lisa had stayed…

What would Rosaria have asked?

If Rosaria wanted tangible proof of Lisa’s alibi for the Sumeru knife, that was, in principle, something Lisa could provide. But as far as Lisa’s claim about Jean was concerned… There was no way to give proof of that. Did Jean love Lisa, or not? The only way to get an answer to that question…

Was to ask Jean.

And the thought of asking Jean such a thing sent a shiver through Rosaria’s body.

And then the door clicked shut.

Rosaria blinked. She looked across the room, and saw Barbara alone before the closed door.

Lisa was gone.

Barbara stepped forward. “Sister Rosaria. There was something I wanted to mention…”

Rosaria turned to fully face Barbara. She felt the tension of the prior conversation gently evaporating from her mind as she watched Barbara’s approach.

What could Barbara have wanted? She’d already asked Rosaria for a favour – to give the new photograph to Jean. Was there something else? Something…

That Lisa couldn’t know about?

Barbara resolved only a few steps away from Rosaria. The look on her face was apprehensive, as if she were considering changing her mind about what she’d decided to say, and might not say it after all. “I feel bad asking Miss Lisa to leave, but…”

Rosaria could hardly stand the suspense any longer. “Barbara.”

Barbara startled, as if she’d almost forgotten that Rosaria was standing there.

Rosaria narrowed her eyes. “What is it?”

And Barbara…

She made an emphatic movement with her hands. “Oh! It’s nothing bad!” She seemed eager to put Rosaria’s mind at ease. “It’s just that…” She looked down, and after only a brief hesitation, she met Rosaria’s gaze, once again. “Rosaria. Let’s go to the graveyard.”

And Rosaria frowned.

The graveyard?

Rosaria remembered the previous day – when she’d gone to the graveyard to talk to Barbara. It had been the conversation that had started all this – started Rosaria’s investigation into the Fatui.

Barbara smiled. “We can talk, there.”

And then…

Barbara looked over her shoulder, as if to verify that the door was still shut.

Rosaria found herself too curious for words. Barbara was acting suddenly so suspicious – like whatever it was that she wanted to talk about… Was something that could get her into trouble.

Once Barbara had verified their privacy, she turned back to Rosaria, and leaned forward. Her voice was quiet – not a whisper, but nevertheless adjusted to be inaudible to anyone who might’ve been listening in. “If we go to graveyard…”

And Rosaria felt a shiver of something apprehensive – like something bad was about to happen.

Barbara’s eyes shimmered with resolve, her voice dangerously quiet. “Lisa definitely won’t be able to hear us.”

Chapter Text

The sun was high over Mondstadt. Therefore, the gravestones behind the cathedral cast no shadows.

Rosaria followed Barbara’s lead; they approached the parapet looking out over Cider Lake.

It was noon, and the graveyard looked exactly as it had the day before, when Barbara and Rosaria had first spoken about Bennett and the Fatui.

It had been noon, then, too.

It was funny how things often worked out, like that.

Barbara put her hands on the balustrade, and looked out over the water. It was true: from this spot, there was quite a view. But, nevertheless…

Rosaria only gazed at Barbara.

What was the meaning of this? Why had Barbara pulled Rosaria aside? And then…

Barbara, not taking her eyes off the lake, finally spoke. “Rosaria… It’s about Miss Lisa…”

And Rosaria felt a chill.

Her initial impression had been right: the reason Barbara had wanted such privacy was because the words she intended to speak… They were directly about Lisa.

But…

What was Barbara going to say?

Did Barbara secretly know that Lisa was dangerous? That Lisa wasn’t to be trusted? If Barbara did, in fact, know that… Was it a good thing? Or would it only serve to make things more complicated?

Barbara looked down, but after only an instant, she brought her gaze to Rosaria’s tense eyes.

And then…

Barbara put her hands to her cheeks. “Oh!”

And Rosaria had a feeling that Barbara was about to go off on a tangent.

Appearing as if overcome by new resolve, Barbara stared Rosaria straight in the eyes. “I almost forgot! The bitter potion I made for you. How do you feel? Have your symptoms eased?”

The question lingered in the crisp air. But…

Rosaria found herself dismayed – unwilling to let the conversation change directions so suddenly. Whatever it was that Barbara was going to say, about Lisa… Rosaria needed to hear it. She couldn’t just let Barbara get so easily distracted.

But…

Barbara had raised a good point, and as much as Rosaria was feverishly curious about whatever Barbara was going to say about Lisa…

Rosaria couldn’t stop herself from being suddenly embarrassed as the relevance of Barbara’s non-sequitur about the potion sunk in.

The blood Rosaria had been coughing up all night – the blood that had brought her to the infirmary in the first place…

Rosaria had completely forgotten about it.

And now that Rosaria was reminded, she realised…

The blood had stopped. Hadn’t it? Rosaria hadn’t been coughing since she’d drank Barbara’s potion.

Barbara smiled. “You seem to be responding well. That’s wolfhook essence, for you! Almost like magic!”

Rosaria felt her expression soften as if she recognised some truth in Barbara’s words. But in the back of Rosaria’s mind…

She felt only doubt.

It was true that Rosaria hadn’t coughed up any more blood – that much, in isolation, might paint a picture of recovery – but Rosaria would be remiss to forget what she’d noticed in the darkroom, only minutes before. When she and Lisa had been talking – when Rosaria had been delivering her speech about the corruption of love decaying Jean’s heart. In that moment…

Rosaria had tasted it.

She’d tasted blood. At the back of her throat. She remembered the bitterness of it as clear as anything. And that, to Rosaria, was a bad sign; optimism could be critically premature, and so, as far as Rosaria was concerned…

She wasn’t in the clear.

Rosaria frowned as she stared into Barbara’s bright eyes.

And Barbara’s smile turned to a look of concern. “Sister Rosaria?” Barbara blinked. “Is something the matter? Does it still hurt?”

And Rosaria felt almost guilty for letting her pessimism show on her face. “No – that’s not it.” She shook her head and made efforts to soften her expression. “The coughing has stopped, yes. And for that I thank you. But…”

Relief soothed Barbara’s concerned eyes, but a whisper of uncertainty still remained in her gaze.

Rosaria smiled. She would put Barbara’s mind at ease, for now. There was no point making her worry. “The taste of blood… It triggers bad memories. That’s all.”

Barbara smiled in return. Her voice was soft – understanding. “Of course. But…” And then…

Barbara reached into her pouch.

Rosaria felt a shiver of curiosity.

And Barbara smiled as she presented a vial of bright red liquid, sealed with a cork stopper. “Ta-da!”

Rosaria frowned.

Another potion?

But, far from being discouraged, Barbara only nodded. “Back in the infirmary… When I left the darkroom, after I checked on the girl, I decanted a second dose. I meant to give it to you right away, but I was so nervous about asking you to come to the graveyard with me…” She lowered her eyes, but only for a moment. She quickly resumed eye-contact and smiled. “I totally forgot about it!” She emphasised the vial. “In a case like yours, lingering olfactory symptoms are normal for up to forty-eight hours, so I don’t think there’s cause for concern. However…” The look in Barbara’s eyes shone even more kindly than ever. “You should take it with you! I insist!”

But…

Rosaria didn’t reach out. She hadn’t expected something like this, and therefore… She was apprehensive.

Barbara laughed. “It’s okay. I promise! It’s from the same bitter tasting batch I gave you, earlier. The formula is actually very gentle, and there are no adverse effects for taking too much. So…” Barbara nodded. “Keep it with you in case you need it! It’s your special recipe, made exclusively for you – by me!”

Rosaria began to feel like her frown was conspicuously persistent. But…

She couldn’t deny how unsure she felt in the face of Barbara’s offer.

Rosaria’s aversion to medicine, of course, was born from her dirty work; she was dedicated and scrupulous in her caution, and the years of predation had taught her to be wary of any substance that she didn’t recognise or understand. Granted, Rosaria didn’t think for a minute that Barbara would ever intentionally harm her, but it was nevertheless impossible for Rosaria to look upon any kind of potion, philtre, or remedy with anything but suspicion. For someone in Rosaria’s line of work…

It was the only sensible way to be.

Rosaria had been reluctantly willing to take the first dose Barbara had administered – she had, after all, been there to see it made, and she’d drank it immediately after it had been strained. But this… This would be one step further. To Rosaria, the thought of actually keeping a potion – keeping it in her possession…

That was something completely different.

The longer she kept the potion, the more she would distrust it. And if she ever put it down – left it unattended… Drinking it would be nothing but obscene – an act of recklessness beyond all sense or rationality.

Rosaria shook her head. She didn’t want to offend Barbara by refusing her offer, but there was really no reason to accept it. “If I need another dose, I’ll come get it. A fresh one.”

Barbara’s eager expression admitted a shimmer of uncertainty, as if she hadn’t been expecting Rosaria to refuse.

But Rosaria had made up her mind. “In the meantime, I’ll be fine. This…” She gestured at the potion in Barbara’s hands. “You can keep it.”

Rosaria’s words left silence in their wake.

Barbara lowered the potion. Her expression was blank, as if she were still unsure how to react, and then…

Barbara suddenly averted her gaze. “Oh!” She blushed, and brought the potion to her chest. “I… I just thought…”

The graveyard fell quiet.

Barbara remained with her gaze averted, and the look of pain on her face…

Rosaria just couldn’t bear it.

Barbara’s voice came fragile. “If you don’t want it, I guess that’s okay.”

And Rosaria couldn’t stop herself. Against her better judgement…

What a nuisance.

Rosaria reached out.

Barbara looked up, her expression lit by new curiosity.

Rosaria could hardly believe what she was doing, but the way she felt, in that moment, was undeniable. She might have been apprehensive about keeping a potion in her possession, but…

Anything was better than having to see Barbara look so down.

The look on Barbara’s face – the sound in her voice – it were almost as if… Barbara had been ashamed – ashamed of herself after Rosaria had refused her offer. And even though Rosaria knew it wasn’t wise…

She couldn’t help but make an exception.

Rosaria sighed.“Hand it over.”

And after a moment…

Barbara’s blushing face admitted a shy smile. For a second, despite the apparent softening of her mood, Barbara still looked as if unsure whether or not Rosaria would truly accept the potion, but then…

Barbara offered it, once again. Her smile became truly earnest. “Like I said: it’s a special recipe!”

Rosaria took the potion.

And Barbara brought her now empty hands to her chest, by her heart, still looking into Rosaria’s eyes. “Exclusively for you – made specially by me.”

Rosaria fastened the potion to her belt. Taking it, she supposed, wasn’t necessarily such a bad thing. Just because she had it, it didn’t mean she had to drink it, and if accepting it would make Barbara feel better…

Rosaria looked up, again, into Barbara’s eyes.

Barbara was gazing gently – as if the potion were a farewell gift, and Rosaria were departing on a journey from which she might never return.

There was silence.

Rosaria, feeling suddenly drained, took a deep breath.

What was the meaning of Barbara’s gaze – the profound emotion that couldn’t be concealed in Barbara’s tender eyes? It was, after all, only a potion, and a potion was hardly anything to get worked up about. But, moreover, standing before Barbara’s shyness, Rosaria noticed something else – something… Strange.

How many years had it been?

For how many years had Barbara pestered Rosaria to turn up to choir on time? How many cigarettes had Rosaria stubbed out, in frustration, upon the intrusion of Barbara’s sudden voice? And now…

Rosaria realised something.

Wasn’t it true? In the past two days…

Rosaria had spoken to Barbara more than ever before.

The graveyard; the Adventurers’ Guild; the infirmary; and, now, once again, the graveyard – like coming full circle.

All those years of icy stares and bitter dismissals, and now, looking at Barbara, Rosaria wondered…

What was that strange feeling? That feeling that, when Rosaria looked at Barbara, seemed to speak in half-revealed whispers from the heart?

Rosaria shook the thoughts from her head. She verified the security of the potion in her belt, and smiled at Barbara. “Thank you,” she said. “The photograph you gave me. I’ll get it to the Acting Grand Master as soon as possible. It should be before the end of the day.”

And Barbara’s face revealed a shimmer of recognition. “Oh! Yes!” She smiled, and nodded. “Thank you, Sister Rosaria.”

They fell into silence.

And Rosaria’s mind found some level of peace.

Standing there, before Barbara – by the parapet looking out over Cider Lake – it was almost as if things were simple, again – as if there were nothing to worry about, and Rosaria’s life were back to normal. It had been there, in the graveyard, that Barbara had first asked Rosaria to complete a job: to investigate Bennett’s claims of Fatui threat in the city. And now, the Fatui spy’s orphaned child was safely in the care of the cathedral. Didn’t that make it feel as if… That chapter had been closed?

But…

Rosaria shivered. She suddenly remembered the first thing Barbara had said, before they’d both gotten distracted by the matter of the potion.

Lisa.

Rosaria had almost forgotten about it, herself, but Barbara had been about to say something about Lisa – something that was too sensitive to be uttered without complete privacy. That was why they’d gone to the graveyard in the first place.

And now that Rosaria remembered…

She knew that this chapter of her life wasn’t yet closed. Not really.

Even though the orphan was safe and sound, Lisa had yet to be held accountable for her part in things. The Sumeru knife, and the cryptic intimations Lisa had made regarding Barbara and Jean…

The witch was still up to no good, and Rosaria knew:

Lisa still had to be put on trial.

And so, despite the resolution Rosaria had found in seeing the orphan sleep peacefully in the infirmary…

Things weren’t back to normal, just yet.

And it was time for Barbara to finally say what she’d brought Rosaria to the graveyard to say.

Rosaria found Barbara’s gaze.

Barbara’s eyes lit up with recognition, like she, too, had been lost in thought, and Rosaria’s eye-contact had brought her back to reality.

Rosaria folded her arms. “Thank you for the potion, but that wasn’t why you brought me here. You were going to say something about–”

And Barbara’s face lit up with realisation. “Oh!” She put her hands to her cheeks. “That’s right!” She pumped her fists and nodded. “I almost forgot!”

Rosaria resisted the impulse to roll her eyes.

Barbara…

The girl was flighty, but…

That was a kind of consistency, in and of itself.

Rosaria glanced back at the cathedral doors, and was reassured to notice that they remained shut, having admitted no further company to the graveyard.

She and Barbara were still alone.

But Rosaria was caught off guard by a sudden interjection:

Barbara’s voice came hushed, but nevertheless agitated. “Sister Rosaria! Don’t act so suspicious!”

Rosaria looked back at Barbara just in time to see the intimation, in Barbara’s hands, of a physical gesture – as if Barbara were about to reach out, but had decided against it.

Hmm…

Barbara really was on edge. Was what she had to say really so profound?

Barbara looked down, clearly embarrassed by how vividly she’d revealed her perturbation. “Act natural!” she said, looking up with a tentative gaze. “Seriously!”

Rosaria restrained the sigh threatening to escape her lungs, and instead folded her arms. “I am acting natural,” she said. “Now spit it out. I don’t have all day.”

Barbara touched the tips of her index fingers together and fluttered her eyelashes. “Well, yes… The thing is…”

Rosaria narrowed her eyes.

Barbara’s voice was fragile, as if her nervousness only increased as she got closer and closer to finally revealing her thoughts.

Barbara turned her head to cast a glance over Cider Lake, looking out into the cliffs of Brightcrown Canyon. “The thing I wanted to ask you about. It was…”

And Rosaria could hardly bear it. “Barbara.”

Barbara turned her head to meet Rosaria’s gaze, and…

Rosaria was pleased by the look she saw on Barbara’s face.

Barbara’s eyes were newly focused, as if she’d finally summoned the courage to speak. “It’s about Lisa, yes,” she said. “But really…” And then Barbara’s eyes displayed, in a shimmer of barely perceptible fortitude, new strength. “It’s about you and Miss Lisa.”

And Rosaria felt a shiver of uncertainty.

Me?

Rosaria had already known that Barbara’s business was pertaining to Lisa, but she hadn’t been expecting herself to be wound up in it

Of course, Barbara had seen Rosaria and Lisa together on two occasions, now: first at the Adventurers’ Guild and then at the infirmary. But in the subtle portentousness of Barbara’s tone as she’d spoken, Rosaria couldn’t help but hear something that worried her…

Had Rosaria’s discretion failed her?

Had Barbara noticed the antagonism between Rosaria and Lisa?

Rosaria, despite her best efforts, allowed a shiver of perturbation to show in her expression.

And Barbara noticed it immediately. She nodded – gentle confidence lighting up her eyes. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

Rosaria held back a grimace. “About what?”

And Barbara spoke plainly. “There’s something going on between you two.”

Rosaria’s breath caught in her throat.

Several possible replies fought in Rosaria’s mind for expression. She wanted, at once, to ask Barbara what she meant; what had given Barbara that impression; what was ‘something’ supposed to even mean?

But Barbara must’ve realised how her question had landed. The quiet confidence that had graced Barbara’s eyes as she’d built up enough courage to finally speak… It suddenly disappeared, and the old Barbara was immediately recognisable in the sensitive expressions – in her eyes and body – of uncertainty and self-doubt.

Barbara came over suddenly remorseful. “Oh! I didn’t mean to offend you! It’s nothing, really!”

Rosaria shook her head. “Not so fast,” she said. “The cat’s out of the bag, and now you’re committed. What are you getting at?” She was aware of her sharp tone, but felt unmoved to correct it. She didn’t want to distress Barbara, but, at the same time, she wasn’t going to let Barbara drop a bomb and then walk away. Rosaria needed to ascertain exactly how much Barbara had noticed – exactly how much Rosaria’s discretion had slipped.

Rosaria folded her arms. “Finish what you started. Explain yourself.”

Barbara put her hands together before her – nervous energy practically competing with the sun to paint the picture of noon.

And Rosaria couldn’t help but think: if Barbara really had noticed the antagonism…

It was bad.

It would be better if Barbara were oblivious – better if Barbara had no idea that Rosaria and Lisa were locked in a kind of relentless power struggle. That way, less attention would be brought to the matter whilst Rosaria tried her best to defuse it. If Barbara had noticed something…

Wouldn’t Barbara present a problem? What if she got involved, and caused a mess? How would Rosaria keep a lid on someone as fickle as Barbara?

But Barbara looked so nervous and guilty as she stood there with her head bowed… Despite Rosaria’s urgency – her need to get all the relevant information…

Rosaria felt a little bad.

Barbara looked up, her eyes almost vulnerable in their gentleness.

And, despite her better judgement…

Rosaria tried to sound as kind as possible. “I’m sorry,” she said, the irritation in her voice – at having been put on the spot – barely concealed by her genuine desire to pacify Barbara’s vexation. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

Barbara shook her head. “No! It’s okay! After all…” She averted her eyes. “I shouldn’t be prying where it’s none of my business…”

And Rosaria felt a shadow of regret darken her mind.

That was twice in one conversation: two times that Rosaria had hurt Barbara’s feelings, or otherwise been the reason for Barbara’s pain. First, refusing the potion, and now this: biting her head off for asking a simple question.

Was Rosaria really so…

Reactive?

Was she really so incapable of thinking, ahead of time, about how her actions would be perceived and processed by her interlocutor?

Rosaria had thought better of herself – better of her judgement.

And the truth was…

It irritated her.

Rosaria couldn’t stand the feeling that she was letting every interaction get out of control – letting every conversation consistently turn south, time after time. Rosaria was better than that. Her ability to stay in control was paramount – her strength and her talent. And so she thought to herself…

Enough.

She was in control. And Rosaria was sure of one thing, if nothing else: once she set her mind to it, she never repeated a mistake.

Never.

She was damn pristine.

And so Rosaria told herself: she would never again hurt Barbara like that. That mistake…

Was the last of its kind.

And then…

Rosaria had an idea.

She felt a surge of unfamiliar spontaneity. She reached out…

And gently lifted Barbara’s chin.

Chapter Text

Barbara appeared as though woken from a dream. Her gaze met Rosaria’s, and lighting Barbara’s eyes was a subtle look of surprise.

Perhaps, thought Rosaria, she could actually address Barbara’s concern. At least… If she handled it correctly. And if, in doing so, Rosaria could put Barbara’s guilty conscience – for having pried – at ease… All the better.

What better way to start fixing her mistakes – to start taking back control – than to bring some relief to Barbara’s fragile eyes?

Rosaria felt her own expression become tense, but nevertheless earnest – a combination she hoped would successfully communicate the good natured intention of her words. She stared into Barbara’s eyes, and spoke. “If you feel you’ve wronged me,” she said, “then allow me to make us even.” She removed her hand from Barbara’s chin.

Barbara’s expression, still showing a sparkle of surprise, softened a little – as if she weren’t altogether displeased to have received, even if only for a moment, Rosaria’s gentle touch.

Rosaria folded her arms. “You’re asking me about a personal matter. I don’t usually indulge such folly. But on this occasion…” Rosaria smiled. “I’ll answer.”

Barbara’s eyes revealed gentle surprise.

Rosaria nodded. “But afterwards…” And she felt her eyes shining as she spoke. “You must answer a personal question in return.”

Barbara brought her hand to her mouth. “Oh!” And for a moment, Rosaria wasn’t sure if Barbara had been perturbed by the suggestion. But then… Barbara smiled. “It’s a deal!”

And Rosaria nodded.

A deal… It was a strange idea – not the kind of thing Rosaria would usually consider. But it had seemed, at the time, like the most practical way of soothing Barbara’s remorse for having pried. An eye for an eye; a question for a question. It was, after all, the fairest way to do things.

It was the closest thing to justice that Rosaria knew.

And to be honest…

Rosaria just really couldn’t stand to see Barbara look upset.

After Barbara had first asked Rosaria if there was something going on between her and Lisa, Barbara had looked so guilty. But… Rosaria had no confidence in her ability to reassure Barbara with platitudes; Rosaria was no conversationalist. Likewise, the last time she’d tried to console Barbara with an affectionate touch, it had led to Rosaria blacking out and hallucinating.

Rosaria felt in her hand the memory of contact; she’d just reached out and touched Barbara – enough to lift her chin and engage her eyes – but… Rosaria didn’t want to push her luck. Such a delicate touch had been a spontaneous impulse – it’d felt quite natural. Any touch more direct – any touch that might actually make Barbara feel better – it wasn’t something Rosaria was willing to try. Rosaria may have faced her past at the coalhouse, but, as she’d promised herself… She wasn’t a changed woman. Even after facing her past, she wasn’t going to suddenly become all touchy-feely.

As such…

If Rosaria wanted to do something to make Barbara feel better – wanted to do something to take back control of the situation – it ought to be something that, to Rosaria, came naturally.

What better than a deal?

And, besides…

Rosaria really did have a personal question for Barbara – something that might genuinely offer Rosaria some small insight.

Jean…

Lisa’s words about Jean were still running through Rosaria’s mind, and if Rosaria wanted to know more about Jean… Perhaps Barbara could be of assistance? The two may have been distant, but still…

Rosaria thought it was worth a try.

Rosaria folded her arms. “Since you asked first, your question will be our primary concern. Now… What exactly did you mean? Have you perceived something strange between Lisa and myself?”

Barbara tilted her head to the side. “Well…” And it registered all over her face: she knew that what she was about to say was potentially inflammatory. She paused for a moment, and then… She nervously smiled. “It kind of seems like you and Miss Lisa hate each other.”

And Rosaria barely contained her grimace.

Barbara’s words…

Had Rosaria been so transparent? Had the tension she felt around Lisa been so poorly concealed? Rosaria had already been prepared to accept that some tension may have been obvious, but Rosaria hadn’t expected Barbara to use the word hate.

Rosaria sighed. She fixed Barbara with a resigned gaze, and spoke plainly. “Hate is a strong word.”

Barbara raised her finger – her voice was satisfied, as if she were pleased with her insight. “But I’m not stupid. I was at least partially right.”

Rosaria narrowed her eyes.

Barbara appeared to have found some confidence. Perhaps, thought Rosaria, it was a good thing. It was certainly better than Barbara being all nervous and insecure.

Rosaria nodded. “Yes. Between Lisa and myself… Well – some people just don’t see eye to eye.”

Barbara appeared only partially satisfied by Rosaria’s answer. She was visibly still beset by some doubt.

And Rosaria couldn’t blame her. The answer Rosaria had given had been purposefully vague – designed to give away as little as possible. And such an answer… It wasn’t exactly in keeping with the spirit of their deal.

Barbara put her hand to her chin. The look in her eyes became almost mischievous – like the confidence she’d found was about to manifest some uncharacteristically bold behaviour. “Sister Rosaria. Could it be…” She smiled. “Could it be something to do with my sister?”

And Rosaria felt irritation suddenly enliven her body. Her voice came before she could think about what she would say, or how it would sound. “What?”

In the silence that followed, Rosaria became all too aware that her tone had been too revealing; she immediately regretted how obvious she’d made her perturbation.

And Barbara…

Barbara laughed. “Bingo!”

Rosaria shook her head. “Watch it,” she said. It felt useless to deny that Barbara had been partially right; Jean was part of the reason for the animosity between Rosaria and Lisa, and denial would only be construed by Barbara as further confirmation. But… Rosaria couldn’t contain the impulse to offer a playful provocation. “You don’t want to get on my bad side.”

Barbara took the remark in good humour. The satisfaction she felt was obvious in every movement – she was clearly overjoyed to have hit the nail on the head. “Like I said: I’m not stupid!”

Rosaria laughed. It was a small laugh, but it escaped her lips, regardless. The truth was… As much as Rosaria felt uncomfortable to have been exposed, she couldn’t deny the other thing she felt.

She was glad to see Barbara happy.

Rosaria flicked her hair from her eyes. “Well,” she said. “If you’re so perceptive, what more information could you possibly need from me? You asked if there was something going on between myself and Lisa, and now… Do you consider your question sufficiently answered?”

It wasn’t clear to Rosaria exactly how much Barbara knew. But, honestly… If Barbara had figured out that Jean was involved, it was hardly a surprise. After all, Jean was perhaps the only thing that Lisa and Rosaria had in common; anyone could’ve come up with that theory. Therefore, Barbara’s correct intuition was hardly a big deal, and Rosaria felt no special cause for concern. It wasn’t like Barbara had hit on anything particularly deep. And, besides…

Was there anything deep to hit on?

Jean was part of the problem between Rosaria and Lisa, but only insofar as there was disagreement over Lisa’s character. Jean thought Lisa was trustworthy, and Rosaria didn’t. Such a disagreement was pure practicality; in it, there was revealed no personal inflection.

It was simply a difference of professional opinion.

Right?

Rosaria raised her eyebrow. “Well? Are you satisfied, little miss detective?”

Barbara smiled. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed, you know.”

And Rosaria felt, once again, a mixture of emotions in response to Barbara’s newfound boldness.

Rosaria frowned. “Excuse me?” she said.

What was Barbara getting at?

But Barbara only continued smiling. “Earlier, you said something… You denied it. You denied even being friends with my sister. But…” She nodded, her eyes alight with conviction. “It’s okay to have a friend, Rosaria. It’s nothing to be ashamed of!”

And Rosaria didn’t hide her sly smile.

Ashamed…?

So that was the direction Barbara was going to go?

Barbara, in response, looked surprised. For a second, some uncertainty crossed her expression – as if she hadn’t expected Rosaria to smile in response to her words.

Rosaria simply stared into Barbara’s uncertain eyes.

If Barbara thought that Rosaria was ashamed to have a friend, then Barbara, this time, had missed the mark. And Rosaria felt exactly the same way she’d felt when Barbara had first brought up the same point, in the darkroom:

Rosaria had no friends.

And on the issue of shame…

Of course, it was natural that Barbara would make the suggestion; it was a simple case of projection. Barbara, herself, was apt to feel flush with embarrassment and shame at the slightest provocation. By inference, one could deduce that a secret friend might be the sort of thing that Barbara would feel ashamed of. But for Rosaria…

Rosaria was completely shameless. She had nothing to hide.

Nothing, of course, except the dead bodies. But they didn’t count; that was just business.

Rosaria let a sigh escape her lips – perhaps just to fill the silence, or, perhaps, to show Barbara that she’d failed to strike a chord with her latest theory.

But far from deterred, Barbara appeared as if newly curious. “When I said that Jean doesn’t often come by the cathedral,” she said, “I meant it. She only ever comes by to see you.”

Unsure what to make of this latest rejoinder, Rosaria simply nodded. “That’s true. But why should that mean that she and I are friends?”

Barbara frowned. “Well! Isn’t it obvious?”

And Rosaria laughed.

Barbara pouted, as if childishly indignant at Rosaria’s refusal to agree with Barbara’s own interpretation of the facts.

Honestly… It was almost cute. Barbara was still just a child – her concepts of the world still stuck in the black and white of immaturity. But, now… Didn’t Rosaria have an opportunity? Perhaps she could impart some wisdom to Barbara that might help the girl to grow up – even if just a little.

An adamant look showed in Barbara’s expression. She seemed unwilling to give up. “Hey!” she said. “I’ve seen you two with my own eyes!” But, regardless of Barbara’s adamance… A shimmer of good humour still lit her gaze. She pointed to her own face with playful exaggeration. “My eyes don’t lie!”

And Rosaria was pleased to see it: despite Barbara’s passion, she was still in good spirits.

Rosaria nodded. “Your eyes don’t lie. I agree. You’re right to observe that the Acting Grand Master and I often convene in the cathedral pews, and you’re also right that this is something friends might do. But…” She shook her head. “In the real world, things aren’t that simple.”

Barbara’s gaze, once so adamant, softened to reveal a trace of curiosity; she stared into Rosaria’s eyes and listened – as if listening to something that she found intriguing, but which she, nevertheless, didn’t quite understand.

Rosaria continued. “I myself have made that mistake, before. I’ve made assumptions based on appearances – even based on people’s actions.” She sighed. Would Barbara understand? “You’ve probably heard, before, that trite phrase: ‘actions speak louder than words’, but, the truth is…” Rosaria shook her head. “Some actions mean more than others.”

Barbara, momentarily, looked down – breaking eye contact – as if unsure how to reconcile Rosaria’s words with what she already knew. “I…”

But Rosaria didn’t pause. “People’s actions, day to day… They aren’t that significant. They don’t really tell you anything about someone – about their minds, or their hearts.”

Barbara, once again, looked up – her expression revealing subtle confusion.

And Rosaria continued. “In fact, actions and words… Both of them are the same. People will tell you that one matters more than the other, but the truth is…” Rosaria smiled. “Neither matter.”

Barbara let her gaze wander. She put her hands to her cheeks and stared at nothing in particular. “But…”

And Rosaria only shook her head. She continued to watch Barbara, even though Barbara didn’t reciprocate the gaze. “There is, of course, an exception. And that exception is…” Rosaria felt a glimmer light her eyes. “A moment of truth.”

And Barbara, gaze still averted, looked as if something clicked in her mind.

Rosaria was pleased. “You know what I mean, don’t you? When the going gets tough – when danger is afoot, or when something dear hangs in the balance – that’s when you see someone’s true nature.”

A shimmer of resolve appeared in Barbara’s averted eyes, as if she were beginning to comprehend the meaning of Rosaria’s words.

Rosaria nodded. “And when the moment of truth comes… Actions and words alike can reveal more about someone’s true nature than a lifetime of mundane habits or behaviours ever could.”

There was a silence in the graveyard as Rosaria let her words linger.

Barbara appeared thoughtful, her eyes still cast down, looking at nothing in particular. Were Rosaria’s words wasted? Or might Barbara be able to take something of value from them?

Rosaria decided to add one last gloss, just to make her point all the more clear. “So, when you look at me and the Acting Grand Master – when you see the way we talk in the cathedral – it’s a mistake to read too much into it.”

Barbara finally looked into Rosaria’s eyes. She appeared, now, a little more assured – a little more willing to accept Rosaria’s words.

Rosaria continued. “Those meetings, they’re mundane – meaningless. What you’ve seen with your own two eyes… Such things reveal nothing of the real truth – the real truth about the nature of the relationship between myself and your sister.” Rosaria stared into Barbara’s eyes with a resolute gaze. “I’ve know the real truth. Jean and I are not friends.”

And Barbara…

She finally smiled.

It was a slight smile, but it was there – as if Barbara had finally understood what Rosaria was saying.

And Rosaria was pleased to see it.

They were both silent for a moment as the full impact of Rosaria’s words settled in Barbara’s mind. But then…

Barbara began to look almost mischievous.

And Rosaria was caught off guard.

Barbara’s smile had taken on a whisper of self-satisfaction – as if she were about to say something provocative. What…

What was the meaning of that?

Rosaria’s speech hadn’t left much room for argument. Had Barbara accepted Rosaria’s words? Or was she seriously about to challenge them? Rosaria could hardly believe it. Where had Barbara found such confidence?

A twinkle of humour lit Barbara’s eyes as she gazed at Rosaria. “You said that people’s real nature… It only ever shows itself in a moment of truth. Isn’t that right?”

Rosaria frowned. “Yes. And?”

Barbara’s expression had come over almost completely carefree – as if she were enjoying herself, in challenging Rosaria, a little too much. “Does that mean…” Barbara’s eyes twinkled – like she knew her next question was going to land hard. “A moment of truth. You’ve been through something like that with my sister?”

And Rosaria finally understood what Barbara was getting at.

Rosaria narrowed her eyes.

Perhaps Rosaria had said too much. It was true that, from what Rosaria had said, Barbara’s suggestion was a valid inference. I know the real truth. In saying those words, Rosaria had given Barbara enough information to deduce the rest of the story.

Cape Oath…

It had, indeed, been a moment of truth. Jean…

Jean had chosen Lisa over Rosaria; she’d trusted Lisa’s character over Rosaria’s judgement.

But Rosaria hadn’t intended to give Barbara so much information – hadn’t intended to show Barbara that the full story between herself and Jean had… More to it.

“You’ve been through something like that with my sister?”

Barbara’s question lingered in the air.

And Rosaria folded her arms. She glared at Barbara. “Our deal was one question, each.”

Barbara only smiled.

Rosaria strained to make her expression more resolute. She didn’t want to appear stern, but she also didn’t want to give away her perturbation. “Well. In any case, you ought to be grateful for my advice. What I told you just now, about words and actions, is actually quite profound. It would serve you well to think about it carefully.”

And then Barbara’s voice came softly – like the gentle appeal made to rouse a sleeping child from peaceful dreams. “Rosaria…”

Rosaria felt her body and eyes tense up. What was the meaning of Barbara’s tone? And as Rosaria looked at Barbara, Rosaria realised…

Barbara was gazing at Rosaria with uncharacteristic tenderness. Though Barbara was typically kind and gentle, such tenderness…

It was more akin to the expression seen so often in Jean’s gaze.

Rosaria narrowed her eyes. What was Barbara up to?

And Barbara smiled. Her words were gentle against the silence of the graveyard. “I think you’re making things more complicated than they have to be.”

And with that…

Hmph.

Rosaria decided it was time to move the conversation along. Barbara was courageous in her words, but nevertheless… Hopelessly naive.

Rosaria shifted her weight on her feet. “It’s quite admirably bold of you to offer your own perspective, but perhaps, in time, you’ll come to see the wisdom in the advice I just gave you. Until then…” She smiled. “We had a deal, and I believe it’s now my turn to ask the questions.”

And the expression on Barbara’s face…

It showed an almost smug look of satisfaction – as if Barbara were a sage giving profound instruction and who, in noticing how their words had fallen on deaf ears, was nevertheless satisfied with some aspect of the way those words had landed. It was an almost condescending look – as if Barbara were the one who thought Rosaria naive. And that…

It seemed, to Rosaria, quite ironic.

“I think you’re making things more complicated than they have to be.”

It was well enough for Barbara to say such a childish thing, but Rosaria wasn’t about to be dragged into a debate with a child. Rosaria shook her head. “You’ll learn soon enough. Perhaps one day you’ll thank me for my advice.”

Barbara remained smiling.

And Rosaria scoffed. “Hmph. Not that I’ll care either way.”

There was a brief pause whilst they both looked at each other, and then…

Barbara nodded. “You answered my question,” she said. “That means…”

And Rosaria sensed, in Barbara’s tone, the continued presence of the quiet confidence that had, since earlier in their conversation, begun to attenuate Barbara’s typical nervousness.

Barbara winked. “It’s my turn to answer a personal question of yours!” Her voice was relentlessly playful. “Ask away!”

Rosaria folded her arms.

Barbara was gazing at her with such frivolous levity, it were as if she had not a care in the world – as if…

Barbara were looking forward to what was about to happen.

Rosaria frowned. Could it be… That Barbara actually wanted to answer a personal question from Rosaria? That hardly made sense. Why would Barbara want someone to pry into her affairs? Into her mind? Unless…

Rosaria felt a shiver of doubt. Had she, herself, been naive? It were almost like… Barbara had tricked Rosaria – tricked her into something most objectionable. This situation that Rosaria had, on the pretence of a deal, willingly entered… Was it…

A personal conversation?

Rosaria shuddered.

And Barbara laughed. “You can’t back out, now! We already agreed, and an agreement is as good as a promise!” She pumped both her fists. “You have to ask me a personal question!”

Chapter Text

There was a moment in the empty graveyard where there could be heard, in the silence, a gentle call of birds.

Rosaria folded her arms. “Don’t get the wrong idea,” she said. “The question I have for you is a matter of pure practicality. I’m on a job, and there’s a matter in which you could be of assistance. It’s just…” Rosaria hesitated, and then…

A bitterness came over her mind as she realised her predicament.

Rosaria had intended to ask Barbara a question about Jean. Lisa’s earlier claim that Jean was incapable of love had been so unexpected to Rosaria, and Rosaria needed to know whether or not it was just another smokescreen in Lisa’s deceitful games. Rosaria had thought, perhaps, that she could ask Barbara a personal question about Jean, and in doing so glean some information that could help her adjudicate Lisa’s claim. Doing so would certainly be better than asking Jean directly. Doing that…

That was as good as impossible.

But, now, as Rosaria had been about to think of a question…

Rosaria realised she’d made a mistake.

It was a truth that she’d only been able to finally see in that moment. In asking a personal question about Jean, wasn’t Rosaria about to reveal…

That she cared? About Jean?

And that…

The thought of it was enough to send a chill down Rosaria’s spine.

And then the sound Barbara’s voice ended Rosaria’s reverie like morning light announces the end of sleep. “Rosaria?”

Rosaria blinked.

Barbara’s gaze was resolute. “A deal is a deal, and a deal is a promise. You wouldn’t break a promise, would you?”

The sun had shifted over the graveyard; shadows were beginning to appear under the gravestones, and the air shimmered.

Rosaria felt the tension in her own eyes as she met Barbara’s earnest gaze.

If Rosaria asked a question about Jean, Barbara would for sure interpret the question how Rosaria feared. The premise was thus: that Rosaria wouldn’t ask a question about Jean unless she cared about Jean – even if just a little. This premise, in and of itself, wasn’t self-evidently true; after all, there were myriad reasons that someone might ask such a question that didn’t entail any kind of caring at all. But Barbara already had her little theory; she already believed that Rosaria and Jean were secretly friends, and that Rosaria was just too ashamed to admit it. As such… There was no way that Barbara would let anything slip by without spinning it to validate her pre-existing theory. And that meant…

There was no way around it.

If Rosaria asked the kind of question she’d intended to ask, about Jean, Rosaria would, inevitably, expose herself. And, even though Barbara would arrive at the conclusion via faulty logic…

The conclusion was nevertheless true. Rosaria did care about Jean.

And the thought of Barbara knowing that…

It made Rosaria feel so annoyingly afraid.

The graveyard was quiet. The sun over Cider Lake made sparkling illusions like constellations in the water.

That fear…

Damn it.

And Rosaria was face to face, once again, with the irritating reality of her own weakness – the proclivity, that she could barely control, to avoid exposing the things she cared about.

Rosaria remembered the day before: her morning visit to the library. Rosaria had gone to the library in an attempt to find Jean, but she’d found only Lisa. And standing before Lisa… Rosaria had felt that same fear. She’d wanted to ask Lisa for help finding Jean, but had been too afraid to just do it. It had been the same situation: the same aversion to revealing what she cared about – what she wanted.

To reveal such a thing was, after all, under any normal circumstance, a devastatingly foolish mistake.

Rosaria hadn’t changed her mind about that, and she never would. Too many years in the business of blood had made certain truths about life abundantly clear, and such wisdom…

It was for life.

In the library, Rosaria had found a way around the problem by getting the information she wanted from Lisa indirectly. It was a decent plan, and Rosaria still felt a twinkle of gratification to remember it. But, this time…

Rosaria shivered.

It was chess, and she was in check.

There was no way she could get the information she wanted without exposing herself. And so: the information was going to slip away. The opportunity to learn more about Jean… It had escaped. And if Rosaria wanted to get to the bottom of Lisa’s claims about Jean…

She would have to find another opportunity.

Rosaria glared at Barbara with a stern gaze.

Barbara smiled.

And Rosaria sighed. She resumed glaring at Barbara. “A deal is as good as a promise. You’re right…”

Barbara listened contentedly. But…

Rosaria’s mind was racing. She knew, now, that she would have to ask a throwaway question – something that had nothing to do with Jean, which would throw Barbara off the scent, and reveal nothing of Rosaria’s true interests. Barbara was a good kid, but…

Rosaria hadn’t become as untouchable as she was by letting her guard down for every cute face and puppy-dog gaze.

Rosaria folded her arms. “Tell me…” she said, even though she still didn’t know what she was going to ask. And then…

She had an idea.

There was a moment of hesitation, and the graveyard was still.

Barbara, for a moment, appeared curious. Her expression shifted, and her body language indicated an inclination to speak.

But Rosaria smiled.

And then Barbara’s gaze shimmered. Her curiosity appeared piqued, but she was visibly surprised to see Rosaria’s smile.

Rosaria had thought of a question.

The boy.

It was a perfect topic. Rosaria remembered the day before – she remembered the way Barbara had blushed when she’d spoken about Bennett, and the way Barbara had been so clearly agitated at the Adventurers’ Guild when Bennett was present. Far from revealing what Rosaria cared about, or what she actually wanted to know, asking Barbara a question about Bennett would put the onus back on Barbara ; it would challenge Barbara to talk about something that she cared about.

Of course, Rosaria had no intention to make Barbara feel uncomfortable any longer than necessary. But given Barbara’s obvious affection for the boy, Rosaria was confident the topic would be dropped as soon as possible. Barbara would hear Rosaria’s question, and immediately grant Rosaria tacit amnesty from their deal. If Bennett were the subject…

Barbara would be no more keen to continue a personal conversation than Rosaria was.

Rosaria met Barbara’s curious gaze, and spoke calmly. “Does he…” She hesitated, and almost enjoyed the flavour of her words as she spoke. “Does he know?”

Barbara blinked. She nearly frowned – but something apparently attenuated the impulse, and her expression showed, instead, only a whisper of uncertainty, as if she were still processing Rosaria’s words.

Rosaria spoke with assurance. “Or, more aptly, I should ask…” She smiled. “Have you told him?”

And Barbara’s breath seemed to catch in her throat, as if she finally understood.

Rosaria shook her head. “Have you told him how you feel?”

The question rang through the noon air, unchallenged even by birdsong. And then…

Barbara turned vividly red. “Oh!” She put her hands to her cheeks. “What– What do you mean? I–”

And Rosaria, standing before Barbara’s nervously averted body…

Rosaria felt immediately guilty.

The conviction that had animated Rosaria when she’d first thought of the plan had disappeared, and Rosaria was left with nothing but regret as she looked at Barbara’s blushing face. Rosaria had only intended to end the personal conversation as soon as possible without breaking the deal they’d made, but now Rosaria realised…

She’d been needlessly cruel.

Barbara was obviously uncomfortable with the idea that anyone would know about her feelings for Bennett; Rosaria had already known that. And so…

Shouldn’t Rosaria have known exactly how cruel it was, to bring it up?

After all…

Rosaria, herself, had been trying to escape exactly that situation – trying to avoid revealing what she really felt and wanted.

Rosaria should’ve known better than anybody: putting Barbara on the spot was wrong. And that meant…

Rosaria had made another mistake – exactly the kind of mistake that, only minutes ago, she’d vowed she wouldn’t make again.

Damn it.

She’d resolved to stay in control; she’d made a vow to herself to correct her indiscretion and keep her interpersonal interactions on track. She’d made a vow that she wouldn’t, ever again, hurt Barbara with ill-considered words.

But she’d failed.

And she felt the shivering urgency of regret in her lungs – lungs that threatened to manifest something, anything, to make it right.

But…

Was that really just a matter of professional discretion?

Rosaria stared at Barbara’s blushing face, and uttered her next words softly, but not without some difficulty – her voice burdened, as it was, by a shiver of doubt. “I’ll consider your reaction answer enough.” She tried her best to maintain her aura of assurance, not wanting to betray her perturbation – not wanting to show that she felt so bad. “Your distress is unwarranted. I care not to judge you for your feelings – such matters are, to me, nothing but a relentless bore. And if secrecy is your concern, you ought to rest easy.” She managed a half-hearted smile, weak though it was under the weight of her burdened mind. “Discretion is my utmost value.”

Barbara averted her gaze. The conciliatory words lingered in the silence, but…

Rosaria found her guilt only mildly soothed.

Barbara shook her head. Her words were quiet, as if she were unsure if she should even speak them. “Sister Rosaria… I…”

Rosaria watched Barbara’s uncertain eyes. Barbara’s lips parted, and then…

Barbara looked Rosaria dead on. But…

Barbara’s expression…

Rosaria felt an uneasy shiver.

Was that anger in Barbara’s eyes?

And when Barbara’s voice came, it was slightly raised, shivering with barely concealed emotion. Barbara shook her head, and said…

“What’s wrong with you?”

The bell atop the Knights of Favonius headquarters, on the other side of the city, rang out into the afternoon.

Rosaria was stunned. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak.

Barbara…

Barbara’s eyes were fierce as she stared at Rosaria; the anger in Barbara’s voice matched the passion in her gaze. “When is it enough?”

And Rosaria didn’t know what to say.

The reality of the situation began to sink in. Initially stunned, Rosaria now found herself thinking overtime.

Had Rosaria’s words hurt Barbara that badly? Badly enough to push Barbara to such uncharacteristic impatience?

Barbara was all but a child, and the look in her eyes – the sound of Barbara’s voice…

Rosaria felt so guilty. How could she do that to a child?

Barbara shook her head. The passion in her expression, once reading as anger, now read more like sadness. “How many times?” she asked, her voice fragile with the promise of tears. “How many times do you have to hurt me before you’ll finally be happy?”

Barbara turned around.

And Rosaria felt the poison of nausea in her guts.

Barbara…

She felt a bitterness bracing her exhalation, like the stinging touch of first snow. And then…

She tasted blood.

No…

She touched her lips. She looked down at her hand.

Blood.

And then Barbara’s voice came into Rosaria’s consciousness – like the memory of a dream recalled after fevered sleep.

“Two days. At least.”

Barbara’s voice was almost calm, though a whisper of fragility was still audible in her words.

But…

Two days?

What did those words mean?

Rosaria looked up.

Barbara hadn’t turned back to Rosaria; she was, instead, still facing the cathedral; and that meant…

She hadn’t seen Rosaria’s blood.

But Rosaria was relieved. It was good that Barbara hadn’t seen – good that she wouldn’t worry. And earnest words sounded in Rosaria’s mind as she stood there, shivering.

Barbara.

Don’t turn around.

And Barbara didn’t. Barbara’s head was bowed – her fists were clenched by her sides, as if she struggled, against impulse, to contain some emotion that threatened reckless expression. Her voice was soft, but pained. “For two days you should avoid putting yourself into any stressful situations. Your body needs time to rest.”

Rosaria’s nausea didn’t go away. She struggled to ignore the sickening feeling as she registered Barbara’s words.

Even after Rosaria had hurt Barbara, yet again…

Barbara was still trying to help.

Barbara’s posture shifted, as if she were about to begin walking away. “No strenuous activity,” she said. And then…

Barbara took the first step towards the cathedral.

And Rosaria was in agony.

It wasn’t the blood in her throat – it wasn’t the nauseated nastiness of her guts. It was…

Barbara.

Could Rosaria really let Barbara leave? That agony…

It was the burning desire to do something to make things right.

It wasn’t like Rosaria to feel that way – she knew it – but this time… Things were different. Rosaria didn’t know what it was, but something had changed. For some reason… She couldn’t escape that feeling.

That hunger.

She had to do something.

But…

The nausea in Rosaria’s stomach – the blood in her throat…

It all screamed run.

She needed to escape – to find solace in the dark. But…

Rosaria didn’t want to.

What…

Rosaria felt as if aflame.

What’s happening to me?

And as much as it irritated her…

Rosaria couldn’t deny the urge she felt to ask Barbara to stay – to try and make things better.

But…

Blood.

And Rosaria knew that she was trapped.

Barbara couldn’t stay. If she stayed, she would see the fresh blood on Rosaria’s lips and hands; and if she saw that…

“How many times do you have to hurt me before you’ll be happy?”

How would seeing that blood, once again, make Barbara feel?

Barbara would want to help; she would do anything she could to make Rosaria better. But…

Did Rosaria really deserve that help? Wasn’t asking for it, given how much it would make Barbara worry…

Selfish?

Rosaria felt sick as she watched Barbara approach the cathedral.

Barbara…

And Rosaria only watched, paralysed, as Barbara disappeared through the cathedral doors.

Stillness. Light, and shadow.

The distant sound of the bell atop the Knights’ Headquarters sounded once more. The graveyard was at rest, and after a moment…

Silence.

Rosaria turned; with both hands she leaned against the balustrade, letting the stone take all of her weight, as if relinquishing control of her body might also free her from the immaterial pain burning in her heart.

And then she noticed her breathing.

Her breathing was violent – chaotic – and when she saw the blood staining the balustrade before her, she gazed upon it as a dragon might gaze upon the searing scars left by exhalations of flame. She brought her hand, like a shadow, across her lips, cleansing them of their crimson disgrace, and she looked up, bringing her gaze over Cider Lake.

The water was pink: an illusion – familiar, by now – painted by confluence of cloud and light.

And Rosaria felt her breaths come gentler as she looked up into the slowly moving sky.

It took some time for her to process her thoughts. What…

What had just happened?

She corrected her posture; she took her weight back onto her own two feet, but left her hands resting gently on the balustrade – as if the continued touch might somehow disperse from her body, into the stone, a measure of tension, like night-time rain dispersing atmospheric pollution, from the clouds, through immaculate earth.

She hadn’t had a choice; she’d had to let Barbara leave. But…

There was no way to erase her failure.

And then…

Rosaria felt a shadow darken her mind.

She’d just realised something.

“For two days you should try to avoid putting yourself into any stressful situations. Your body needs time to rest.”

Since the blood had begun flowing from her throat after the coalhouse, Rosaria had been almost stubbornly unwilling to truly think about the implications of such a condition. Typically, Rosaria wasn’t one to worry about her health. Her constitution was stronger than anyone’s, and she trusted her body to find new strength in the face of any ailment. As such, Barbara’s advice – to avoid strenuous activity – was irrelevant. Rosaria’s body was simply too robust; downtime was pointless.

But even though Barbara’s advice had been irrelevant, it had made Rosaria realise something. The blood she was coughing up – the sickness or malady that ailed her, now…

Something about it was different.

Rosaria thought back. She couldn’t help it; the thoughts were automatic. The taste of blood… It had returned twice.

First, it had been in the darkroom: at precisely the moment when Rosaria and Lisa had been at the crest of their conversation. What had Rosaria been saying? When she’d tasted it? Had it been…

And Rosaria knew the truth. She couldn’t deny it; the memory was clear as day.

The taste of blood had returned when Rosaria had begun talking about Jean – about how Jean loved Lisa.

And then, in the graveyard, she’d tasted it again – cleansed it from her lips again – after she’d heard the sound of Barbara’s voice…

“What’s wrong with you?”

“How many times do you have to hurt me before you’ll finally be happy?”

And Rosaria felt wretched as the implications darkened her mind.

Despite Barbara’s caution, Rosaria knew that pouncing, hunting, and killing wouldn’t provoke a relapse of her symptoms – her body was simply too strong – but…

There was something else.

Something besides physical triggers seemed to be responsible for the corruption in Rosaria’s body. That blood…

Rosaria closed her eyes.

Jean.

Barbara.

It was something…

It was something to do with them.

Rosaria opened her eyes.

No.

She tried to shake the tension from her thoughts with a purifyingly sharp inhalation, but, instead of purification, received only a shuddering moment of dread; blood stifled her throat and lungs. She covered her mouth with her arm and scraped out a gruesome cough, liberating her lungs but nearly ruining her throat.

Damn.

She collapsed her weight back onto the stone parapet. But…

She was stronger than this.

She lifted through her shoulders and stood up straight. She took a clean breath, and looked across the lake.

And she breathed quietly for some time, and thoughts raced in her mind.

For a moment, back then, before Barbara had left, Rosaria had noticed a new look in Barbara’s eyes. In fact…

She’d noticed two.

The first was the anger.

That, alone, was novelty enough. The sheer unexpectedness of it had been enough to make Rosaria speechless, and she wasn’t sure that the full implications of such a suddenly uncharacteristic outburst had yet fully sunk in. But, even still…

There had been another look in Barbara’s eyes. Back when Rosaria had been explaining to Barbara the significance of a moment of truth… Then, Barbara had shown a subtly uncharacteristic emotion.

“I think you’re making things more complicated than they have to be.”

The look in Barbara’s eyes had been so tender; a step beyond her typical kindness, though it was, it had been nevertheless familiar, because…

It was just like Jean – just like the look so often seen in Jean’s eyes.

And in that moment…

Barbara and Jean had seemed more similar than ever.

And there, standing before the parapet looking out over Cider Lake, Rosaria felt a sudden realisation.

Jean.

There was a problem.

Rosaria took a deep breath.

She had a job to do; a deal had been made. The photograph that Rosaria had accepted from Barbara… She’d all but promised to take it to Jean. A deal, after all, was as good as a promise.

And Rosaria was a woman of her word.

But now, the pattern Rosaria had noticed – the blood…

It had changed everything.

The clouds moved slowly across the sky as Rosaria watched, motionless.

Rosaria’s original assumption had been that the blood was a result of some physical trauma – something in her body. But Rosaria had already seen the folly in that assumption. The blood – it came not because of physical trauma, or because of bodily stress. No… Instead…

Rosaria remembered.

It came when Rosaria had felt the tragedy of Jean’s wasted love for Lisa, and when she’d felt the guilt of having hurt Barbara one time too many.

Rosaria felt sick, but she couldn’t deny it – couldn’t ignore it. The blood: it wasn’t an ailment of the body…

It was an ailment of the heart.

And that…

Rosaria closed her eyes. She stared into the darkness.

It made Rosaria wretched with anger.

An ailment of the heart…?

Rosaria was supposed to be stronger than that.

She opened her eyes, but turned her head – as if the expanse of the lake overwhelmed her and she couldn’t bear, any longer, to see it.

Originally, when Barbara had first made the request for Rosaria to deliver the photograph, Rosaria had been overcome by an undeniable desire to see Jean once again – to perhaps, just once, by virtue of delivering a gift, bring a smile to Jean’s face. But now…

Blood.

Rosaria knew things were different.

If Rosaria took the photograph to Jean – if she saw Jean, again. When that moment came…

How would Rosaria feel?

When she saw Jean…

Yes. It was true.

When Rosaria saw Jean…

Rosaria was going to taste blood, once again.

Rosaria just knew it.

She still had no idea what to make of Lisa’s claims. Was it really possible that Jean didn’t love Lisa? The thought of it – the thought of having to face Jean after having heard Lisa’s words…

That blood…

An ailment of the heart.

Alone in the graveyard, Rosaria felt a shiver, and that feeling she felt…

She knew what it was: she was almost…

Afraid.

Chapter Text

Lisa’s words…

“Jean doesn’t love me.”

As Rosaria approached The Statue of the Seven at Windrise, those words played over and over in Rosaria’s head. She exhaled a puff of smoke, but she was so distracted… Her cigarette was all but tasteless.

And Barbara…

“How many times do you have to hurt me before you’ll finally be happy?”

The verdant fields of Windrise were peaceful as the gentle breeze caressed the windwheel asters. But…

Rosaria’s mind was on fire with chaotic uncertainty.

The photograph she’d agreed to give to Jean… Should she even be doing this? Should she back out before it was too late? She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know what she wanted to do. A part of her wanted nothing but nightfall – nothing but the embrace of darkness. Darkness was, after all, how Rosaria had lived her life, and her life had always been enough . But, now…

It wasn’t that simple.

Now, when she thought about being alone in the shadows – the very thing that had always been home – there was… Doubt. When Rosaria thought about stalking through the woods at night, she just couldn’t bring herself to feel like…

She would be happy.

How could she ever be at peace? With all those thoughts about Jean and Barbara in her mind? It felt impossible. And so…

What the hell was Rosaria supposed to do?

When Rosaria reached The Statue of the Seven, she stopped.

The great tree’s gentle boughs cast delicate shade over the statue.

And as Rosaria smoked her cigarette, taking a moment to feel the coolness of that shade against her skin, she found herself…

Relieved.

A whisper of dark – the dark she knew so well – was enough to bring, to Rosaria’s mind, a small measure of peace. And for that…

Rosaria was grateful.

But in that whispering shade, Rosaria could sense it…

It wasn’t like before. Something in her had changed.

She lowered her cigarette. She looked up, past the statue, towards the great tree. And by the tree’s massive roots…

I knew you’d be here.

Kneeling with her head bowed – in silent prayer…

Jean.

And Rosaria felt a sudden shiver of tension. She looked down, and closed her eyes.

The sight of Jean, the somnolent memory of a painful dream, served only to remind Rosaria of the events at Cape Oath – the trust that she’d once thought was mutual.

A sinner to be forgiven. Just like all the rest.

But then…

Rosaria felt immediately stubborn.

No.

Rosaria wasn’t so fragile. She wouldn’t let those thoughts bother her.

She opened her eyes, and stared, for a moment, at the ground. A moment passed in motionless silence, and, somehow, Rosaria felt suddenly all too aware…

Lord Barbatos’ gaze. Rosaria felt it.

She looked up at the statue before her.

The statue’s blank face stared back.

And Rosaria felt her expression darken.

Was Rosaria truly a sinner? Honestly… She didn’t know. But she’d never given Lord Barbatos even a second thought. The other nuns were quick to counsel civilians and clergy alike – quick to remind anyone who would listen that Lord Barbatos was watching. But if Barbatos took it upon himself to cast judgement on Rosaria…

Rosaria didn’t give a damn.

She didn’t worship Barbatos, and that was that.

And as Rosaria looked up at The Statue of the Seven, she saw, in Barbatos’ eyes, no grace – no magnanimity. In that lifeless stone gaze, Rosaria saw none of the light that was said to shine down, in providence, on the kingdom of Mondstadt. And in that moment by the statue…

Rosaria felt vindicated.

She didn’t give a damn about Barbatos.

But…

She looked away from the statue, and turned her gaze back towards the great tree – towards Jean.

Jean hadn’t stirred.

And Rosaria brought her cigarette to her lips.

Jean had revealed her true feelings about Rosaria. Cape Oath was a moment of truth, and there was no going back. And even though it was true that Rosaria had never cared about what Lord Barbatos might think…

A sinner?

Rosaria couldn’t help but care what Jean might think.

Hmph.

Rosaria averted her eyes from Jean’s praying body, and exhaled a cloud of smoke.

It was strange. Rosaria was perfectly indifferent to the judgement of the anemo archon, but…

She cared what Jean thought of her.

And wasn’t that completely unreasonable? It was just…

Unbelievably irritating.

Rosaria scattered cigarette ash into the breeze. She reached down and confirmed the presence of the photograph – the delivery – between the folds of her habit, and in that touch… Rosaria felt a little more assured.

She had a job to do.

It was simply a contractual obligation.

Rosaria lifted her cigarette, gave it a stern look, and deemed it spent. She indulged a deep sigh, stubbed out the cigarette against The Statue of the Seven, and tossed the butt into the dirt.

When Rosaria gave the photograph to Jean, she had no intentions to address Cape Oath. Nor would she entertain any possibility of bringing up anything that Lisa had said.

“Rosaria. The truth is… Jean doesn’t love me.”

Rosaria shivered. The whole thing… It was none of Rosaria’s business.

And, besides…

What did it matter?

Rosaria frowned as she stared at Jean’s motionless body, kneeling before the great tree.

Rosaria had no reason to care. Whether Jean and Lisa were in love, or not, it was nothing to Rosaria. At first, she’d taken Lisa’s claim more seriously. It had, after all, repudiated Rosaria’s own understanding of Jean’s behaviour: if Jean didn’t love Lisa, then why did Jean trust Lisa so much? And why… Why did Jean trust Lisa over Rosaria?

But Rosaria was over it.

She stood on the cigarette butt and ground it into the dirt by Barbatos’ stone feet.

Rosaria was done caring. If Jean thought Rosaria was out of line for pursuing Lisa so fervently, then Jean was welcome to her opinion.

Rosaria looked up at Lord Barbatos’ stone face, and…

Rosaria smiled.

Jean could have her opinion – she could trust who she wanted…

And Rosaria didn’t have to give a damn.

Wasn’t that the most sensible thing?

There, under the shade of Lord Barbatos, Rosaria lit another cigarette, and as she took the first drag…

Yes.

Rosaria was glad for her vices.

The taste of tobacco – it was almost enough to conceal that lingering memory, in her throat…

Blood.

Rosaria had taken all due precautions to prevent the possibility of tasting that blood, once again. She would stick to the job. Give Jean the photograph. That’s all. And she hoped that the sweetness of cigarettes might be enough to prepare her for whatever might come.

But… She couldn’t deny it.

She was still afraid.

An ailment of the heart?

Rosaria couldn’t help but remember why she’d taken this job from Barbara in the first place. Rosaria had wanted to see…

Happiness.

She’d wanted to see a look of happiness in Jean’s eyes, when she received the photograph. And now, as Rosaria stood preparing herself to complete the task before her… How much of Rosaria was still motivated by the desire to make Jean happy? Was that still the reason she was doing this?

Rosaria felt a stillness come over the clearing by The Statue of the Seven. She searched inside herself.

That feeling – that sense that she wanted to put a smile on Jean’s face – was it still there? And if not…

What was there, instead?

And Rosaria found, in the shadows of her mind…

Nothing but fear.

And it was infuriating.

She was terrified. The thought of approaching Jean and rousing her from her prayers… Rosaria felt as if suffocating to even think about it. Cape Oath. Lisa’s words…

But why was Rosaria so afraid?

Rosaria summoned all the self-control in her body to stop herself from crushing her cigarette between her fingers. She wouldn’t let her emotions get the better of her. Fear. Anger. Whatever. They were all the same. They were all nothing but a burden. And besides…

To waste a freshly lit cigarette was sacrilege.

And Rosaria felt a smile brighten her expression. She looked up at the great tree.

The great tree basked in the afternoon sun.

Blood.

Rosaria wasn’t going to taste blood – not again – because the conversation with Jean was going to be nothing but practicality. She didn’t need to see Jean happy. She didn’t need to know the truth about the relationship between Jean and Lisa. It was going to be okay.

Right?

Rosaria took a drag on her cigarette. She had a delivery to make.

Finish the job.

And she set off towards the tree.

Towards Jean.

The sun continued to glow – the light remained pristine and gentle all around the tree and between the shimmering leaves.

Rosaria stopped mere feet away from Jean.

Jean remained in prayer, unaware of Rosaria’s presence.

And Rosaria, taking her cigarette from between her lips, cleared her throat.

Jean looked up. Her eyes opened – as if newly liberated from captivating dreams – and she turned her head.

Her expression remained focused.

Rosaria met Jean’s gaze, and nodded. “Acting Grand Master.”

And Jean’s expression gently softened. “Rosaria.” She blinked, as if to cleanse the remnants of sleep, and there was another silence as they looked at one another.

The sound of birds and leaves. And then…

Jean rose to her feet, and the whisper of urgency darkened her gaze. “Do you need me? Is something the matter?”

Rosaria shook her head. “Not exactly.”

And Jean’s eyes resumed their gentle clarity. Her posture relaxed, and she averted her gaze for a moment – looking down, as if only just now remembering where she was, before the great tree. She brought her attention back to Rosaria.

But Rosaria didn’t give Jean a chance to speak. Rosaria wanted to get right to business, and so – with the hand that wasn’t holding her cigarette – she reached immediately between the folds of her habit. “I have something for you. A gift, from Barbara.”

And Jean’s eyes glimmered with curiosity as she watched Rosaria produce and then offer the photograph.

Rosaria wondered: was Jean surprised to hear Barbara’s name? Would she feel awkward hearing the name of the sister she so often ignored? And at the thought of Barbara, Rosaria heard, once again, those words. The graveyard…

“What’s wrong with you?”

Rosaria flicked her cigarette to disperse its ashes, as if doing so might simultaneously disperse the burdensome memory that had distracted her mind. She nodded at Jean, and emphasised the photograph. “This is for you.”

There was a moment of hesitation as Jean looked at the photograph, and then…

Jean reached out.

Rosaria allowed the photograph to be taken from her hand. She put her cigarette to her lips and watched silently as Jean took a closer look at Barbara’s gift.

Jean stared at the photograph, her expression blank, and then…

Jean smiled.

And Rosaria felt a shiver of irony as she exhaled a plume of smoke.

That smile… Was that the happiness that Rosaria had originally been so looking forward to seeing? How did it make Rosaria feel, to see that smile, now?

Jean looked up at Rosaria, and her eyes were kind. But…

Jean didn’t say anything.

And Rosaria felt strangely uncomfortable. She didn’t feel good – didn’t feel glad to see the smile on Jean’s face – and Rosaria couldn’t help but wonder: what had changed since accepting Barbara’s request in the darkroom? And Rosaria felt…

So foolish. She should never have accepted this job.

This wasn’t where Rosaria belonged. This wasn’t the kind of work Rosaria should be doing. She belonged in the shadows of night, and that’s where she should’ve stayed. She didn’t even care, any more, about Jean’s reaction to the photograph. Her curiosity about how Jean would feel to receive a gift from Barbara had all but disappeared. She had once been so curious about the relationship between the sisters – couldn’t deny the impulse to discover what had kept the sisters apart – but now…

All Rosaria could think about, when she saw Jean, was Lisa’s words.

“Love. I don’t think Master Jean is capable of it.”

And as Rosaria looked up and met Jean’s patient gaze…

Rosaria tasted blood.

Damn it.

Impulsively, Rosaria turned around – to face the empty fields.

The bitter taste of blood was her cue to leave. She considered putting her cigarette to her lips, but couldn’t decide whether or not it would simply provoke her symptoms… And as the last remaining flavour of palliative tobacco disappeared from her tongue, Rosaria heard Jeans voice from behind.

“Rosaria. Wait.”

But Rosaria didn’t turn around.

She took a quietly deep breath and let her cigarette, held gently between her fingers, tap against her lips.

Blood.

An ailment of the heart.

And the frustration and anger that welled up in Rosaria’s body, in response to those thoughts, told Rosaria everything she needed to know:

She knew she had to leave. If she didn’t leave… She would lose control of her emotions. And that was the worst thing imaginable.

And then…

Rosaria heard the sound of shivering steel.

Rosaria felt her body become tense. She spun around as a chill ran up the back of her neck.

And there was Jean: she stood with the photograph in one hand, and, in the other, her sword, newly drawn, held by her side.

And Jean was staring at Rosaria with intense eyes.

Rosaria felt frozen. Why had Jean drawn her sword? Rosaria held back a shudder of uncertainty as she glanced at Jean’s sword and then back at Jean’s eyes. She felt herself about to utter some injunction, but was interrupted before she managed it.

Jean shook her head. “It’s time we put an end to this, Rosaria.”

And Rosaria shivered with incredulity.

Jean’s words lingered in the silence, but no matter how long the hesitation, Rosaria still didn’t understand.

Put an end to it? To what?

What did Jean mean?

What was Jean saying?

And it crossed Rosaria’s mind that perhaps Jean had regretted the events of Cape Oath. That, maybe…

Jean regretted her decision to show Rosaria mercy.

What Jean had just said…

“It’s time we put an end to this.”

Could Jean really mean…

Rosaria felt her gaze faltering, despite her best efforts to remain composed. She righted her posture and faced Jean head on. And, yet…

Rosaria just wanted to run. She didn’t want to fight. If that was what Jean intended… Rosaria had to leave. There was no choice. But…

Rosaria didn’t move. She couldn’t. She only stared into Jean’s eyes, paralysed, her senses alive with desperation.

Jean looked at Rosaria with a resolute, but delicate gaze. She still held the photograph in her off hand. After a moment, Jean glanced down at her sword, and then lifted it to a more disciplined position, before her. She continued to stare at its blade as she let it catch the light from the sun. “Forgive me,” she said. And then she looked back at Rosaria with focused eyes. “But I can’t let you leave.”

Rosaria felt the chill of ice at her fingertips.

No.

I won’t fight.

Run.

And then Jean stepped forward.

Rosaria felt a shivering impulse of self-defence; she braced her muscles and felt herself as if about to deflect an incoming strike, but…

Jean hesitated. Her expression was soft, as if she understood what Rosaria had presumed, and was displeased to have given that impression.

Rosaria’s body relaxed.

Wait…

Had she been wrong?

And Jean’s breath faltered; she looked off to the side, casting her pensive gaze downwards. Her grip on her sword remained firm, but a shimmer of softness showed in the hand that held the photograph, as if she couldn’t bring herself to hold it too tightly. “You must think me a fool. Or crazy.”

Rosaria remained uncertain. Would it make Jean crazy, if she thought Rosaria were a threat that needed to be dealt with? After the erratic and emotional behaviour Rosaria had exhibited… She didn’t think Jean was crazy. As far as Jean knew, Rosaria was a liability. Perhaps dealing with Rosaria, once and for all…

Perhaps that was justice?

Jean met Rosaria’s gaze.

Rosaria expected words, but…

Jean didn’t speak.

And Rosaria was silent, in kind. Her voice was lost – nowhere to be found within the shadows of her doubt.

If only Jean could see Lisa’s evil. If Jean could see it, she would know that Rosaria was in the right. But…

Jean had made her choice. She believed Lisa over Rosaria.

And Lisa’s words once again played in Rosaria’s head.

“Master Jean doesn’t love me.”

Rosaria clenched her fists.

And then…

Jean pointed her sword at Rosaria’s face.

Rosaria looked up. Her body and mind went cold.

Blood.

She tasted it under her tongue.

And as Rosaria stared at the tip of Jean’s sword, she began to feel something unusual growing within her. Something…

Important.

Something like a shadow of long forgotten dreams – a yearning feeling that she hardly recognised in the gentle embers.

That feeling…

A moment of silence passed, and then the sound of the breeze through the high-up leaves returned to Rosaria’s senses.

Jean’s sword remained motionless – its blade pristine.

What was that feeling?

Those embers in Rosaria’s heart – those soft shadows. And then…

The truth came to Rosaria like the first lungful of air after escaping frigid water.

There, under the point of Jean’s sword, Rosaria felt a tremor in her whole body. That feeling – the embers of memory in her shadowy mind – it was…

Nostalgia. Control.

A feeling of transcending time.

And then Rosaria recognised it. She knew where she’d felt it, before.

Every time that Jean had pointed her sword at Rosaria – every time Rosaria had felt that blade’s sting, or felt even just the promise of it – she’d had that same feeling…

It was an overwhelming – enchanting – sense of peace.

Jean’s blade had never been just a blade. In Jean’s office – the laceration left on Rosaria’s stomach by Jean’s carefully restrained strike… At the coalhouse – the pinprick against the back of Rosaria’s neck. Rosaria remembered how those moments felt, and they’d been so…

Captivating.

Rosaria looked away from the tip of Jean’s sword, and into Jean’s eyes.

Jean remained stoic, and without breaking eye contact – or moving her sword hand by even an inch – Jean brought the photograph, in her off hand, to her chest. And then…

Rosaria held back a shudder of revelation.

That was it.

A test.

It was a test, like at the coalhouse. That had to be it…

Right?

Jean had done something similar, back then; she’d pointed her sword at Rosaria – at the back of Rosaria’s neck. What was it that Jean had said, back then?

And it came to Rosaria like an abyssal memory through the depths of her dark mind.

“Can you control it? The hunger?”

It had been a test to ascertain Rosaria’s state of mind. Had she been in control of her emotions? Or was she dangerous?

And Rosaria felt newly assured. Another test made sense; Rosaria hadn’t seen Jean since Cape Oath, and, there, Rosaria had been violent. Jean would be within her rights to test the waters.

That captivating feeling in Rosaria’s heart…

Jean was just trying to make sure Rosaria could control it.

Rosaria snapped out her her thoughts. She shook away the feeling of captivation that enchanted her heart. If this were a test…

She had to stay in control. She couldn’t let her hunger for the sting of Jean’s blade get the better of her.

Searching for answers, Rosaria gazed into Jean’s eyes.

The look on Jean’s face was peaceful, as if she were at rest.

Rosaria still felt uncertain, but finally, after what had felt like an impossible moment of frozen time – there, under the great tree – Rosaria found the capacity to form words.

If it were a test, Rosaria would prove her composure with a glimmer of characteristic sarcasm.

Rosaria shook her head. “If you don’t want the photograph,” she said, “you can just refuse it. This, however,” she gestured towards Jean’s sword, “seems like an overreaction.”

Rosaria’s words lingered in the air for a moment, and she was glad, at least, that she’d been able to retain some measure of dignity – standing there, before Jean’s sword.

And Jean, gazing back…

Jean smiled.

Rosaria breathed a little easier. She felt a small relief grace her heart. However…

A subtle apprehensiveness remained in Rosaria’s body and mind as she stared back at Jean.

A test?

Something…

“It’s time we put an end to this, Rosaria.”

Something wasn’t right.

Jean’s smile didn’t last. After only a moment, she blinked, and her expression resumed the careful contemplation it had shown, prior, but now…

Rosaria noticed that there was a whisper of something that looked a little like regret, in those eyes.

Jean held Rosaria’s gaze, and didn’t lower her sword. “Don’t think me crazy,” she said. “My next request might seem insane, but I only ask because…” She shook her head. “I know you’ll comply.”

Rosaria narrowed her eyes.

What?

Jean’s eyes shimmered, without looking down, and without letting her sword drop even an inch, Jean slipped the photograph under her jacket, and her voice, when it came, was gentle. “Rosaria…”

Rosaria could hardly stand it. What did any of this mean?

Jean smiled. “Don’t…” she said, her eyes graceful and kind. “Don’t fight back.”

And the next thing that happened was so fast, Rosaria could hardly feel it happening.

Chapter Text

A crystalline lick of cold flashed through the light and the birdsong. There was a feeling like ice – a sharp, pristine chill like winter breeze, or the shivering caress of snow on bare skin – and then…

A whisper of Rosaria’s blood flashed through the air.

Rosaria felt herself displaced – she knew she was reeling, but the world was a blur. All she felt was the motion of her body.

Responding to instinct, Rosaria summoned her spear. She used her spear’s weight to balance her momentum – turning her reeling flinch into a stabilising spin – and completed her motion by lowering her centre of gravity, crouching like a wolf, and putting her free hand to the ground.

Cold.

Light.

Rosaria felt her world come back into focus.

And then she felt the burning pain across her cheek – the evidence of what had just happened.

Jean.

And Rosaria looked up.

Jean was standing there. She held her sword out to the side – and despite the stillness of that sword…

Rosaria could see the echo of the motion that had just transpired.

Jean’s eyes were closed, as if in prayer, as she stood there in poised, perfect form.

Rosaria could hardly believe it. Was it real?

Had Jean really struck her?

Rosaria let her spear disappear into nothingness, and reached up to her cheek to feel the now burning laceration left by Jean’s blade. She looked at her hand.

Blood.

She looked up.

Jean’s eyes were still closed.

“Don’t fight back.”

And Rosaria gritted her teeth.

Jean was really pushing it, this time. The test was more than just a bluff; Jean had actually struck.

And Rosaria found herself almost shaking with conflicting emotions.

She’d never felt something like this. Never been through something like this. Rosaria would never let somebody get away with striking her. It was unthinkable. But…

There was something different about Jean. Something special.

And in the wake of that single strike, under the great tree…

What was Rosaria going to do about it?

Looking into Jean’s still closed eyes, Rosaria felt a strange, poignant shiver. She knew the answer to her question.

She wasn’t going to do anything about it.

She wasn’t going to fight back. She wasn’t going to challenge Jean’s sudden violence. No. Because, in the wake of that single strike…

Rosaria just felt so peaceful.

She stared into Jean’s closed eyes, and in that moment of peacefulness, Rosaria only wanted things to remain silent – perfectly still, as if things could always feel so gentle and serene. She didn’t want to fight. She didn’t want to run.

And she couldn’t help but feel like there was something special about that moment, just Rosaria and Jean, under the shade of the great tree.

What…

Jean’s eyes were still closed – her posture still perfect.

Rosaria watched the breeze gently caress the loose strands of Jean’s hair.

What is this feeling?

And then Jean opened her eyes.

Rosaria shivered. She felt the peacefulness of that moment under the tree slip away, as if Jean opening her eyes had broken some kind of spell.

And then Jean’s open eyes found Rosaria’s gaze.

Rosaria suddenly faltered. She looked down for a moment, as if Jean’s eye-contact were too intense to handle. But it was only a moment. Almost immediately, she looked up again – unwilling to miss a second of whatever thoughts or feelings might be revealed in Jean’s eyes.

But the expression Rosaria saw, upon once again meeting Jean’s gaze, was hopelessly ambiguous.

And Rosaria felt weak with doubt.

Jean flicked her sword, and a whisper of Rosaria’s blood shimmered through the air, to the grass. “With this,” Jean indicated the cut on Rosaria’s cheek, “everything is resolved. There are no more loose ends.” She shook her head. “Return to the cathedral, Rosaria. You have duties to attend to.” And her eyes shimmered with the melancholy promise of resolution. “We both do.”

A cloud momentarily eclipsed the sun; the light of Windrise dimmed.

And Rosaria felt herself shivering with a weakness she’d never before felt.

Resolved?

What was Jean talking about?

A storm of doubt brought chaos to Rosaria’s mind. Jean’s strike… Was this Rosaria’s punishment? Restitution for Rosaria’s insubordination? Her recklessness? Rosaria stared into Jean’s melancholy eyes, and searched for some answer – something that might explain or fix the confusion in Rosaria’s heart.

And then Jean’s melancholy gaze turned into a look of curiosity.

Rosaria hesitated. She felt her body, kneeling in the grass, quiver.

Jean shook her head. “Rosaria…” She blinked, and her expression became more ambiguous – harder to read. “You don’t know what I’m saying? Do you?”

Rosaria narrowed her eyes. She felt her inhalations coming more uneasy. Had she really been supposed to understand? How? She didn’t look away from Jean’s unclear eyes.

And then Jean smiled.

Rosaria restrained a flinch. The smile had been so unexpected.

And Jean stepped forward. She stepped towards Rosaria, and then…

Jean reached out her hand.

Rosaria hesitated. She didn’t know how to react.

Jean appeared relaxed – newly composed. “Perhaps, then,” she said. “You can simply trust me.”

Rosaria felt a quiver of something uncertain.

Trust?

That word was almost painful to hear.

But Rosaria’s perturbation apparently didn’t show in her eyes, because Jean didn’t notice it.

Jean simply emphasised her offered hand. “What happened here, today, is good for both of us. Perhaps, eventually, you’ll understand. But for now…” She nodded. “Things can go back to normal.”

There was a silence. A stillness.

Rosaria stared into Jean’s relaxed eyes.

Normal…

And then Rosaria felt a sudden discomfort. Like she had to look away.

Instead of taking Jean’s hand, she simply averted her gaze.

Rosaria still didn’t understand. Was she really so foolish? She felt humiliated – embarrassed in her failure to see what Jean had clearly expected her to understand. Was there some explanation for Jean’s actions – the strike of Jean’s sword – that was obvious? That Rosaria was supposed to know?

How could she be so blind?

And then Rosaria felt a presence come closer.

It was Jean; she’d knelt down before Rosaria.

And Rosaria, flush with sudden urgency, immediately stood of her own accord, leaving Jean kneeling alone.

There was a moment of hesitation as Rosaria folded her arms. She kept her gaze slightly averted, because looking directly down at Jean felt too intense. And Rosaria saw, in her peripheral vision, as Jean tentatively stood.

What a nuisance.

Rosaria cursed her weakness. It was so unbearable to feel in the dark – to feel ignorant and blind before Jean’s kindness and grace. A feeling like that…

Rosaria simply wasn’t used to it.

And that thought – the reminder of her usual strength – almost brought a smile to Rosaria’s heart.

Jean’s voice came calm, but with a shimmer of concern. “Rosaria. Your lips.”

Rosaria blinked. She felt herself frown, and then the truth became clear. She cast a brief glance at Jean – long enough to see the look of concern in Jean’s gaze – and then Rosaria cleansed the blood from her lips with the back of her hand.

Damn it.

The blood. Though Jean had drawn Rosaria’s blood intentionally, by striking her cheek, the blood coming from Rosaria’s mouth was a separate concern – and even Jean knew it. When Jean had seen that blood for the first time, at the coalhouse, she’d encouraged Rosaria to seek Barbara for medicine. And now, at the blood’s return, Jean was sure to be doubly concerned. But at least Jean didn’t know the true cause of that blood. If she had known that, it would’ve been unbearable. After all…

That blood was caused by Rosaria’s anxiety and uncertainty about Jean.

And Rosaria grimaced. It was just so…

Humiliating.

And Rosaria felt almost disappointed in herself as she realised her indiscretion. She’d never intended this conversation to last so long. She had, after all, come with a goal in mind: she was simply there to deliver Barbara’s photograph. Once that goal had been achieved, she should’ve left, as she’d intended. But, after Rosaria had turned to walk away… The sound of Jean unsheathing her sword had been so unexpected. Rosaria had been pulled back in. And because of that…

Everything else had happened.

Jean striking Rosaria’s face. The strange peacefulness. And then Rosaria feeling so confused and uncertain.

If Rosaria had simply walked away the first time, it could all have been avoided. And now – now that Rosaria tasted blood, once again…

“Love. I don’t think Master Jean is capable of it.”

The ghostly words came like light admitted into a dark room.

And there was a moment in which Rosaria had to accept those memories back into her heart.

Rosaria had almost forgotten – almost forgotten everything apart from that one moment under the great tree, and Jean’s sword… But with the taste of blood… Rosaria remembered everything that had been weighing on her as she’d crossed the fields of Windrise. She remembered everything that had made her feel so annoyingly afraid as she’d approached to give that photograph, from Barbara, to Jean.

Doubt. Trust. Love.

Jean, and Barbara.

“What’s wrong with you?”

And then Jean’s voice came, assured but quiet, to bring Rosaria back to the real world. “Rosaria. You should drink the potion.”

Rosaria looked up.

Jean nodded. “The potion – on your belt. It’s from Barbara, yes? I hate to see you hurting.”

Rosaria couldn’t be surprised. Of course Jean would recognise one of Barbara’s potions. But… Rosaria still had no intention of drinking it. She’d taken the potion only to make Barbara feel better. That was all. Rosaria knew full well that the potion, though it might provide some palliative relief, wouldn’t fix the problem that truly lingered in her body…

Jean.

And then…

An idea graced Rosaria’s mind like first fall of snow.

And Rosaria almost smiled.

Perhaps it was time to finally do something.

“Love. I don’t think Master Jean is capable of it.”

Lisa’s words had haunted Rosaria ever since they’d been spoken. At first, those words had been part of the reason why Rosaria was apprehensive about meeting Jean; she’d anticipated only uncertainty and anxiety at the prospect of facing Jean and therefore hearing those malicious words, once again, echoing in her mind. But if Rosaria wanted to be free of that pain – free of the pain that was causing her to cough up blood from an immaterial wound…

Wasn’t it a better idea to simply learn the truth? Once and for all?

Rosaria looked up at Jean.

Jean was raptly attentive – her eyes profound.

And Rosaria found a strange strength: the strength to do something that frightened her. She shook her head. “Medicine won’t help me,” she said.

Jean frowned.

But Rosaria’s words were true. Perhaps Jean didn’t believe it, but Rosaria had no doubt. “But if you hate to see me hurting…”

Jean’s gaze shimmered. Her lips seemed about to speak, but unwilling to cause an interruption.

And Rosaria nodded. “There’s something else you can do for me.”

Jean hesitated. She took a moment to register Rosaria’s words.

Rosaria stared into Jean’s eyes. “The truth,” said Rosaria, and she felt in her voice a combination of fear and desire.

Hunger…

And Rosaria spoke in almost a whisper. “Can you offer me, if I ask, a single truth?”

Silence.

Jean’s expression remained unclear, and then…

A fortitude graced Jean’s expression.

And Rosaria felt a tingle of resolve.

Jean nodded. “Of course,” she said. “What is it? You need only ask.”

Rosaria corrected her posture.

It was almost too simple. Could she really ask it? Could she really ask Jean how she felt about Lisa? If she asked…

How would Rosaria feel? Would it be as painful as she feared? And that blood…

Would it get worse before it got better?

Rosaria glared at Jean. “The witch…”

Jean frowned.

And Rosaria felt a shiver of regret at her choice of words – suddenly afraid that her tone might reveal the extent of her emotion. “Lisa,” she said, offering a correction in restitution for her indiscretion. “Do you…”

Silence.

The movements of the great tree, serene and gentle, were revealed in the play of light and shadow across the grass.

Jean’s eyes shimmered – something ambiguous animated her gaze as she stared at Rosaria. And then…

Rosaria spoke even though it terrified her. “Do you love Lisa? Or not?”

And the two of them stood there for a moment, in silence.

The shadows… The leaves…

What just happened?

Rosaria averted her gaze from Jean’s, as if eye-contact were suddenly an irritation, and folded her arms.

And Jean’s voice, as Rosaria looked at the ground, came with a whisper of calm sincerity. “I…”

A shiver. A chill.

“Do you love Lisa? Or not?”

Rosaria looked up.

And the next words that Jean spoke were like whispers on the breeze; her eyes were kind, but somehow… Melancholy. And…

Jean nodded. “I love her. Yes.”

Silence. Fading sunlight.

And Rosaria found herself almost incredulous.

“I love her.”

Rosaria felt doubt threatening to show in her eyes, but… She darkened her expression into a frown before any vulnerability could be revealed.

Jean remained relaxed.

“Yes.”

And Rosaria felt almost out of breath.

It wasn’t, of course, that Rosaria didn’t believe Jean’s answer. Rosaria had thought, all along, that Jean loved Lisa. The only doubt in Rosaria’s mind had been introduced by Lisa’s lies. So, this breathlessness…

Rosaria stared into Jean’s silent eyes.

Why?

And Rosaria noticed as a strange feeling cast a shadow over her heart.

“I love her. Yes.”

Those words, from Jean’s lips. Why… Why did they make Rosaria feel so strangely mournful?

Rosaria stared into Jean’s silent eyes.

Jean’s lashes shivered, and it looked as if she wanted nothing more than to close her eyes, and seek the respite of darkness.

Did Jean regret telling the truth?

And then Jean finally averted her gaze.

A spell was broken; Rosaria felt as if released from some binding enchantment, and she, too, averted her attention. She averted her eyes from Jean, and glanced, instead, at the great tree.

A moment passed – perfectly still.

And it struck Rosaria how strange it was that Jean had been so honest.

Jean was always so guarded – so private. Honestly, Rosaria hadn’t known what to expect, when she’d asked the question. She’d been so preoccupied with her own fear that she’d neglected to consider the possible outcomes. And now that she had the answer…

That strange, mournful feeling…

Rosaria narrowed her eyes.

Was a part of her disappointed? Disappointed that Jean really did love Lisa?

And Rosaria was once again full of frustration to be reminded of how Lisa took such despicable advantage of Jean’s trust.

Jean broke the silence. “Rosaria.”

Rosaria looked up.

Jean was watching with a gentle expression on her face; she was about to speak…

But Rosaria didn’t give Jean the chance. Instead, Rosaria shook her head. She couldn’t contain her irritation any longer, and now that she’d begun speaking the things she’d once been afraid to speak, it was like a seal was broken. “You made a mistake,” she said. “It was a mistake to trust Lisa’s word over my judgement.”

Jean’s eyes narrowed. She was clearly surprised to have been interrupted.

Rosaria simply stared at Jean. Rosaria was thinking about all the times Jean had chosen Lisa – all the times she’d chosen to believe Lisa, or chosen to defend her. The truth… It was exactly as Rosaria had feared – exactly as Rosaria had described to Lisa, at the Adventurers’ Guild: Jean’s love was a corruption. If it weren’t for Jean’s love of Lisa… Jean would’ve seen the real truth. Jean should have trusted Rosaria, all along.

Rosaria shook her head. “My judgement is pristine.”

And Rosaria felt good to have finally told Jean how she was feeling.

There was a moment of stillness. Jean’s expression didn’t change; she only continued to meet Rosaria’s gaze.

And then…

Jean smiled.

Rosaria felt a wave of doubt. A smile? That had been unexpected.

And Jean broke eye contact for a mere moment, her expression soft, before finding Rosaria’s gaze once again. “Rosaria…”

What?

Jean’s lips remained parted, as if her voice would come at any moment.

And that single moment was unbearable. Rosaria feverishly searched Jean’s eyes for some hint of the words about to be spoken.

And then Jean nodded. “Lisa’s not a good person.”

The birds fell silent against the fading afternoon.

Rosaria blinked. “What?” The word escaped her lips before she could think.

And frustration darkened Rosaria’s mind.

“Lisa’s not a good person.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean? After everything Jean had done to protect Lisa… After saying she loved Lisa…

It didn’t make sense.

Rosaria suppressed a snarl. She felt her irritation and emotion begin to darken to something else. Something…

Hard to control.

But Jean’s expression remained calm. “You say your judgement is pristine. The truth is… I can believe that. I do. And, to an extent… You’re right about Lisa.” Jean’s eyes shimmered. “But there’s a part of the story you’re missing.”

Rosaria could hardly contain her irritation. It was all she could do to prevent herself from stepping forward – to prevent herself from closing the distance between herself and Jean, as she’d done at the coalhouse, before she’d pinned Jean against the wall…

Jean continued. “She’s not a good person. But…” A resolve shone in Jean’s eyes. “She would never lie to me.”

And the tension in Rosaria’s mind…

It only grew stronger.

It was impossible. It didn’t make sense to love someone if you knew they weren’t good.

But Jean only nodded. “Regarding the matter at hand – the Sumeru knife… Lisa is innocent. No matter what else is true about Lisa - regardless of her flaws… To me, Lisa always tells the truth. ”

There was a silence.

Trust…

And Rosaria’s frustration shivered through her body.

But Jean’s calm gaze didn’t falter. “What I told you, a moment ago… That I love Lisa.” Jean softened her focused gaze. “Lisa told you otherwise. Didn’t she?”

Incredulity shivered through Rosaria’s mind; she felt her eyes tense. How did Jean know? Had Rosaria been so obvious? Was her question – in asking Jean about Lisa – too transparent?

Jean, her voice remaining calm, continued to look into Rosaria’s eyes. “If Lisa told you I don’t love her, I’m not surprised. Because…” And a gentle smile graced her expression, once again. “I’ve never told her. She doesn’t know.”

Rosaria shivered.

Jean’s smile was sensitive – almost giving way to a lingering melancholy that promised expression in the depths of her eyes. She spoke gently. “Lisa would never lie to me, and I know she loves me. But, I…” And Jean’s expression darkened into something focused – regretful. “I can’t do the same for her. Her honesty…” Jean shook her head. “I can’t give her that in return.”

And Rosaria looked away.

Jean’s words were almost hard to process. Jean loved Lisa, but she’d never confessed? And so Lisa thought… That Jean didn’t care? That Jean had no love in her heart? Was that…

Was that possible? Did that make sense?

But, even if it did make sense, there was something else, wasn’t there? Something else that didn’t add up…

If Jean had never told Lisa the truth…

Why had Jean told the truth to Rosaria?

The silence extended for another few moments.

Rosaria kept her head down. What was Jean doing? Why was she telling Rosaria all these things? Rosaria thought back to the first unexpected thing Jean had said, after Rosaria had delivered the photograph…

“I can’t let you leave.”

Still avoiding eye contact, Rosaria reached up to feel the cut on her cheek. It was barely even hurting, any more. The cut had been so perfectly controlled.

What were Jean’s intentions? Had the strike really been a punishment? And how did that cohere with Jean’s unexpected honesty? How did it cohere with all the truths Jean was sharing that Rosaria had never expected to hear?

Why would Jean be so honest with someone she only intended to punish? With someone she saw as nothing more than a sinner?

Rosaria was just so exhausted.

And her next question came from her lips without resistance – without thought. Once so reluctant, Rosaria found herself, now, out of control – unable to stop herself from saying the things that she needed to say.

Rosaria looked up.

Jean was watching tenderly.

And Rosaria’s voice was calm. “You can’t tell Lisa how you feel, but… You can tell me?”

The regretful tenderness of Jean’s gaze admitted a shimmer of fond peace. “Yes.”

And Rosaria found herself, again, almost surprised that Jean had been so candid. What was Rosaria hoping for? Now that she’d asked yet another question… Was there a certain answer that Rosaria wanted to hear?

Trust…

Was there a part of Rosaria that, even despite the events of Cape Oath, still hoped that Jean trusted her?

Was that crazy?

Jean’s eyes remained peaceful. “With certain things…” She trailed off, and glanced down. “That’s just the way some things are. We can’t say everything to the people closest to our hearts. It’s strange, but…” She didn’t look up; her averted gaze quivered with vulnerability. “It’s almost easier to talk to a stranger.”

Rosaria felt a shiver; her breath caught in her throat.

A stranger?

And Jean looked up, as if the sound of Rosaria’s uneasy inhalation had roused Jean from reverie. Jean’s voice was hushed, but sharp. “No– Not that I meant that you–”

But it was too late.

Jean couldn’t take it back, now. Jean’s true feelings had been revealed, even if she’d meant to state them more tactfully…

Stranger.

And the cut on Rosaria’s cheek that, only a moment ago, had been nothing more than a memory…

It began to burn.

And Rosaria felt herself stepping forward.

Jean’s eyes showed a moment of uncertainty. “Rosaria?” Jean took a step back, and then another, towards the tree. She seemed unsure how to respond to Rosaria’s sudden advance.

But Rosaria didn’t stop. She felt a new passion in her anger.

If Jean’s delusional dedication to Lisa wouldn’t waver, Rosaria could accept it. But there was something else she wouldn’t accept. Not a chance in hell.

Jean…

The cut on Rosaria’s cheek burned with perfect tenderness.

We’re not strangers.

Jean’s back foot softly bumped into the great tree’s trunk. She hesitated, and after a moment realised that there was nowhere else for her to go.

Rosaria leaned forward.

Jean met Rosaria’s gaze, as if only just now appealing to Rosaria’s eyes to perhaps find a trace of her intentions.

And Rosaria loomed over Jean like a shadow; she reached forward and leaned her left hand against the great tree’s trunk, effectively pinning Jean in place.

Just like at the coalhouse.

Jean didn’t resist. She only gazed at Rosaria with peacefully uncertain eyes.

Their bodies were so close.

And Rosaria felt the passion in her voice as she spoke. “Do you see this?” The cut. “Do you see my blood?”

Jean’s eyes shimmered as her focus flickered over Rosaria’s face.

Rosaria felt a chill of conviction. “This.” She touched the cut on her cheek with her free hand. “We’re not strangers.”

Jean’s fragile expression found a measure of resolve. “I know. I didn’t mean–”

But Rosaria wasn’t finished. Cape Oath came back to her like a bad dream. She remembered how painful it had been to realise that Jean didn’t really trust her – how painful it had been to feel like Jean saw her as nothing more than a sinner. But now, after Jean had revealed so much of her heart to Rosaria, under the great tree…

Did Jean really see Rosaria as a stranger? Was that really the reason Jean had been able to share so much with Rosaria?

Rosaria didn’t believe it.

Trust…

Rosaria glared into Jean’s vulnerable eyes, and when Rosaria spoke, her voice trembled with urgency. “I’m tired of you making me feel crazy. I’m sick of doubting myself. You…” And without looking…

Rosaria put her hand on the handle of Jean’s sheathed sword.

Jean’s inhalation shivered, but she didn’t break eye contact – didn’t look down.

Rosaria let her fingers graze the sword’s pommel. She felt the burning in her cheek, and she stared mercilessly into Jean’s uncertain eyes. “Do you trust me, Jean? Or not? What is there, between us? Am I just…” Rosaria shook her head. She couldn’t bring herself to say the word. Sinner. And her final words were but a whisper. “Just tell me the truth.”

A moment of perfect stillness.

Rosaria didn’t let go of the handle of Jean’s sword. She didn’t know exactly why she’d reached for it in the first place, but she didn’t want to let go.

Jean continued to stare into Rosaria’s eyes with fragile resolve.

Jean…

They were so close – there, under the tree – and Rosaria began to feel herself suddenly warm… The closeness of Jean’s body…

And then something touched Rosaria’s cheek.

Rosaria roused from her thoughts. She was still staring into Jean’s eyes, her hand on Jean’s sword, and that touch against Rosaria’s cheek…

Jean had reached up. She’d placed her hand gently by the wound she’d left, with her single strike, on Rosaria’s face. Jean stared into Rosaria’s eyes, and that look…

Jean.

It was a look of tenderness that Rosaria had never seen before. Never in her life.

Rosaria couldn’t speak.

What’s happening?

She felt her hand quivering with tension on the handle of Jean’s sword.

And then…

There was a moment of shivering warmth – a flush of gentle heat.

Rosaria found her eyes closed.

That warmth…

That taste…

Darkness.

And then Rosaria’s lips were suddenly cold. She felt Jean move softly away like a shadow.

What…

And Rosaria opened her eyes.

Chapter Text

Jean’s lips.

They were the first thing Rosaria saw, when she opened her eyes.

Jean’s lips were stained with Rosaria’s blood.

And as Rosaria realised what had just happened…

She could hardly believe it.

Rosaria met Jean’s gaze.

Jean’s eyes were gentle.

And, in that moment…

Rosaria realised that she and Jean were still mere inches apart.

Rosaria stepped back, disengaging from the tree and Jean.

Was that…

As Rosaria stepped away, Jean’s gentle gaze flickered, as if her reverie had been broken.

And Rosaria felt, against her cheek, both the burning of her wound – left by Jean’s blade – and the chill left by the absence of Jean’s hand… The hand that had held Rosaria’s face as that gentle warmth had enveloped her…

What was Jean doing? The things they had just been speaking about… It seemed impossible that the conversation they’d just been having could lead to a moment like this – a situation like this. How was Rosaria supposed to interpret it?

Jean hesitated; she blinked.

And the motion roused Rosaria from her thoughts. She shook her distractions from her head, and refocused on Jean.

But Jean averted her eyes, and something came over her, as if she’d only just then realised something. Her inhalation shimmered as she reached up to feel her own lips.

Rosaria’s blood.

Jean looked at her hand.

And the look in Jean’s eyes as she stared at the blood on her hand…

It was almost a look of incredulity.

Jean stared at Rosaria’s blood as if she, too, could hardly believe what had just happened. But Rosaria’s blood on Jean’s hand – Jean’s lips… It was real. And if the lingering memory of that moment of tender, gentle heat seemed like nothing more than the memory of a dream…

The blood was a reminder that it had been very real.

Jean had really done it.

And Rosaria had really let it happen.

Rosaria, gazing into Jean’s averted eyes, suddenly felt an unspeakable intensity. She was breathless, and the feeling – the lingering ghost against her lips…

Jean.

Suddenly, Jean looked at Rosaria.

And Rosaria shivered.

Jean’s expression remained ambiguous, as if – despite the unyielding focus of her gentle gaze – she didn’t know what to say.

And Rosaria could still feel it; she couldn’t help it.

The warmth.

And for a moment, Rosaria felt almost afraid to let her own two lips touch – as if some lingering vestige of Jean’s presence might still remain, and that Rosaria, in allowing her lips to touch closed, might thereby awaken something… Awaken the terrifyingly gentle memory of Jean’s warmth.

And then Jean’s voice came softly through the haze.

“Rosaria.”

Rosaria blinked. She looked at Jean.

Jean had lowered her bloodied hand. She didn’t cleanse the rest of the blood from her lips. She simply stared at Rosaria with newly calm eyes, and spoke with a voice almost vulnerable.

“Let me fix it.”

Rosaria narrowed her eyes.

What?

What did Jean mean?

The ambiguity of Jean’s words was too much; it almost made Rosaria forget her own uncertainty – the fear and the, now lost, gentle heat.

Jean’s lips remained on the precipice of forming words – her eyes bright with adamant promise…

But the silence drew on.

And the hunger that welled up inside Rosaria, now, was a hunger like nothing she’d ever known.

Rosaria brought her hand to her own lips. She closed her eyes, and felt the cold kiss of her fingertips – a chill that, regardless, couldn’t extinguish the burning ghost that still applied herself to Rosaria’s lips – a mere memory, but unforgettable.

Rosaria had never felt something like that. Never.

That hunger…

That feeling…

And Rosaria had to consider a strange possibility. Could it be… That this feeling… It was…

But Rosaria couldn’t even bring herself to think about it. That word. It was just four letters. It shouldn’t be so hard to think it, but…

And then a touch.

Rosaria opened her eyes.

Jean had approached, and was standing close. A gentle but adamantly uncertain expression lit Jean’s eyes, as if she knew what she wanted, but not what she was going to do.

And that touch…

It was Jean’s hand, against Rosaria’s chest: in precisely the place where the burning of Rosaria’s heart might be felt…

A heart beating embarrassingly fast.

Rosaria felt intensely the need to pull away, but… She didn’t. She couldn’t. A shiver of motion crossed Rosaria’s body, but the promise thereby implied was broken, and no motion came. Instead, in that moment…

A million thoughts were running through Rosaria’s head.

How could this be real?

Rosaria felt time moving impossibly slow – there, under the great tree – and as she stood, Rosaria could still hear the words Jean had spoken, not minutes ago.

“I love her. Yes.”

But those words… They’d been about Lisa. And if Jean loved Lisa…

How could something like this be happening, now? How could Jean have done what she’d just done? It didn’t make sense. But even beyond that…

How did Rosaria feel?

And Rosaria was forced to realise that her feelings were a contradiction.

Good and bad. Pleasure and pain. Hope and fear. Sense and insanity. But most of all – the contradiction that burned more brightly than any other: it all felt, at once, so…

Right.

But also…

Wrong.

This shouldn’t be happening.

Rosaria’s heart fluttered with painful doubt.

Jean. You love Lisa.

Rosaria silently met Jean’s gaze.

Jean looked on with the same doubtful ardour; she kept her hand gentle against Rosaria’s heart. With Jean’s tender touch, it was like she was trying to tell Rosaria something. Something… important. Something that Rosaria could barely believe. And then…

Jean fell into Rosaria.

Rosaria’s world turned to warmth.

It was like Jean was falling into Rosaria’s arms – if only Rosaria’s arms would receive her. Jean rested both her hands against Rosaria’s heartbeat, and bowed her head to Rosaria’s chest. She came to rest against Rosaria’s body in a motion and posture that seemed to demand, from Rosaria…

An embrace. If it would be offered.

And Jean’s voice was quiet – a breathless whisper. “Don’t move,” she said.

Rosaria was frozen. She felt the warmth of Jean’s body, but…

Rosaria stood unmoving – unresponsive to Jean’s melting closeness. Rosaria didn’t hold Jean. She couldn’t. She was so afraid.

This… It’s wrong.

And Jean came even closer, falling completely into Rosaria – as if any inhibition that cautioned against it had disappeared from Jean’s body on her shimmering, warm exhalations.

But Rosaria felt so cold against Jean’s warmth. She felt so paralysed – so afraid.

Why…

Why are you doing this?

And Jean melted deeper into Rosaria, warmer and warmer.

Until…

A breeze spoke suddenly through the air.

Rosaria startled.

“Let me fix it.”

And then Rosaria noticed, in response to her own startling motion, a flinching hesitation disrupting the stillness of Jean’s meltingly close body.

Immediately, Rosaria brought her hands to Jean’s elbows – a simple reassurance. She hadn’t meant for her sudden motion to frighten Jean.

And Jean’s flinch shimmered away like the leaves that shimmered by on the new breeze. She nestled even warmer against Rosaria’s chest.

Rosaria’s heart found some peace.

“Let me fix it.”

“Don’t move.”

Jean’s words… They’d made little sense to Rosaria, but now, after feeling the breeze… Rosaria understood.

That breeze always came when Jean used her Vision.

And a familiar tingling sensation began to grace Rosaria’s heart and body.

Rosaria found, once again, the sensations of her hands – the hands she’d brought to Jean’s elbows in reassurance – and now…

Rosaria felt suddenly awkward. She gently, but acutely, let go.

But Jean, this time, didn’t respond to the motion. She remained motionless against Rosaria, and let the healing power of her Vision radiate into Rosaria’s body.

And even though it seemed irrational… Rosaria could tell the difference. She could distinguish, in the feelings that whispered through her body, both the tingling sensation of Jean’s healing, and the melting sensation of Jean’s bodyheat. And Rosaria knew… Jean hadn’t come so close simply to heal Rosaria’s wounds; there was something else – something in the way Jean let herself rest so meltingly against Rosaria’s shivering body – and if Jean was trying to tell Rosaria something, could that message be…

That there was something special, between the two of them, after all?

The breeze. The fading afternoon light. The shade cast by the singing leaves – the leaves high up in the great tree’s boughs, and the leaves drifting freely through the air.

The blood that was coming from deep within Rosaria – the blood that was dripping from her lips, and that had transferred to Jean’s lips in that moment of ephemeral heat… Rosaria remembered the truth about that blood.

And a strange melancholy shaded Rosaria’s mind.

The tingling in Rosaria’s body – the tingling from Jean’s healing Vision – was a power unmatched, but regardless… The blood on Rosaria’s lips was blood from a wound immaterial. It was…

Rosaria remembered with a quiver.

It was the wound left by the strange new feelings she’d endured since she’d begun to get closer to Jean.

And for an immaterial wound…

Even Jean’s healing Vision wasn’t enough.

Jean.

And Rosaria knew that, this time – despite Jean’s good intentions…

Jean couldn’t fix it.

At least…

Not with her Vision.

But then a moment of brightness came like sunlight over Rosaria’s tense mind – her unresponsive body – because… There was another way.

Even if Jean’s Vision couldn’t heal Rosaria’s wounds, there was something else that Jean could do. After all, if Jean was the cause of all this, wasn’t she still the person with the power to end it? The power to end this pain?

“Let me fix it.”

And Rosaria felt an impulse of something gentle, yet frightening. And somehow, like a child falling asleep…

Rosaria let go of her resistance. She let her body fall around Jean’s melting heat.

Jean’s Vision couldn’t heal Rosaria’s hurt. But Jean’s touch was something else. And though Rosaria didn’t understand what was happening, or why it had happened, she suddenly felt as if she could vindicate Jean’s efforts to heal her – that is, if only Rosaria could let go of her fear.

Rosaria’s hands found Jean’s arms – and as Rosaria bowed her head, her bloody lips came to rest against Jean’s warm hair, both their heads bowed, together – both their bodies falling into one another, as if into dreams – and Rosaria fell into Jean – fell around Jean – the way that Jean’s melting body demanded it.

Jean…

Can you truly fix me?

And then…

There was a crack of thunder.

The sound ripped through the sky of Windrise like a sudden nightmare.

Jean and Rosaria flinched, alike.

Rosaria let go of Jean.

And Jean pulled away, averting her eyes as if not yet ready to face whatever might await her in Rosaria’s gaze, as if what they’d done, the two of them…

Might’ve been wrong.

And Rosaria felt so cold – abruptly, bitterly cold.

Fear.

And a kind of nascent shame kindled in Rosaria’s heart.

Rosaria remembered the chaos of contradictory feelings. Good and bad. Pleasure and pain. Hope and fear. Right and wrong.

And the brief moment in which she’d overcome her fear – the brief moment in which she’d let go, and allowed herself to meet Jean’s embrace… It hurt to think about it.

Rosaria searched for Jean’s averted gaze.

Guilt. Jean kept her eyes down, and guilt was what Rosaria saw.

Rosaria shivered with doubt. Good, or bad? Right, or wrong? Which was it?

What was the truth about what Rosaria and Jean had just done, under the great tree?

But…

The thunder sounded, once again.

Rosaria looked up into the sky.

Lightning flashed.

And the sound of rain came a whole second before its touch.

The sound: the immensely delicate ringing of waterstruck leaves sang over the fields – the hymn of crepitation – but, still, in that moment, there was not a drop to be felt.

Rosaria looked away from the sky. She looked at Jean.

Jean was now gazing back, the beginnings of tears in her eyes – Rosaria’s blood all over Jean’s lips.

Rosaria felt a trembling need to speak. What they had just shared – all of it – would Jean regret it? Rosaria wanted to know how Jean felt. Did Jean know that, this time, her Vision was useless? Did Jean know that she was the cause of Rosaria’s immaterial wound?

Rosaria parted her lips. “I…”

Was the feeling, in Rosaria’s heart, really…

Was it really those four letters?

It was impossible.

And then the feeling of the rain.

The rain came down on them heavier than expected – heavier than the delicate singing of the leaves had promised. It was cold – complete.

Vivid, pouring rain.

And as if the beginning of the rain had broken a spell, Jean looked down.

Rosaria ignored the rain. She ignored the cold. But, still…

She shivered with doubt.

It hurt so much to see Jean look away.

Rosaria searched, through the rain, for Jean’s averted gaze, but…

Jean didn’t look up.

Jean.

The warmth.

The fear and hunger.

Rosaria tasted on her lips something sweet. A memory. A ghost. And staring at Jean’s averted face…

Rosaria felt so desperately hungry.

Jean’s words:

“Let me fix it.”

Regardless of whether or not Jean knew the truth – knew that she was the cause of Rosaria’s immaterial wound – Rosaria couldn’t deny her own feelings.

Even if it was wrong… Even if it was bad… Rosaria knew what she wanted. It no longer mattered to Rosaria whether or not Jean could truly fix her… Rosaria was simply too hungry to care.

She just wanted more.

Rosaria took a step towards Jean.

Jean shivered. She seemed about to look up.

But Rosaria didn’t wait; she reached out, and put her hand under Jean’s chin.

Jean’s eyes came to life.

Rosaria lifted Jean’s chin, and Jean allowed it. They stared each other in the eyes.

The rain was pouring down their faces.

Was Jean still crying? It was impossible to tell. But then…

Blood.

A shiver of intensity crossed Rosaria’s body as she noticed that the blood staining Jean’s lips – Rosaria’s blood – was beginning to wash away in the rain. A crimson streak ran from the corner of Jean’s mouth; it looked like her lips and mouth were bleeding a mess of Rosaria’s wretched blood. But…

No.

Rosaria couldn’t bear to see the ablution.

That sweetness – the memory on Rosaria’s lips… Rosaria wanted…

She wanted to take that blood back, herself – the only way she could think of.

And Rosaria felt like she was going to do something insane.

It’s wrong.

But Rosaria knew, in that moment of vibrant irrationality, that it was too late to stop herself from doing it. She knew she was going to lean forward, and reclaim the taste of that blood, before the rain stole it away.

And she was going to feel Jean’s warmth all over again.

She closed her eyes. She let herself disappear. Rosaria disappeared into the promise of gentle, shimmering warmth.

Jean…

But…

A motion.

A change.

Suddenly, Rosaria’s body was cold – her hands were empty – and there was a blankness before her.

Rosaria blinked.

Jean had pulled away.

No.

Wait.

But Jean, breaking mournful eye contact, shook her head. “I’ve had enough,” she said. “Stop.”

A silence.

Rosaria felt an impulse to step forward – to chase. But something about Jean’s expression and tone prevented it.

Jean turned away. “Please,” she said.

And Rosaria felt a poignant pain. Jean’s voice was so vulnerable. Was… Was it true?

Regret…

Did Jean really regret what had happened? What she and Rosaria had done?

Had it been wrong, after all?

Jean, still avoiding eye contact, cleansed the last whisper of blood from her lips with the back of her hand. “I…” She flung her hand out to the side, as if to cast the blood to the ground, but sent, instead, a shimmer of water – owing to the intensity of the rainfall. “I don’t know how to explain this, but…”

And Jean’s next words sent a bitterness shivering through Rosaria’s whole body.

Jean kept her gaze averted. “You needn’t be afraid of Lisa.”

Rain. Leaves.

The witch?

Rosaria couldn’t stand it. The mere mention of Lisa’s name felt like a poison injected into the once meaningful moment.

Jean looked up. Her voice was increasingly resolute. “I suspect you think my judgement is compromised by my love for Lisa. And so…” Her gaze, into Rosaria’s eyes, was focused, but vague. "You probably won’t trust the validity of what I’m about to say.”

Rosaria only gazed at Jean in silence. The sudden conversation after such a long silence was almost unbearably painful. Rosaria could still feel Jean’s body – she could still feel the fear and the wrongness of that melting heat. How could it have been stolen away so quickly?

And now Jean was speaking of the witch?

What was Rosaria supposed to make of that?

“I love her. Yes.”

What was Rosaria supposed to make of any of it?

Jean’s expression was calm, but tense. “If you don’t trust my judgement, that’s fair. But if any part of you, after everything that’s happened, is still willing to let me help you…” And then her eyes admitted the slightest shimmer of a smile. “I do have some advice.”

Rosaria felt a quiver of curiosity. Help? Advice?

Rosaria was reminded of her earlier thoughts: Jean wanted to help Rosaria, yes, but how could she do so without truly understanding the cause of Rosaria’s wound?

But did Jean even care? Who did Jean really care about? Was it Rosaria? Or…

Was it the witch?

Jean’s body – her warmth… It had felt so much like Jean was trying to tell Rosaria something. But now Jean was acting completely different. The things Jean was saying…

Why?

Jean averted her eyes for a moment. “I know I told you to keep the events that happened here a secret, but…” And then she resumed Rosaria’s eye contact with a gaze at once assured and gentle. “I’ve changed my mind. You should tell her.”

Rosaria frowned.

Her?

Who?

And Jean nodded. “You should tell Lisa about everything that happened here, today.”

A shiver of incredulity.

And Rosaria could barely stand to hear the witch’s name spoken aloud.

Why would Jean suggest such a thing?

Rosaria felt her fists clench by her sides; she felt her throat tense. Was Jean serious? How could she say what she was saying? It was absurd. Insane. The thought of Lisa knowing everything that had just happened, between Rosaria and Jean…

It made Rosaria feel suddenly furious. Didn’t Jean feel the same?

But Rosaria didn’t speak. She couldn’t move, or act. She felt unable to do anything but wait for Jean’s words.

Jean didn’t seem to notice Rosaria’s perturbation. Perhaps Rosaria had concealed it too well. Either way, Jean simply continued with that same look of gentle assuredness. “If you do that – if you tell Lisa about all of this… You’ll finally believe me. You’ll finally know the truth about Lisa.”

There was a moment of silence.

Rosaria held in her anger.

And then Jean looked up to the sky.

The rain had slowed down; it no longer poured quite so vibrantly. But still, Jean couldn’t keep her gaze directed skyward for long before, once again, looking down. She lowered her gaze to the ground. Her voice was resigned, but hopeful, as if she truly believed in her words, regardless of their ability to convince. “If you see and experience Lisa’s reaction to all of this – the reaction that I know she’ll have – there’s no way you’ll still doubt her intentions.” She finally resumed Rosaria’s eye contact.

Rosaria searched those eyes – she searched them for anything that might reveal itself and thereby make all of this less confusing – less frustrating.

But Jean’s eyes were so alive with the rain, it was impossible to find answers beyond those revealed in her gentle voice. “You’ll know then, for sure, that you needn’t distrust her so much. I think it’s… The only way. It’s the best way for you to finally realise it: there’s no need to fight. Lisa might not be perfect, or even close, but…” And Jean finally allowed a gentle, tentative smile to brighten her eyes. “She truly means you no harm. I promise.”

And with that, Jean turned her head. And she began to walk away.

Rosaria felt at once the urgency of necessary action, and the paralysis of doubt.

Wait.

But Rosaria couldn’t move.

Words threatened formation in the shivering of Rosaria’s lips, but…

No words came.

Jean walked steadily through the rain, away from the great tree, and back towards Mondstadt.

The gentle rain twinkled through the fading afternoon light.

“You should tell Lisa about everything that happened here, today.”

Those words still ran through Rosaria’s mind. She felt, still, the same incredulity and irritation. Rosaria couldn’t do such a thing. The implications were insane – unreasonable. Jean striking Rosaria; Jean’s vulnerable eyes; Jean enveloping Rosaria in that ephemeral warmth; Rosaria’s blood on Jean’s lips…

If Lisa found out about all of those things, what would happen?

It was too much to think about. But Rosaria knew one thing for sure:

It wouldn’t be good. It couldn’t be good.

Could it?

But then, why…

“If you tell Lisa about all of this… You’ll finally believe me. You’ll finally know the truth about Lisa.”

Why did Jean make this request?

Rosaria felt powerless.

Jean, now, was too far away. She was so far away that no words, over the sounds of the waterstruck great tree, would reach her.

And Rosaria shivered under the cold caress of the rain.

What am I going to do?

Chapter Text

“If you tell Lisa about all of this… You’ll finally believe me. You’ll finally know the truth about Lisa.”

Rosaria walked the sunlit street of Mondstadt promenade. It had been a month – a whole month – since she’d set foot in the city, and Rosaria, having finally returned… Was beginning to reconsider.

The Windblume Festival.

Colourful bouquets adorning the porches. Wreaths on every door and street-lamp.

Rosaria had returned on the worst day imaginable.

Rosaria shuddered.

What a nuisance.

Of course, Rosaria had no idea that the festival was even approaching. Absent from Mondstadt as she’d been for over four weeks, she’d missed all the prelude – all the chatter amongst the congregation, and all the anticipation of the people as they’d prepared for the celebration to come. If, on the day she’d decided to finally return to the city, she’d known what she was about to walk into…

She’d have stayed far, far away.

The Windblume Festival…

It was just about the most irritating thing in the whole damn world.

But by the time Rosaria had noticed that something was amiss, as she’d passed by Good Hunter, it had been too late to back out. She was too damned stubborn, and having come already within the city walls, she refused to dignify the reality of her mistake by backing out. And, besides…

Rosaria had business to attend to, and it couldn’t wait even a day longer.

Witch.

Of course, when Rosaria had left the city, a month ago – to find Jean at Windrise, and give her Barbara’s photograph – Rosaria had no idea that she wouldn’t see those streets again for such a long stretch of time. Alas…

Time had gotten away from her.

The great tree. The rain. Jean’s slowly disappearing form on the horizon.

“You should tell Lisa about everything that happened here, today.”

Despite the confusion of that meeting at Windrise – the chaos of warmth and blood – Rosaria had made up her mind quite quickly. What Jean had suggested…

There was no way in hell.

Rosaria had lingered, like a ghost, for some time under the great tree, even after Jean had left. Rosaria lingered long enough for the rain to stop, for the light to fade, and for the birds to once again, liberated from the spectre of rainfall, begin calling out into the evening. And during those hours of dusk, all alone… Rosaria had decided that there was only one path for her to take.

All the feelings of that day – all the new hellishness of that moment of warmth shared with Jean…

To hell with all of it.

If Jean had offered Rosaria a choice – tell Lisa about all of this, or keep it a secret – then Rosaria wasn’t going to play that game. Instead…

Rosaria was done.

She didn’t have to make a choice. She didn’t have to deal with what had happened, under the great tree. The warmth, the closeness – all the fire that came with it. Rosaria didn’t have to think about it. She could just…

Run.

And besides…

Rosaria was long overdue a vacation.

To hell with all of it.

The nights had gone by in silence. At first, Rosaria had taken refuge in the Whispering Woods. One night. Two. A mere shadow amongst shadows. Dwelling in that place was respite enough for a time, but, eventually, the familiarity of those woods – where she’d spent many such nights over the years – grew stifling, and Rosaria had fled further afield. But no matter how far from the city Rosaria went…

She couldn’t escape the dreams.

Rosaria just couldn’t catch a break.

It wasn’t long ago that her life had been simple. Once upon a time, Rosaria had been nothing more than a killer, and her life had been nothing but blood. Life was job after job, and then the rich respite of morning wine after each job well done. It was a life befitting someone like Rosaria – a life fit for a shadow amongst the shifting light.

A life of darkness – day by day, night by night.

But in Rosaria’s attempts to run from the chaos that had broken loose in her life, she found only failure.

Day. Night. It didn’t matter. The events of Windrise – Rosaria and Jean, under the great tree – had changed everything, and now, at all times, Rosaria poignantly felt two contradictory emotions.

Having walked, now, a good way into the city, Rosaria paused by the fountain cresting Mondstadt’s promenade.

Water. Sunlight. Dripping flowers.

And Rosaria felt it: the contradiction that just wouldn’t leave her alone.

Regret.

And…

Desire.

She felt both of them so strongly, it could’ve brought her to her knees – that is…

If she weren’t so stubborn.

Rosaria smiled. Stubbornness… At least she hadn’t lost that quality. She closed her eyes, shutting out the sights of the festival. But…

Regret. She knew, painfully and urgently, that she should never have gone out into the graveyard, on that first day, to speak to Barbara – when Barbara had asked Rosaria to investigate the Fatui to protect Bennett. It had been a mistake born of weakness – impatience. If only Rosaria had remained committed to her usual indifference to Barbara’s presence – if Rosaria had remained unflinching – she never would’ve heard the rumour about the Fatui spy’s collaborator.

It would’ve been peace.

But Rosaria had gotten involved. And since that moment, nothing had been the same. She’d gotten herself entangled with Barbara, and the result had been chaos.

The exact chaos she’d spent her whole life trying to avoid.

That one mistake had ruined everything. Things had been so perfectly balanced: Rosaria’s relationship with Jean had been faultless – clear. Jean was the client, and Rosaria was the contractor. They were a good team, in their own little way.

But because Rosaria had gotten out of her depth, Rosaria had been forced to ask for Jean’s help – forced to ask a favour that stepped beyond the bounds of their usual relationship. Jean had always been the one who asked for Rosaria’s help, after all: Jean brought the jobs to Rosaria, not the other way around. But now…

Things were hopelessly different. Forever.

And Rosaria regretted, so deeply, that things would never be able to go back to the way they once were.

Things had, once upon a time, made so much sense.

Not any more.

Because…

Desire.

And the burning urgency of it was enough to make Rosaria furious.

Once upon a time, Rosaria had wanted nothing. Nothing. She was a shadow. A bloodied spear. A whisper in the night. And wanting nothing…

It had been a certain kind of bliss.

There had been only blood. Darkness, blood, and when morning came…

Dreams.

Once upon a time, Rosaria’s dreams had been blank. Dreams were like melody, or crying, or death. They were the darkness against which life, thoughts, and sunlight were powerless – the place where the mind could go to finally be free.

But now…

Rosaria only dreamed of warmth.

Ephemeral heat. Melting closeness.

Rosaria only dreamed of Jean.

The kiss of dreams was different. Now… Dreams were nothing but desire. And now…

Dreams were unbearable.

Desire.

And Rosaria knew that she would never again be free of that curse. It was too late. She’d already ruined everything. Rosaria knew full well that desire was a malady more eternal than any wound – more deep than any scar. She’d seen the truth in the lives of the people around her – day in, day out: once your heart is taken by desire…

Nothing will ever satisfy you.

Desire always wants more.

And so…

Peace. Darkness. Freedom. All the things Rosaria had kept so close – all the things Rosaria had known…

It was all over.

And now…

Warmth.

Jean.

Rosaria had been given a taste.

And she wanted more.

No amount of running away would fix it.

Rosaria opened her eyes. She turned away from the promenade fountain, taking the first step of her advance into the depths of the city, and Rosaria couldn’t decide: had her life just ended? Or…

Was it just about to truly begin?

The sounds of celebration rang out into the morning. As always during the festival, the streets were irritatingly alive. For most people, during Windblume, daily life was completely altered, but even despite that, Rosaria remained confident that the task before her – the task she’d come back to Mondstadt specifically to perform – would be just as easy as anticipated. Her goal, yes, was to locate a specific individual – and such a thing might, in general, prove more difficult on a day as lively as this – but the particular woman in question was no more enthusiastic about the festival than Rosaria was, and Rosaria knew, with unwavering confidence, that her target would be in exactly the same place she always had been: reclining somnolently in the gauzy shade of the library, busying herself – or otherwise pretending to busy herself – with the pile of overdue returns, waiting to be processed, neatly sullying her desk.

Rosaria could hardly believe what she was about to do. She didn’t want to do it, and the old Rosaria – the version of Rosaria that had existed once upon a time, before all of this hell had broken loose – wouldn’t have done it. But…

Regret.

Desire.

The sickening warmth that haunted Rosaria’s dreams demanded action. If Rosaria’s old life was over – and it well and truly was over…

What did Rosaria have to lose?

Witch.

Yes. Even though Rosaria didn’t want to see Lisa – even though she didn’t want to feel the shiver of Lisa’s wretched laughter – Rosaria was way past anger. She was way past disgust.

“If you tell Lisa about all of this… You’ll finally believe me. You’ll finally know the truth about Lisa.”

Now…

Rosaria was ready for the truth.

And as Rosaria stepped up to Mondstadt plaza, she felt a renewed sense of acceptance: whether this was a new beginning, or simply the end, it didn’t matter. Either way…

Rosaria couldn’t stand feeling like a coward for even a day longer.

Rosaria may have been violent. She may have been selfish. She may even have been cruel. But for all her flaws…

Rosaria was no coward.

Hell no.

She was afraid of her feelings for Jean. She was afraid of exposing their private moment – sharing that closeness with the witch, of all people. But fear wasn’t going to stop Rosaria. Not any more. If Rosaria’s life was all but over…

Let it end with an act of defiance.

To hell with secrets.

To hell with lies.

To hell with all of it.

Sunlight. A fluttering of wings as the birds aloft in the plaza spun themselves skyward.

Rosaria blinked, feverish with the passion of her reverie. She snapped out of her thoughts, and there, in the morning glow suffusing the bustling plaza, Rosaria found herself staring at something she hadn’t expected to see.

It was Lisa.

And Rosaria shivered with anticipation.

Just like every year, a grand display of flowers had been presented in the plaza, beneath the giant statue of Barbatos. Each citizen of Mondstadt, as per tradition, was invited to bring their own Windblume, and add it to the growing mirage – accompanied, perhaps, by a wish, or a resolution.

As expected, the plaza under Barbatos’ massive statue was singing with voices – flickering with children and their parents – each having come in pursuit of their own desires: a wish, a hope, a dream – all borne alike on the breeze that lifted them from the petals of the flowers and carried them into the sky to be redeemed, or so the story goes, by Barbatos himself. But if the children and their parents were a sight unsurprising…

The same couldn’t be said for Lisa.

What was she doing here? Being out in public wasn’t like her. At all.

Lisa hadn’t yet turned her head – hadn’t yet removed her attention from the flowers she groomed upon the display.

And Rosaria was glad to still be anonymous – just another face amongst the crowd.

Of course, she was going to see Lisa sooner or later – that was the plan, after all – but owing to the unexpectedness of the circumstances, Rosaria found herself irritated. Seeing Lisa out of the blue…

Rosaria felt ambushed.

Refusing, however, to be too ungracefully perturbed, Rosaria steeled herself, and glared with focus as Lisa continued – in solitude, despite the crowd – to preen the floral display.

The job…

The job at hand was what mattered, but Rosaria had expected to have Lisa alone – in the quiet dimness of the library. Would things still be possible under the present circumstances? Or was a change of plan required?

What a nuisance.

And the tender, doubtful, chaotic emotions Rosaria had been feeling – as she’d approached the city, that day – became like fleeing shadows. After all… What were emotions, in light of the mundane practicalities of problem solving whilst on a job?

Nothing but a distraction.

And Rosaria found herself, for just a moment, oddly peaceful, there in the morning light.

But the peace was short lived.

Lisa looked up from the flowers.

Rosaria restrained a shudder.

Lisa turned her attention, and – as if she’d known, all along, who was standing there – Lisa looked right at Rosaria.

Rosaria didn’t flinch.

Lisa’s eyes were knowing, but kind. She gazed at Rosaria almost as one might gaze at a child – a child come to submit, to the wind, an ephemeral wish.

Rosaria folded her arms. She narrowed her eyes, unwilling to reveal in her expression any weakness.

Whatever.

These weren’t the circumstance Rosaria had predicted, but to hell with it. Everyone around was busy with their own concerns; Rosaria and Lisa – though surrounded by people – were as good as alone.

Witch.

I’m not afraid of you.

And Rosaria knew immediately that it was a lie.

Rosaria was afraid of Lisa.

It wasn’t, of course, that she thought Lisa could beat her in a fight. Lisa may have proven her strength at Cape Oath, but such strength was far from enough to shake Rosaria’s confidence in combat. In that regard, Lisa was no threat. But still…

Rosaria was afraid.

And Rosaria didn’t know exactly why.

But it didn’t matter. The spirit of defiance was alive in Rosaria’s body. Fear wouldn’t stop her.

And Rosaria noticed how strange it was for all of her fear – her doubt – to have been reduced, in that moment, to something that looked… A little…

Like courage.

Rosaria stepped forward.

Lisa appeared unresponsive. She showed neither surprise nor anticipation at Rosaria’s approach, keeping her expression, instead, calm, and her posture relaxed.

Rosaria wondered… Did Lisa have some awareness of what Rosaria had come to do? In Rosaria’s absence, Jean and Lisa would surely, as usual, have spent much time together. Might Jean have told Lisa everything – everything about that day under the great tree – already? And short of that, might Lisa have noticed, of her own accord, that something out of the ordinary had happened? Lisa knew Jean well enough, after all. It wouldn’t be impossible for Lisa to piece things together, even if Jean had been uncooperative. Either way, all these considerations pointed to one thing: there was a strong possibility that, as usual…

Lisa was one step ahead.

And as Rosaria approached Lisa through the flitting crowd, it was all Rosaria could do to restrain an irritated grimace from poisoning her countenance.

Stay in control.

She was here to face the truth, whatever it was. If Lisa was one step ahead, it didn’t matter. Either way, Rosaria’s intentions were the same: she was going to tell Lisa everything.

To hell with secrets.

Rosaria was no coward.

She stopped mere feet from Lisa, and folded her arms.

Lisa smiled. She fully shifted her attention from the flowers, finally putting down the cecilia she’d been holding. “What a pleasant surprise,” she said – the smile in her eyes equal parts ironic and good humoured. “Could it be? The promise of a Windblume wish is too enticing to pass by even your ears, unheard?”

Rosaria didn’t allow her irritation to be revealed in her eyes.

Lisa brought her hand to her lips in silent laughter. “Well, if the desire in your heart burns too strongly to be ignored…” She lowered her hand, and gazed at Rosaria with profound eyes. “…This is the perfect day to finally do something about it.”

Rosaria scoffed. “Hmph.”

And Lisa once again raised the cecilia flower. “If you came empty handed, as I suspect, fear not. There are plenty of flowers to be offered right here.” She presented the cecilia.

Rosaria made no gesture in return.

And Lisa’s eyes, after a moment, began to twinkle. “Oh! In that case, perhaps you’d prefer…” She lowered the Cecilia and turned to retrieve from the basket beside her a different flower. “…Something a little more like this?”

Lisa presented the second flower.

And Rosaria shuddered.

A dandelion.

Rosaria glanced away for a moment, before scorning her own lack of composure. She returned her gaze to Lisa.

Lisa was looking on with characteristically playful eyes.

And Rosaria knew immediately that Lisa was mocking her.

The dandelion. Of course…

Jean was the Dandelion Knight, after all.

But Rosaria was in too deep to be deterred by such a gambit. It was clear, now, that Lisa knew that something had happened between Rosaria and Jean, but… So what? It didn’t change anything.

Rosaria stubbornly refused to meet Lisa’s offer with the complimentary gesture. Instead, she kept her arms folded, and stared at Lisa with severe eyes. “I’m not here to make a wish.”

Lisa’s eyes shimmered. Her smile faltered, as if she were unsure how to react, and then a less playful, more sincere expression graced her gaze. “No?” She lowered the dandelion.

Rosaria shook her head.

Lisa brought a gentle hand to the brim of her own hat, adjusting it to compensate for the sun. Her eyes looked almost kind, now, as she spoke. “Are you sure?”

Rosaria frowned.

And Lisa laughed.

Hmph.

Rosaria corrected her posture. She put one hand against her hip, and let the other be free by her side. “I’m here to end this. Once and for all.”

There was a moment where neither of them spoke. They simply looked into each others eyes.

The crowd continued to bustle around them. Children continued to play, and the sounds of horses and wagons and birds, coming from every corner of the enlivened city, continued to dance.

Lisa’s strangely kind eyes…

What are you up to?

And then Lisa glanced away.

Rosaria shivered.

Lisa let her touch delicately grace the flowers adorning the display by her side. “Fair enough. But…” She looked back at Rosaria.

And Rosaria found herself hopelessly irritated by those poignant eyes.

Lisa laughed. “What was it, you said? “Once and for all?”” She shook her head. “That sounds like a wish, to me.”

And then something bumped into Rosaria’s leg.

Huh?

Rosaria looked down, and was relieved to see nothing but some careless child fluttering off into the distance. But as she stared aimlessly at the child’s retreating form…

Lisa…

Rosaria still struggled to contain her antipathy in the face of Lisa’s sarcastic insincerity. She hadn’t known, for sure, how it would feel to see Lisa – it had been so long – but… She’d been foolish to think that anything other than this was likely.

Witch.

Rosaria stifled her chagrin.

The witch still really pissed Rosaria off.

Rosaria kept her gaze averted.

Lisa’s unmet gaze continued to burn.

Rosaria could feel it.

And then…

Lisa broke the silence. “What do you want, Rosaria?”

A chill. Cool doubt.

Rosaria looked back at Lisa.

Lisa’s eyes were relaxed. Her arms were folded.

And the precision of Lisa’s language wasn’t lost on Rosaria.

“What do you want?”

That feeling – the feeling that had driven Rosaria back to the city, in the first place. Lisa’s words had isolated exactly the same problem that Rosaria had identified in the thought process that had led her to this moment.

Desire.

Was Lisa really so astute?

And Rosaria felt like she was beginning to understand why she was so afraid of the witch. Lisa… It was like Lisa knew things about Rosaria…

Before Rosaria knew them about herself.

The sun over Mondstadt plaza gave everything a golden glow.

How long had Lisa known that desire was the true ghost animating Rosaria’s actions? For how long had Lisa known that, eventually, it would all come down to this?

A shiver.

Had Lisa been leading Rosaria to a moment like this, all along?

A moment of truth?

Rosaria shook her head. She shook the thoughts from her consciousness like a wolf shakes snow from her coat.

Lisa’s eyes sparkled with inquiry – her curiosity for Rosaria’s response, and anticipation for Rosaria’s next move, finally revealed.

And Rosaria sighed.

Lisa’s gaze softened.

The fear. The irritation. Rosaria felt as if all of it escaped her body, to be borne on the breeze.

When Lisa was involved, Rosaria didn’t even have the privacy of her own thoughts – the privilege of being the first to know her own fate. In the awakening of desire, Rosaria had already decided her life was over, but with even her own fate stolen from her…

Rosaria truly had nothing to lose.

To hell with fate.

To hell with it all – everything, that is, except…

Defiance.

If something was going to kill Rosaria – the old Rosaria – it wouldn’t be fear. It wouldn’t be cowardice. It would be…

The truth.

The truth about Rosaria’s desire, and the truth about everything that had happened.

Enough.

Rosaria fixed Lisa with a passionate gaze.

Lisa nodded, as if to encourage Rosaria’s resolve.

And Rosaria smiled. “Jean and I. We kissed.”

Chapter Text

There was a moment of stillness.

“We kissed.”

Rosaria stood before Lisa.

Lisa’s soft gaze remained, for a moment, unaltered – as if Rosaria’s words hadn’t yet sunk in.

And as Rosaria stood there, she felt her own body tense with anticipation.

The kiss. It came back to life. The warmth of it – the dreams and memories… Speaking the kiss back into existence had been too much.

And Rosaria felt sick with desire.

A shimmer crossed Rosaria’s body; her shoulders gave a gentle shake.

Windrise…

And then Rosaria felt a shiver of implication as she remembered that Lisa was standing right there.

But Lisa was unperturbed; she remained watching Rosaria with a blank look in her eyes, as if she still hadn’t registered what Rosaria had said. And in their blankness, Lisa’s eyes – shaded, at once, by both silence and the brim of her hat – revealed neither surprise nor judgement at the sight of Rosaria’s quivering shoulders. And then…

Lisa’s eyes shimmered.

And Rosaria knew her confession had finally darkened Lisa’s mind; Lisa was about to react.

Rosaria reclaimed control of her shaking body.

Stop it.

Rosaria composed herself.

Stillness.

Lisa blinked, her eyes shaded with something ambiguous – something new – now that Rosaria’s confession had finally sunk in.

Rosaria clenched her fists – as if to contain the tension that otherwise might’ve revealed itself in further involuntary shivers.

Keep it together.

And Rosaria found some level of peace.

The desire wasn’t going anywhere, Rosaria knew it – the permanence of desire was, after all, what had ruined her life – but Rosaria wouldn’t let the memories of desire steal this moment from her. It was just as Rosaria had said to Lisa, upon first arriving at the plaza:

“I’m here to end this, once and for all.”

Desire may have been a permanent corruption, but there was something else that wasn’t permanent. If there was one thing that Rosaria knew better than anyone, it was this:

Conflict always comes to an end. One way or another, somebody always wins.

A month ago, under the great tree – before Rosaria had almost lost her mind to dreams of desire – Jean had spoken with confidence:

“You should tell Lisa about everything that happened here, today.”

Rosaria remembered those words as clearly as she remembered the taste of Jean’s lips. And with those words, Rosaria also remembered her own incredulity:

Jean’s advice didn’t make any sense.

Given everything Rosaria knew about Lisa and Jean… Telling Lisa the truth felt like an act of pure chaos. After all…

Rosaria had kissed the woman Lisa loved.

And so, telling the truth – telling Lisa about what had happened… It seemed like the only outcome…

Would be pain.

Pain for Rosaria, in lowering herself to the indignity of confession. Pain for Lisa, in suffering the weight of the betrayal.

How…

How could that be the right decision to make?

The celebration in the plaza continued as if Lisa and Rosaria weren’t even there.

Lisa still hadn’t acted – hadn’t yet responded to Rosaria’s confession – and Lisa’s distracted yet focused gaze…

It was too ambiguous to bear.

Rosaria grew tense. It was too late to back out, now. She’d made her choice. She’d confessed. Perhaps, if she’d thought there was any way of resuming her old life – any way of going back to the way things used to be, before desire – Rosaria might’ve kept the secret forever. But Rosaria’s dreams of Jean had already ruined her life. Rosaria had nothing to lose. And, in one way, it had all been a blessing, because now – if nothing else…

The fight with Lisa was about to end for good.

Conflict always ends. One way or another, somebody always wins.

“If you tell Lisa about all of this… You’ll finally believe me. You’ll finally know the truth about Lisa.”

Jean’s words had been a promise: tell Lisa the truth, and the conflict would be over; Rosaria would realise that Lisa wasn’t her enemy.

And now, in the wake of confession, Rosaria couldn’t tell which part of her was stronger: the part that wanted to resolve conflict with truth, or…

The part that wanted to resolve conflict with blood.

Rosaria’s body was alive with the promise of resolution.

Lisa.

Show me the real you.

Lisa – eyes distracted, as if deep in thought – smiled.

Rosaria lifted her hand, and examined the blades on her fingers.

If there was no other way to end it… Rosaria wouldn’t hesitate. The fight was over today, and Rosaria would win. The only question was:

How?

Show me the real you.

And I’ll decide whether or not you have to die.

And then a slight movement, just beyond Rosaria’s field of view.

Rosaria snapped out of her thoughts. She looked up.

The movement was Lisa.

And, for a moment, Rosaria felt the determination of self-defence in her veins. As Rosaria looked up, there was a split-second where a million possibilities flashed at once. Was Lisa going to do something stupid? Was her reaction to the confession going to be as Rosaria expected?

Violence.

And in that moment, Rosaria knew she’d been right.

But once Rosaria’s gaze had lifted…

She felt foolish.

Lisa had simply looked down, to lower her hands into the basket of flowers.

Rosaria’s next exhalation came suddenly; she realised she’d been holding her breath…

But there was no fight to be had, here.

Hmph.

Not yet, at least.

Lisa found what she was looking for in the basket. She once again lifted the dandelion, and gazed at it with distracted dreaminess. “So…”

And Rosaria narrowed her eyes.

Lisa’s voice was too calm. Something wasn’t right.

Lisa kept her attention on the dandelion. She held the dandelion and gazed upon it like she might relinquish it to the wind at any moment, and then… A shimmer of resolve lit Lisa’s expression. She looked up, meeting Rosaria’s gaze. “You and Jean kissed.”

Rosaria shivered.

And Lisa’s resolute expression admitted a light of gentle warmth. “So be it.”

A chill of incredulity.

Silence.

And after a long moment, there in the sunlit plaza, Rosaria felt, once again…

As if Lisa were one step ahead.

Jean. Windrise.

The truth.

It was supposed to be chaos – Rosaria’s body and mind had been ready for it – but…

Lisa was calm; her words were spoken with a depth of equanimity that was undeniable.

“You and Jean kissed. So be it.”

And Rosaria found herself cold with bitter irritation.

She stifled her chagrin, solidifying her posture and shading her eyes with a darkness from within – the obscurity of discretion.

But Lisa only looked on with gentle patience in her gaze.

Witch.

Rosaria contained her ire, letting the shivers that threatened to manifest vulnerability in her body resonate instead with her perfectly controlled exhalations; she exhaled her anger like steam into frigid air.

Rosaria knew the truth. Lisa’s serenity was a guise. She was guarded – hiding her true feelings as part of her manipulations.

Right?

Lisa let her gaze wander. She held the dandelion loosely – like she were afraid to alter its perfection – and upon looking back at Rosaria, as if noticing Rosaria’s contemplation, Lisa showed an inflection of eager anticipation in her body language: awaiting whatever Rosaria might be about to do or say.

And Rosaria found herself so frustratingly shaken by the softness in Lisa’s eyes.

Doubt.

No.

Rosaria hated that feeling. But…

Even when Lisa had played games in the past – even when she’d mislead and toyed with Rosaria – Lisa had never looked quite so…

Honest.

It was too much to ignore. Rosaria’s judgement was pristine, after all, and there and then, in that moment…

Rosaria wanted nothing more than to deny the very thing she felt in her gut.

Could it be? Was there some other reason that Lisa was so serene? To be so serene even when she’d been told about that moment of ephemeral warmth – that moment of desire… How could that be possible? Given what Rosaria knew about Lisa and Jean?

Lisa’s gentle smile, as she watched Rosaria, had almost faded, but in the light of Lisa’s eyes the memory of equanimity still lingered.

This serenity…

Rosaria felt her muscles tense.

Was this what Jean wanted Rosaria to see?

But then Lisa suddenly closed her eyes.

Rosaria was shaken from her thoughts. She shivered.

And Lisa’s voice came as if from the other side of sleep. "You think me a jealous woman?”

Rosaria’s breath caught in her throat.

Jealous?

The word hit Rosaria with unique alacrity, but… Rosaria didn’t know what to make of it.

Lisa opened her eyes.

And Rosaria shook with hesitation.

Lisa stared coolly at Rosaria, showing neither hesitation nor doubt despite the apprehensiveness that surely showed in Rosaria’s silence. Momentarily, Lisa glanced at the dandelion. “You know…” and then she looked back at Rosaria with a gaze of resolute serenity. “My love for Jean isn’t so fragile.”

Hmph.

Rosaria broke eye contact. Her body suffered a chill, but she allowed no perturbation to manifest compromise in her posture.

Jealousy.

And Rosaria felt the pointedness of implication – the reluctant chill of a question…

When Rosaria told Lisa about the kiss, was jealousy the reaction Rosaria had expected?

Rosaria had thought of it as chaos. But Jealousy was a form of chaos, in a certain way; though Rosaria herself had always been free of such shackles, the concept of jealousy was familiar enough from Rosaria’s years of dirty work. The darkness of jealousy was what moved many men and women to evil. And now, Rosaria had to wonder…

Was jealousy the animus Rosaria had predicted, that day? Was jealousy the shadow that was supposed to darken Lisa, upon hearing Rosaria’s confession, into chaos?

Rosaria, standing there with her gaze averted, felt herself become tender with uncertainty.

And then Lisa’s voice, from beyond Rosaria’s little world of thoughts: “You know… I’ve been living like this for a long time.”

Rosaria looked up.

Lisa had brought the dandelion closer to her heart – had brought both hands close to her chest, as if in reverence – but she was still looking at Rosaria – calmly, softly. “What you told me, today, brings me no pain. If you and Jean kissed… I sustain no wound of betrayal. And if you and Jean kissed…”

Rosaria felt her body aching with the lassitude of ambiguity, but she kept it together.

And Lisa smiled. “My love for Jean is unaltered.”

A silence came over the plaza. Of course, the sounds of celebration continued to dance through the air – the people in the plaza just as carefree as ever – but still, somehow, it felt to Rosaria like she and Lisa were completely alone, standing in complete silence.

And then Lisa lifted the dandelion to the breeze.

Rosaria didn’t know what to think.

Lisa watched as the dandelion shimmered, held tenderly to meet the wind.

And Rosaria felt the shadow of a question in her mind. It was dark; it was distant. The possibility of it was so irritating, but, nevertheless…

Rosaria felt the creeping of cold in her body.

The truth.

Had Lisa ever really been Rosaria’s enemy?

And then…

A breeze took hold of the air.

Cape Oath. Windrise.

And Rosaria’s next exhalation was stolen from her.

Chapter Text

The sudden breeze in the air; it brought the past back to life.

Jean.

Before Rosaria knew it, she’d already turned around; the memories had all but taken control of her body – memories of every time she’d felt the kiss of a breeze and then turned to find Jean standing right there. But as Rosaria resolved facing the plaza…

Jean was nowhere to be seen.

The children played on in the sunlight.

It was just a breeze.

And as Rosaria blinked away the memories, she felt an irritating sense of disappointment take hold of her heart.

She tensed her muscles. She closed her eyes, as if rejecting her feelings.

To have been so disappointed – that Jean wasn’t there…

Rosaria stifled her chagrin, giving it sublimation instead of submission. She channelled her disappointment into the feeling she knew best – the thought she found herself most often indulging, whenever things didn’t go as she’d planned.

Eyes closed, muscles tense, Rosaria held her breath.

What a nuisance.

And then…

Lisa’s voice. “Rosaria.”

Hardly thinking, Rosaria opened her eyes. She restored composure to her body, turning around to once again face Lisa.

But…

What Rosaria saw wasn’t what she expected.

Lisa appeared completely – peacefully – unperturbed. It were like she’d noticed neither the breeze, nor Rosaria’s reaction. Instead, Lisa’s aimless gaze had lost focus, and she looked at nothing in particular, as if lost in thought.

Rosaria felt the tension in her heart slowly fade.

“You think me a jealous woman?”

Lisa, eyes still vaguely averted, smiled gently at the dandelion in her hand.

And Rosaria couldn’t help but find herself curious about what was going on in Lisa’s mind.

Lisa.

Do you really not care?

Lisa claimed to suffer no pain of betrayal – claimed that the kiss didn’t hurt her.

But then why was Lisa acting so strange?

Rosaria still didn’t know if she believed it – she still didn’t know if she could believe it – but even if Lisa sustained no pain in hearing about the kiss, that didn’t explain why Lisa was acting so out of character. Why was she so serene? Why was she so gentle?

Why?

And then the dandelion in Lisa’s hand gave a shimmer – a refraction of the still speaking breeze.

Rosaria blinked.

And one, two, three dandelion seeds gave themselves, from the flower, to the whispering voice of the wind.

Rosaria looked up.

Lisa, too, lifted her gaze, and her expression, as she watched the shining seeds, showed a gentle light of happiness.

The shimmers in the air lingered for a moment, then were gone – taken into the sky.

And Rosaria felt, for some reason, a sense of calm in the air. The dandelion seeds had taken with them some measure of her anxiety. She gazed into nothingness as she felt the calm suffuse her body. And then…

Lisa’s voice came easefully. “Rosaria.”

Rosaria shivered. She roused from her distraction, and found Lisa’s gaze.

Lisa nodded. “Are you going to offer a Windblume? Or not?”

Silence. The breeze.

A Windblume.

A wish.

And Rosaria restrained a shudder of dismay from crossing her body.

She’d already told Lisa no. She’d come to the city bearing no wish.

Lisa, however – either ignorant of Rosaria’s dismay or finding, in that dismay, nothing of impetus – allowed her gaze to disengage. Dreamily attuned to the breeze, Lisa’s gaze began to wander – revealing, as it did, no subject of focus – and, in that moment, it was like Lisa’s most engaged sense wasn’t that afforded to her by her eyes but, instead, whatever sense it was – be it physical or immaterial – that made her one with the very air.

Rosaria watched Lisa’s eyes slowly close.

A moment of shimmering calm. Rosaria felt almost lost in time.

And then, just as the breeze spoke, Lisa finally let go of the dandelion.

A wish.

Rosaria watched the dandelion be taken by the breeze, and despite the serenity of that moment…

In Rosaria’s mind, the thoughts were too much to bear.

Lisa.

You’re wrong.

When Rosaria had first arrived at the plaza, that day, Lisa had wasted no time in showing her perspicacity.

“What do you want, Rosaria?”

Lisa was right about that much, at least, and Rosaria had recognised it straight away: Lisa was too damned astute; her language was no mere coincidence. The tension between regret and desire in Rosaria’s heart, ever since that kiss under the great tree… Lisa might not have known the exact nature of that tension, but she clearly knew enough.

Lisa knew about the desire.

Perhaps Jean had already told Lisa everything, or perhaps Lisa had figured it out based on Rosaria’s prolonged absence. Either way, it didn’t matter to Rosaria how Lisa knew. What mattered to Rosaria…

Was that Lisa was only half right.

Despite her perspicacity, Lisa had made an assumption: she assumed that, if Rosaria held in her heart a desire, she must also hold in her heart…

A wish.

Lisa had made her assumptions irritatingly clear:

“If the desire in your heart burns too strongly to be ignored… This is the perfect day to finally do something about it.”

Lisa, if she wanted, could be painfully wry – insincere to the point of mockery – and that was how Rosaria had interpreted those words. She didn’t know why Lisa was so insistent on teasing Rosaria about that topic in particular – what did Lisa stand to gain from repeatedly accusing Rosaria of wanting to make a wish? Was she trying to embarrass Rosaria? Trying to undermine her strength? Her maturity? Rosaria didn’t know. But…

It felt like Lisa was up to no good.

But even though Lisa was right about the desire in Rosaria’s heart… Lisa couldn’t help herself; she had to overstep: if Rosaria held in her heart a desire, she must also hold in her heart a wish. Lisa seemed to take it for granted. And as far as Rosaria was concerned…

That was where Lisa was wrong.

The breeze. The dandelion.

Rosaria watched as Lisa’s offering to the breeze continued to rise. She watched as if she might watch forever.

But…

A desire.

A wish.

Rosaria felt the darkness of a scowl.

They’re not the same.

The dandelion melted into the sunlight.

Rosaria closed her eyes.

The world disappeared.

And the conviction in Rosaria’s mind was too strong to permit doubt.

“Are you going to offer a Windblume? Or not?”

Rosaria had accepted the desire in her heart – she’d decided to live with it, rather than run from it – but Lisa appeared to have a naive conception of that desire. Regardless of Lisa’s intentions – regardless of her motives – Lisa was categorically, objectively, wrong. Despite Rosaria’s desire…

Rosaria would never make a wish.

Rosaria wasn’t that stupid.

Desire was one thing; it meant that Rosaria could never be without thoughts of Jean. Rosaria’s mind and body were possessed – haunted – by memories of warmth. But no matter how her life had been changed by the ghost of desire, Rosaria would bear that curse herself.

No matter how much she wanted Jean, Rosaria would never need Jean.

And that was why Rosaria would never make a wish. Rosaria had no intention to beg before the gods. She needed nothing from Barbatos – nothing from fate – and nothing…

From Jean.

Desire hadn’t brought Rosaria that low.

Making a wish was asking for mercy – asking for a moment of respite from self-sufficiency. But Rosaria could handle everything herself. Even something as disgraceful as desire.

Was that conviction not something that Lisa understood?

Rosaria opened her eyes.

Lisa was still watching the sky – dreamily, as if lost.

Perhaps Lisa could stand to learn a lesson in humility: Lisa was painfully erudite, but…

Lisa…

Even she wasn’t infallible.

You don’t know me.

Somewhere – deep inside Rosaria’s body – a chill began to whisper of ice.

And then Lisa’s voice broke Rosaria’s reverie. “Rosaria.”

Rosaria blinked, returning to the veridical world.

The whispering cold was gone.

Lisa was gently smiling. “Your thoughts. Tell me.”

And Rosaria found herself overcome by inspiration. “Enough.” She spoke plainly, like she might speak to a client when debriefing after a job. “I meant what I said, before. I come bearing no wish.”

Lisa’s eyes showed a glint of apprehension, as if something in her finally knew how to interpret whatever ambiguity she’d observed in Rosaria’s countenance.

But Rosaria didn’t allow time for an interruption. She wanted to explain herself – wanted to show Lisa just how rash her assumptions had been. “To bear a wish is to make designs on forces outside of your own control. And of such folly… I know better. I didn’t come here, today, to ask for the grace of the gods. I came here, today, to enact my own will. That’s all.”

Lisa’s eyes remained gentle, as if she weren’t surprised to hear anything Rosaria had said.

And Rosaria, suppressing her frustration at the sight of Lisa’s peacefulness, turned half away.

Perhaps Rosaria shouldn’t be surprised. Lisa was hardly the type to take criticism or correction without challenge. But…

Whatever.

Rosaria needed Lisa to know the truth. She couldn’t bear Lisa’s smug conviction, so Rosaria faced Lisa once again.

Lisa appeared to be waiting patiently.

And Rosaria resumed in the same plain tone. “When we first met, today, you asked me what I wanted. I suspect you already knew the answer to that question, but after what I’ve told you… There’s no doubt: you know what I want.”

Lisa’s gaze showed a delicate kind of attention – as if she had something to say, but were afraid to interrupt, lest she sacrifice her chance to keep listening.

Rosaria narrowed her eyes. “I want Jean.”

Lisa’s expression shimmered.

And Rosaria felt a strange sense of freedom as she said such unfamiliar things out loud. “Ever since I kissed Jean, I haven’t stopped thinking about her. Even when I sleep. But Lisa…” Rosaria shook her head. “You’re naive.”

Lisa’s face admitted something almost like a frown.

But Rosaria was unrelenting. “You’re ignorant. Desire might be something like a curse – something like evil – but…” Rosaria smiled – wryly, like the taste of her words matched the sweetness of the conviction in her mind. “No matter what I want…”

Lisa’s lips appeared, for a moment, to promise interruption, but… Nothing came.

And Rosaria shook her head. “My want will never become a need. I’ll never ask for anything from anybody else. I’ll never let desire disgrace me so wretchedly. A wish… Is beneath me.”

Lisa’s momentary intimation of speech gave way to new hesitation. She softly shook her head and allowed a cautious smile to soften her features, as if thereby allowing whatever doubts she’d been hiding to gently disappear – like something Rosaria had said had been enough to assuage the vague misgivings that Lisa had chosen to keep silent.

That, of course, was strange. Rosaria had expected her words to land as a challenge to Lisa’s perspective, and Lisa’s reaction implied the converse. Regardless, Rosaria didn’t alter her course. She wouldn’t be thrown off so easily, and she wasn’t done. “In the wake of desire…” She nodded. “There are some things I’ve had to let go.”

Lisa seemed, now, newly attentive; her eyes had relaxed, and showed the light of openness.

Rosaria let her voice be sweetened by a whisper of melancholia – unable to restrain it, despite her better judgement. “I’ve had to relinquish control over my thoughts. I’ve had to accept change. If the scars left on my body and mind by Jean’s lips threaten to compromise my happiness – threaten to compromise the peace I’ve earned over these years of darkness…” She closed her eyes. “So be it. I can live in pain. If that’s truly what awaits me… Fine.”

And it was true. Rosaria could accept those things.

There came, in the moment of blind silence, no interruption.

So Rosaria opened her eyes, once again.

Lisa stood with her hand touching the brim of her hat – hiding her face from the sun, or hiding, perhaps, some other light newly revealed in her own eyes.

And Rosaria, once again, was undeterred. “But no matter what desire takes away from me – no matter what burdens it forces me to live with – desire will never take away from me my independence.”

Lisa lowered her hand from the brim of her hat. She averted her face, and closed her eyes.

Rosaria looked away, and in her voice was a gentle inflection of regret. “I’m better than that.”

Chaos. Trust. Desire. Jealousy.

Rosaria knew she couldn’t make the last month go away. She couldn’t rewind time and change things.

Damn it.

To hell with all of this.

But Rosaria knew, despite everything, that regret and desire, alike – though she had to live with them for the rest of her life…

They would never break her.

After all…

Flames. Smoke. Blood.

Rosaria laughed.

I’ve lived through worse.

And then Lisa finally spoke. “I was never able to understand Jean’s heart.”

Hmm?

Rosaria brought her attention back to Lisa.

Lisa met Rosaria’s gaze with calm resolve.

And Rosaria felt invigorated – intrigued. She found herself newly curious: what path, in the face of Rosaria’s challenge, was Lisa going to choose?

“I was never able to understand Jean’s heart.”

Those words hadn’t been exactly what Rosaria had expected. She’d expected, perhaps, for Lisa to more directly address what Rosaria had said. But these words…

What was Lisa getting at?

Rosaria stifled her frown.

And Lisa’s gaze remained gentle. “I was never able to figure Jean out, or what it was – truly – that she wanted.”

Rosaria folded her arms. She kept her expression blank.

Lisa’s eyes grew distracted, as if the memories prompting her speech were almost too vivid to bear.

And Rosaria couldn’t help but wonder what Lisa was actually feeling.

Lisa was being, on the surface, honest – uncharacteristically sincere – but the reality wasn’t that simple. Lisa’s words, earnest though they were, were offered out of context. Was Lisa sad? Was she regretful? Those seemed, to Rosaria, like plausible interpretations, but the answer, despite Lisa’s sincerity, hadn’t been revealed in her words. So Rosaria couldn’t blame herself for wondering…

Why was Lisa saying these things? And how did she really feel? About the kiss? About… Rosaria?

Was Rosaria about to find out?

Lisa’s distracted eyes found Rosaria, once again.

And Rosaria remained silent. After delivering her own speech – the correction to Lisa’s assumption about the supposed wish in Rosaria’s heart – Rosaria was feeling at peace. She had nothing further to prove, and that being that case…

Rosaria decided to simply listen.

Lisa smiled – gently, like she smiled through some conflicting feeling. “Sometimes I felt like I knew what Jean wanted – like she was trying to tell me something – but then… It would all be over, like…” She averted her face. Her distracted gaze shimmered, unfixed. “Like waking up from a dream.”

Rosaria, too, averted her gaze. There lingered, in her mind, a subtle tension. Was she being naive? Was it a mistake to hang on Lisa’s every word?

But Lisa’s voice, unseen, gave Rosaria no time for respite. “Jean would elude me, once again.”

Rosaria looked up…

And she found Lisa already gazing back.

Lisa nodded. “But even through all of that… My wish remained the same.”

A chill.

Rosaria restrained her vexation – she tensed her muscles – as she realised what Lisa was trying to do: she was trying to make a point.

A wish.

What would it take for Lisa to understand Rosaria’s words? A wish and a desire weren’t the same.

But Lisa simply nodded. “That wish… It was enough. Enough for me to carry on. Enough, Rosaria…”

Rosaria felt a shiver of irritation as she listened.

And Lisa’s next words were melancholy, but peaceful, as she spoke with calm clarity in her gently focused eyes. “It was enough to make me happy.”

Hmph.

Rosaria, arms still folded, allowed a self-righteous smile to darken her expression.

Regardless, Lisa’s gaze shimmered, a light of equanimity playing in the reflections in her eyes. She appeared unmoved. “When I asked if you were here to make a wish, you told me that, on the contrary, you were here to enact your own will.”

Rosaria narrowed her eyes.

Yes.

A shiver. Rosaria had meant to speak out loud. She felt her gaze falter for a moment, before resuming her composure. Was she so perturbed, in the heat of the moment, that she’d lost her cool? Couldn’t even speak?

Lisa nodded. “In truth, I think you’re right to be so self-reliant. Perhaps you’ve noticed, but that’s a trait you and I share. Regardless… There’s something I think you’re missing.”

Rosaria, again, found no voice, but this time she felt a spark of rationalisation: speaking was pointless. It was better, for now, to simply listen. Let Lisa show her hand.

Lisa smiled. “A wish. That, Rosaria, is a more nuanced kind of magic than you care to admit.”

Whatever.

Rosaria felt the chill of doubt.

But Lisa didn’t appear to notice Rosaria’s cynicism, or perhaps she’d simply expected it; Lisa’s voice resumed, unattenuated by hesitation. “You assert that the folly of a wish is in making designs on forces outside of your own control, but… You’re wrong.”

Wrong?

Rosaria frowned. Of course, Rosaria wasn’t infallible, but on this matter she knew she would never equivocate. Rosaria’s old life might’ve been over, but the infantile naivete of a wish was impossible to deny.

But despite Rosaria’s pessimism, she still found no voice.

She stared Lisa in the eyes.

And Lisa’s expression remained warm. “The truth is: you can make a wish, and in doing so, you can remain self-reliant.”

Rosaria’s silence finally ended; she let out a small laugh.

But Lisa’s warm gaze admitted only a shimmer of knowing peacefulness, as if she’d fully expected Rosaria’s reaction to be so dismissive.

Rosaria composed herself, and satisfied her inclination to speak by instead fixing Lisa with a raptly cynical gaze. Was it simply a point of stubborn pride, now, that Rosaria had yet to speak? Yet to interrupt Lisa’s monologue? Or was it, simply…

That Rosaria didn’t know what to say?

After all…

How could she respond to such wilful naivete?

Lisa assumed a posture more indicative of contemplation – putting her hand to her chin before speaking with the same calm voice. “Do you remember what I said to you, earlier?”

Hmm…

Rosaria was growing impatient.

Lisa appeared relaxed – unperturbed by Rosaria’s stubborn silence. “If you and Jean kissed…”

Once again, a shiver at the sound of that word.

Kissed.

But Rosaria revealed nothing of her reaction in her stoic gaze.

And Lisa’s eyes were bright with conviction. “So be it. As I said, I sustain no wound of betrayal.” Her voice was unfailingly sincere. “I love Jean, and no matter what happens, my love survives, unaltered. After all…” She failed to resist the expression of knowing good humour in her gentle smile. “My love is born of nothing but my own will, and even if, in the end, I never get the things I desire…” She nodded. “No force outside of my control could ever tarnish the happiness brought to me by my wish – the wish I’ve kept in my heart since I first made it, all those years ago.”

The sun. The petals in the air.

Mondstadt Plaza still sang with festivity, but there before Lisa…

Rosaria stood as if engulfed in shadows – the shadows of uncertainty.

A wish?

Rosaria felt the tension in her body.

No.

Lisa’s words were sophistry.

But Lisa simply adjusted her hat: to shield her eyes from the sun. “Rosaria… The truth is: there’s no folly in making a wish. That is…” She smiled. “As long as you’re ready to accept that your wish might not come true.”

And then Rosaria’s voice came, finally, with unambiguous clarity. “Enough.”

Lisa’s eyes were arrested by a gleam of curiosity. Perhaps she had been wondering when Rosaria would finally speak?

But Rosaria was equally bereft of an explanation for her sudden interjection. She’d spoken without thinking. Lisa’s words about wishes and folly were simply too much for Rosaria to process – too much for her to care about. Her mind was just too distracted – too full of thoughts…

About Jean.

This conversation had gone on for too long. Rosaria’s mind was losing focus, and she was becoming arrested by the memories that were her new burden.

Lisa picked up the basket of flowers before her. “If happiness means something to you… Don’t deny yourself the chance to experience the beauty of making a wish. And this…” She presented the basket to Rosaria.

Rosaria shot a cynical glance at the basket, feeling the whole time the light of Lisa’s gaze.

And then Lisa’s voice. “This is where you start. Stop fighting, Rosaria. You know what you want.”

Rosaria stared at the basket of flowers.

Cecilias. Windwheels.

Dandelions.

There was a darkness about the air – a haze of doubt. Rosaria’s exhalations felt unsteady.

A wish?

Never.

Lisa’s voice, through the haze. “After all… What have you got to lose?”

And Rosaria felt her mind succumb to the sudden chill of bitter frost.

Her body shivered. Her lungs were empty.

All she saw was nothingness, as if lost in a dream.

And then Windrise.

There was the caress of a breeze – leaves in the air, and the singing of the great tree’s boughs.

And then there was warmth.

Rosaria felt herself lost in it. She didn’t even fight it; it was almost a relief as the warmth of Jean’s kiss extinguished the chill in Rosaria’s bitterly cold body.

Jean.

And Rosaria tried to make sense of it all.

Why, that day, had Rosaria returned to the city? Did she remember?

Regret. Desire.

Rosaria had finally grown sick of running. She couldn’t escape the memories. She couldn’t escape the past. So she’d decided to face reality.

She’d returned to the city to tell Lisa about the kiss, because no matter Lisa’s reaction…

Rosaria would be the winner.

If Lisa chose to fight, it gave Rosaria the excuse she needed to dispose of the witch once and for all. It would, after all, only be self defence. Rosaria might not be able to prove that Lisa was involved with the Fatui spy and the Sumeru knife, but if Lisa attacked first…

It left Rosaria no choice. Nobody would be able to question it.

And if Lisa chose not to fight…

What would would that mean, for Rosaria?

“If you tell Lisa about all of this… You’ll finally believe me. You’ll finally know the truth about Lisa.”

If Lisa chose not to fight, would that prove Jean’s words correct? Jean had, at Windrise, conceded that Lisa wasn’t a good person, but all the while… Jean had been uncompromising in her assurance that Lisa wasn’t Rosaria’s enemy.

“She truly means you no harm. I promise.”

The words had lingered in Rosaria’s mind as she’d watched Jean walk away from Windrise, all those weeks ago. And, in the wake of Lisa’s refusal to fight, Rosaria wondered…

Had she seen the truth about Lisa? In the words Lisa had spoken?:

“I love Jean, and no matter what happens, my love survives, unaltered.”

Still lost in the dream of Windrise, Rosaria felt Jean’s warmth slip away. But, after so many such dreams… Rosaria was used to it – it no longer made her flinch – and in that moment of loneliness…

Rosaria felt a shiver.

Lisa.

Because Rosaria still felt like Lisa was hiding something.

What was it Lisa had said?

“My wish… It was enough. Enough for me to carry on. Enough, Rosaria… To make me happy.”

Rosaria remained silent in the dreamscape of cold. And then…

She sparked with resolve. She still felt like Lisa was hiding something, but…

That’s it.

It was because Lisa had left out a part of the story. Hadn’t she?

“No force outside of my control could ever tarnish the happiness brought to me by my wish – the wish I’ve kept in my heart since I first made it, all those years ago.”

Rosaria felt tense with anticipation, because…

Lisa hadn’t given voice to her wish. She’d kept that part…

A secret.

And Rosaria felt – with a certainty unbearably sharp – that she had to hear Lisa speak her wish aloud.

“If you tell Lisa about all of this… You’ll finally believe me. You’ll finally know the truth about Lisa.”

Rosaria was overcome with conviction. If Jean was to be proven correct, then Rosaria couldn’t walk away from Lisa without hearing everything.

It wasn’t, of course, that Rosaria cared to know, for its own sake, the nature of Lisa’s wish. In truth, Rosaria didn’t give a damn. On the day of the Windblume festival, wishes were as common as fireflies, and if Lisa’s wish were to live happily ever after with Jean, Rosaria would find it just as inane as any one of the hundreds of wishes released into the air – by children and lovers, alike – in the plaza, that day.

But…

Rosaria had been promised the truth. The truth about Lisa. The truth that would finally convince Rosaria that Lisa wasn’t the enemy. And how could Rosaria walk away…

If Lisa had held something back?

How could Rosaria truly make her judgement, if she didn’t have all the facts?

Rosaria was nothing if not thorough – she never left any loose ends – and if, on this occasion, she’d resolved to make her final decision on the matter…

Lisa didn’t get to hide.

Judgement had come calling.

Lisa had tried her best to put the onus on Rosaria – tried her best to make this conversation about Rosaria’s wish.

But Rosaria wasn’t going to play that game. She hadn’t returned to the city for advice. No. It was like she’d said to Lisa, when they’d first converged, that day.

“I’m here to end this. Once and for all.”

And so Rosaria had made up her mind.

Lisa.

Your wish.

Rosaria – cold and dreambound, suspended in her reverie of Windrise memories, bereft of Jean’s warmth – listened to her memory of the great tree’s singing boughs.

Let me hear your wish.

Because when there’s nothing left to hide…

I’ll know what to do.

Death. Or peace? What would it be? How was all of this going to end?

And my judgement will be final.

And then Rosaria overcame the cold as if emerging from an icy lake.

The real world came back to her. The sun. The plaza.

Rosaria looked up, and as she did, a ripple of cold air emanated from her like a shockwave.

And the chill in her heart was gone.

Lisa’s eyes shimmered. She shivered as the wave of frozen air passed – leaving only a twinkle of snowflakes in her gently tousled hair – and then, gently lowering the basket of flowers she’d been holding, Lisa blinked at Rosaria, as if unsure what to say – unsure what Rosaria was thinking.

It was clear, from Lisa’s reaction, that Rosaria hadn’t actually been unconscious – hadn’t actually been dreaming. Though it had felt like some time – alone with her thoughts – only seconds had passed.

Rosaria shook her head. She unfolded her arms, relaxed her posture, and didn’t restrain her wry smile as she spoke. “Your wish,” she said.

Lisa’s eyes showed an immediate light of attention – she appeared neither displeased nor confused by Rosaria’s words, but, regardless didn’t make any other feeling more apparent in her aspect.

And Rosaria spoke plainly, like it was just a job. “The wish you’ve kept in your heart all these years. Tell me.”

There was a moment of stillness; Lisa hadn’t fully reacted; her eyes showed no emotion. The air was silent.

And Rosaria wondered if her request – to hear Lisa’s wish vocalised – might’ve been too delectably invasive. Rosaria and Jean’s kiss hadn’t been enough to elicit, from Lisa, the chaos Rosaria had returned to the city expecting. But…

Rosaria kept her focus on Lisa.

A tension glimmered in Lisa’s slowly changing eyes.

Had Rosaria finally pushed too far? Might Rosaria get a fight, after all?

The sunlight in the air. The flowers – wishes carried away by Barbatos.

Rosaria narrowed her eyes, shivering with anticipation, ready for anything.

Lisa smiled. And then…

There was a flash of purple.

And Rosaria tensed every muscle in her body.

Chapter Text

Purple.

Light.

It all happened so fast. There was no time for Rosaria to make a decision – the tension that seized and emboldened her body was automatic – and Rosaria’s mind was allowed no time to reckon with what was happening. Rosaria’s apprehension of the moment had to be immediate, and her apprehension was clear:

She’d finally gotten a reaction out of Lisa.

And in that moment of enveloping purple, Rosaria was almost happy, because if Lisa gave Rosaria a fight, then Rosaria didn’t have to doubt her own next move.

Would the day end in death? Or peace?

Lisa.

You’d make my decision so easy?

Rosaria felt the electricity of her conviction even through the flash of purple that obscured her senses, but then…

There was stillness.

Rosaria blinked.

Light. Shadow.

The sounds of the festival.

Rosaria looked up.

And she suddenly felt foolish.

Lisa was standing there staring at a purple rose, floating above her elegantly relaxed hand.

Hmm?

And the tension in Rosaria’s muscles was replaced with a tension in her eyes as she stifled the frown of humiliation that threatened to darken her expression.

It wasn’t what Rosaria had thought. The purple flash…

The rose above Lisa’s hand gently rotated by the instruction of Lisa’s likewise gentle gestures; Lisa watched the purple rose with equanimity – the rose she’d summoned in a flash of light.

And Rosaria found herself newly irritated. It looked like things wouldn’t be so simple, after all. And besides that…

Would Lisa actually accede to Rosaria’s request? Would Lisa actually speak aloud the wish she’d kept, until then, unspoken?

And would Rosaria really know what to think, even if that happened?

Yes.

Rosaria didn’t allow any room for doubt.

I’ll know.

And so her assurance was redoubled. Rosaria had made the right choice. Her decision, to ask about Lisa’s wish, was astute. Hearing that wish spoken aloud would finally give Rosaria the information she needed to make her judgement, once and for all.

“If you tell Lisa about all of this… You’ll finally believe me. You’ll finally know the truth about Lisa.”

Lisa’s wish was the missing piece. Rosaria knew that, now. If there was any chance of Jean being right about Lisa, this was how it would be revealed.

Lisa had one more chance to save herself.

Rosaria narrowed her eyes.

Lisa, finally, looked up from the rose.

Rosaria held her composure.

And Lisa fixed Rosaria with a resolute gaze. “You want me to tell you about my wish?”

Rosaria, despite her anticipation, allowed no reaction to disgrace her aspect. Lisa wouldn’t get the satisfaction of knowing how her teasing was landing – of knowing that Rosaria was hanging on every word.

And Lisa smiled. “Okay.”

Rosaria felt a shiver of subtle surprise – as if part of her had been expecting, still, that Lisa would resist.

And Lisa, maintaining Rosaria’s eye-contact, dismissed the purple rose with a graceful gesture of her hand. “Do you remember what I told you? At the Adventurers’ Guild?”

Rosaria resisted the temptation to frown. She hadn’t expected to have her attention directed back to the past, but even so, her thoughts automatically went back to that day, over a month prior – the day she’d tracked Lisa to the Guild and they’d had their first real conversation.

Jean. Flames. Varka.

So much had been said. But…

What had Lisa said?

Rosaria was afforded little time to think. Lisa’s voice intruded – its tenor soft but firm. “Let me remind you…”

Rosaria blinked, and refocused her gaze on Lisa.

Lisa was still gently smiling. “They’re two halves of one. Do you remember me saying that?”

Rosaria felt a chill of recognition.

Yes.

She did remember.

All those weeks ago, just as Rosaria had been about to leave the Guild – as Rosaria had finally decided to go, herself, to find the Fatui spy’s orphaned daughter – Lisa had offered one final piece of advice.

“If you’re ever lost… Just look at her. You’ll know what to do.”

The advice, at the time, had struck Rosaria as all too cryptic.

“Look at her?” She’d asked. “Who?”

And Lisa’s response had been the very thing she’d just brought up, now.

“They’re two halves of one. Just look.”

In the sunlight of the plaza, Rosaria stared into Lisa’s eyes.

Lisa remained calm – patient.

And Rosaria remembered her initial confusion in that long ago moment, just her and Lisa at the Guild.

Rosaria shook her head. She wasn’t in the mood for more teasing. She just wanted to get to the truth. “You were speaking of the sisters,” she said, meaning Jean and Barbara. “Yes. That day at the Guild, you witnessed how I acted around Bar–” Rosaria hesitated. Saying the name out loud suddenly felt too much. “The girl.”

Lisa nodded.

That day at the Guild, for Rosaria, had been almost too much. Tracking Lisa – investigating Lisa – was one thing, but beyond that, Barbara had gotten involved. Not only did Rosaria have to deal with Lisa’s possible subterfuge, but she was forced, at the same time, to reckon with Lisa’s possible intention to harm Barbara. Since Barbara had gotten Rosaria mixed up in all this – that day, at the cathedral – Rosaria had been increasingly irritated by how much deference Barbara demanded. Yes, Barbara was a thorn in Rosaria’s side, but nevertheless… Rosaria couldn’t help but feel responsible for the girl’s safety. And when it seemed like Lisa had intended to involve Barbara in whatever scheme Lisa was devising…

It had made Rosaria’s day that much worse.

Rosaria had eventually figured out that Lisa’s plan was to make Barbara jealous – to expose Barbara to the intimacy between Bennett and Razor in order to provoke Barbara’s own reaction. In that plan… Lisa had succeeded.

Witch.

In response – in seeing how close Bennett and Razor were – Barbara had even started to cry.

And Rosaria, as irritated as she’d been… Had made a strange decision.

She’d tried to comfort Barbara. Rosaria had reached out, and held Barbara by the shoulders – to try to ease Barbara’s tears.

Suddenly, Lisa’s voice. “Rosaria.”

Rosaria, her memories interrupted, looked up.

And Lisa’s eyes showed the light of conviction. “Did you use my advice, in the end?”

“They’re two halves of one. Just look.”

Rosaria didn’t distil the dismissive chagrin from her gaze. She uttered only a murmur of diminution. “Hmph.”

But Lisa seemed, regardless, all too satisfied with how her words had landed – the look in her eyes remained resolute.

The truth, of course, was that Rosaria had used Lisa’s advice. It was mercilessly frustrating to admit it – and, even at the time, it had been almost too irritating to bear – but there had been a moment when those words had echoed in Rosaria’s mind.

The coalhouse.

After Rosaria and Jean had found the orphan – after the orphan had stabbed and slashed at Rosaria, and Jean had healed Rosaria’s wounds and broken through the orphan’s resistances with a gentle embrace – after all of that…

Rosaria had needed to make a decision.

She’d been coughing up blood, after all, and hadn’t been able to hide it from Jean. Rosaria remembered Jean standing in the doorway of the coalhouse – holding the orphan in her arms – and Rosaria remembered Jean’s words.

“I won’t rest unless I know you’re okay. Let Barbara check on you. Do it… For me.”

The memory of it was clear – too clear – because in that moment…

Lisa had been proven right.

There, in the plaza, Rosaria clenched her fists.

When Rosaria had looked Jean in the eyes, she’d immediately remembered Lisa’s advice.

“You’ll know what to do.”

And Rosaria had hated that feeling. There, in the coalhouse, looking into Jean’s eyes, Rosaria knew that she couldn’t say no – she knew she was going to do what Jean asked – and even if Lisa’s advice had been correct only by accident…

Rosaria had still been unable to purify from her mind the thought that Lisa, had she known about that moment, would’ve been so smug.

How wretched.

“Rosaria?”

A shiver of interruption.

It was Lisa – in the present.

Rosaria shook the past from her mind and reclaimed Lisa’s eye-contact.

Lisa nodded. “Well?”

And Rosaria sighed. She averted, for a moment, her eyes.

“Did you use my advice, in the end?”

The truth, or a lie? What would it be? And Rosaria knew that she didn’t have a choice. She’d returned to the city, that day, with the spirit of defiance in her veins. She was sick of running from the truth – sick of denying reality. To tell a lie, now – even a lie of omission – would be the most wretched thing of all.

A lie…?

And Rosaria smiled.

Rosaria simply wouldn’t. She refused.

Yes, the thought of Lisa’s smug smile was the most irritating thing Rosaria could imagine, but even that wasn’t enough to deter her from what she’d decided.

She met Lisa’s gaze, once again.

Lisa’s patient eyes admitted the subtlest glimmer of anticipation.

And Rosaria nodded. She spoke calmly, like her words were of little profundity. “Yes. I did think of your advice, when the time came.”

Lisa’s expression shifted to accommodate the slightest light of happiness.

And Rosaria finished with equanimity in her voice. “But don’t let it get to your head. If you ask me, your words barely even count as advice.” Rosaria remembered that look in Jean’s eyes, standing in the coalhouse doorway. “When that moment came, I would’ve done the same thing even if you and I had never spoken – if I’d never heard you utter those words. Your advice was more…” Rosaria hesitated.

Lisa’s smile was increasingly kind – as if she were listening to a child retelling a dream or sharing a spontaneous thought.

Rosaria rolled her eyes. “Your advice was more like a prediction. But you know what they say: even a broken clock is right twice a day.”

Lisa sighed – apparently unperturbed by Rosaria’s hostile and dismissive tone.

And Rosaria frowned. “Regardless, what does that have to do with anything? You agreed to tell me your wish, didn’t you?”

Lisa raised an eyebrow.

Rosaria folded her arms. “Having second thoughts? What’s with the smokescreen tactic?”

Lisa appeared to contain the impulse to express a gentle laugh; her hand touched her lips as if to quell any unbecoming mirth. “I am telling you, Rosaria.”

Rosaria’s frown deepened.

And Lisa now failed to restrain the expression of her happiness; she touched her lips, once again, but this time in laughter, not laughter’s quelling – and when her laughter was over, she smiled at Rosaria. “Tell me…”

Rosaria felt a quiver of curiosity. She narrowed her eyes at Lisa.

Lisa’s expression, as she allowed the dramatic pause to linger far too irritatingly long, remained kind.

And Rosaria had a bad feeling; everything about Lisa, in that moment, spoke of mischief, and that…

Wasn’t that strange?

Hadn’t Lisa, just minutes before, been so profoundly sincere? So earnestly honest as she’d spoken to Rosaria about her love for Jean? There had been a sadness – a regret – in Lisa’s voice, back then, and now…

It were as if Lisa’s energy had completely shifted.

But…

Had it?

Or was there still a lingering shadow of melancholy in the way Lisa’s eyes shimmered?

Lisa put her hand to her chin. “Which one of them was it?”

Rosaria took a moment to process the question.

And Lisa nodded. “When the moment of truth came, and you had to look into her eyes to know what to do… Who were you with? Barbara, or Jean?”

Apprehensive silence stole Rosaria’s voice. She allowed, for a moment, her eyes to avert from Lisa’s.

Rosaria didn’t know why Lisa was asking all this – what did it have to do with Lisa’s wish? – and Rosaria wasn’t completely sure that she wasn’t walking into some kind of trap, but regardless…

Lisa’s question had enlivened yet another memory.

Barbara.

And Rosaria found herself suddenly – strangely – nervous. Like the mere thought of Barbara, in that moment, was enough to awaken some latent tension in Rosaria’s heart.

The graveyard. After Rosaria had spoken to Lisa in the darkroom, all those weeks ago, Barbara had taken Rosaria to the graveyard for a private conversation. That was where Barbara had revealed her apprehension of the animosity between Rosaria and Lisa, and more than that…

It was where Barbara had cried, after Rosaria had been too hard on her.

And then a stab of bitter remorse.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Rosaria flinched, the memory of Barbara’s words too sharp to bear.

“How many times do you have to hurt me before you’ll finally be happy?”

But reliving that pain was pointless, so Rosaria squashed it.

And Lisa’s question had highlighted just how ambiguous their conversation in the plaza , so far, had been.

“When the moment of truth came, and you had to look into her eyes to know what to do… Who were you with? Barbara, or Jean?”

Did Lisa know, at all, about what had happened at the coalhouse? About Rosaria pinning Jean against the wall – losing control at the sight of Jean’s sword? About the orphan’s slashes? It seemed plausible that Lisa may have gleaned some understanding from Jean, but Rosaria couldn’t be sure. Either way… It appeared that Lisa didn’t know enough about the coalhouse to know that the moment of truth Rosaria was talking about – the moment where Lisa’s advice had been vindicated – was a moment with Jean.

Or perhaps Lisa did know, and she just wanted Rosaria to say it out loud.

Rosaria felt a shiver of indignation.

She wouldn’t put something like that past Lisa; Lisa would do anything to stay in control – to win.

Right?

Regardless…

Rosaria shook the thoughts from her head, and stared Lisa in the eyes.

Lisa was watching with patient attention, a faint smile in her gaze.

And Rosaria knew that her commitment to the truth wasn’t going to falter. She spoke with conviction. “It was Jean. Jean was the one whose eyes I looked into – whose eyes… Revealed the truth.”

Lisa’s smile, no longer restricted to the glimmer in her eyes, showed in her whole expression; she smiled, and as she did so, she nodded. “I see.”

But Rosaria felt a shadow of contemplation come over her own mind.

Barbara…

Rosaria’s answer had been honest – it had been a moment of truth with Jean that Rosaria had been thinking of when she’d granted that Lisa’s prediction had come true – but… There had been a moment of truth with Barbara, too. Hadn’t there?

“How many times do you have to hurt me before you’ll finally be happy?”

Rosaria remembered, vividly, that moment. She remembered the graveyard, and the light, and the shivering in her own exhalations. And…

Rosaria remembered the look in Barbara’s eyes.

She remembered exactly what she’d thought, in that moment. As Rosaria had stared into Barbara’s eyes…

Barbara and Jean had seemed more similar than ever.

Rosaria had never noticed, before then, but she couldn’t deny it: Barbara and Jean had exactly the same eyes. It was uncanny.

And that moment in the graveyard, when Rosaria had pushed Barbara’s patience too far – with an invasive question about her feelings for Bennett – Rosaria had realised something. It was something she’d suppressed – something which, at the time, Rosaria hadn’t fully recognised – but now, as Rosaria stood before Lisa and considered the words Lisa had said…

Rosaria’s denial disappeared like a shadow swept away by dawn.

Barbara…

Looking into Barbara’s eyes – seeing the tears welling up in them…

Rosaria had felt the truth, even though she’d ignored it. The truth…

It was unbearable.

Impossible.

But it was right there, and the word to describe that feeling was like the promise of something terrible and incredible about to change everything forever.

Barbara…

The memory of those heartbroken eyes.

A shiver. Bitter cold.

Rosaria felt like she could die, or was already dead.

In the sunlight of the plaza, Rosaria bowed her head, and brought her hand to her face, as if to shield her eyes from the glare.

Barbara.

And Rosaria had to restrain the laughter from tarnishing her lips, because, of all things…

It was love.

Rosaria loved Barbara. Not the same way she loved Jean , but still, it was love.

And Rosaria couldn’t help but feel like that was almost funny, in a twisted sort of way.

Without looking up, or removing, from her face, her hand, Rosaria spoke in a calm tone. “You know…”

There was a moment of silence.

Rosaria finally looked up.

Lisa was watching with vague attention in her eyes – her expression neither happy or sad.

And Rosaria sighed as she relinquished control of the irritating irony that had possessed her.

“It’s true that when I looked into Jean’s eyes, I couldn’t deny my intuition. I knew exactly what I was going to do; even though Jean’s request, at the coalhouse, was something I’d usually refuse, I knew I couldn’t say no. But still…”

Lisa’s attention turned newly adamant – her eyes somehow more focused.

And Rosaria smiled. “When I looked into Barbara’s eyes, at the graveyard, I learned a more important truth. Something it took me until now to fully understand.”

Lisa’s focused eyes admitted a shimmer of happiness – as if Rosaria had finally said something Lisa had been waiting to hear.

Rosaria, however, didn’t let it perturb her. “As it turns out, the most important part of your advice wasn’t the instruction to look into Barbara or Jean’s eyes. On the contrary…” Rosaria looked away. “It was your observation. Your observation about Barbara and Jean.” In the darkness of her mind – the world a blur – Rosaria remembered the blood she’d been coughing from her lungs until she’d drank Barbara’s potion. She’d long since known the truth about that blood; she’d realised it after Barbara had left her alone, at the graveyard.

“What’s wrong with you?”

The blood was a manifestation of Rosaria’s pain – a manifestation of her relentless need to control and eliminate the feelings that were growing in her heart for all those years that Barbara had been there, a thorn in Rosaria’s side – the pain that had been awakened and doubled by Barbara’s initial request, at the start of all this, for Rosaria’s to investigate Bennett’s claim about the Fatui.

Yes…

The truth was…

Love.

Rosaria had fought it for so long. She’d resisted the feelings and pushed them away, furious and indignant whenever the truth in her heart threatened to ruin the simple life she’d worked so hard to create.

But…

Lisa was right.

And it wasn’t about looking into Barbara’s eyes – not really. The real truth – the real wisdom in Lisa’s advice, at the Guild – had been the other part of what Lisa had said.

Rosaria opened her eyes.

Lisa’s kind gaze hadn’t changed. Upon seeing Rosaria’s eyes open, Lisa didn’t flinch; she only let the briefest glimpse of curiosity show in the equanimity of her expression.

And Rosaria nodded. “Barbara and Jean. They’re two halves of one. Two halves…” Rosaria hesitated. She felt a truth in her body that she almost didn’t want to speak, but the conviction in her heart – to be dedicated to the truth, no matter what, and to be done with running away – was too strong.

Lisa smiled.

And Rosaria, staring resolutely into Lisa’s eyes, spoke with calm passion. “They have so many things in common. Courage. Kindness. Stubbornness. Their eyes. I’ve seen their connection. I can tell it runs deeper than they show. They ignore each other in public, but that isn’t the truth. And the most important thing…”

Lisa’s eyes were vibrant with meaning. Somehow, looking into those eyes, Rosaria was able to tell that Lisa knew exactly what Rosaria was going to say.

Rosaria restrained a quiver of emotion from expressing in her voice. “I have feelings for them both. A different kind of feelings, but even so…” She almost smiled. “It’s love. I don’t even give a damn, any more. Lisa… At some point over the last month, I died. And Barbara and Jean… They’re the two halves of my death. The two halves of my rebirth.”

Shadows. Light.

Rosaria felt the afternoon in the plaza, but more than that, she felt the vibrancy of truth – permeating the air and, perhaps, the whole world.

Lisa waited for Rosaria to finish.

And Rosaria obliged. “They’re the reason I went through all this. They’re the reason I’m now forever changed. Barbara. Jean…” Rosaria felt her whole body alive with honesty. “They’re two halves of one. Two halves of my future.”

Lisa’s exhalation brought with it a glimmer of equanimity – like she were finally freed of something that had haunted her.

Rosaria smiled. “Two halves of one. I think that was the only truly astute thing you ever said, witch.”

Silence.

The afternoon and the flowers.

And then Lisa laughed.

Rosaria couldn’t even bring herself to feel irritated; by now, Rosaria was too used to Lisa’s demeanour – too used to just how annoying Lisa was.

Lisa let her gentle laughter come to a natural end, and then resolved into a posture of calm dignity, her eyes locked on Rosaria, and her voice relaxed. “Did you know that Jean, when she was a child, had a pet tortoise?”

Rosaria frowned.

And Lisa gently laughed, before resuming her speech. “I mention it only to illustrate for you…” The tone in her voice was now almost dreamy. “I want you to know just how different things were in the past.”

Unable to control her reaction, Rosaria smiled. It was strange, of course, that she would smile – Lisa’s words seemed like a blatant non-sequitur, and might easily have produced, before any other reaction, a frown – but, regardless, Rosaria’s irresistible reflex… Was to smile. Because…

The past…

Rosaria didn’t need a lecture on that particular topic.

She fixed Lisa with a firm gaze. “Indeed,” said Rosaria. “The childhood version of me would never dream of the life she ended up living. The version of me that existed before I knew death… If she were to meet this,” she emphasised her body by permitting a shimmer to cross her posture, “she wouldn’t recognise herself in what she saw.”

Lisa nodded. “Right.” She smiled, and allowed a look of contemplation to light her eyes as they wandered slightly to the middle distance. “And do you think…”

Rosaria narrowed her eyes. Something about Lisa’s voice…

Lisa returned her gaze to Rosaria’s, and spoke peacefully. “That little girl from twenty years ago, Jean Gunnhildr… Do you think she’d recognise herself? If she saw the Acting Grand Master, now?”

Hmph.

A trite question. Time has mercy on nobody. Surely Lisa didn’t think her question profound?

If Lisa noticed Rosaria’s cynicism, she didn’t falter. “And her younger sister, Barbara Pegg; that little girl, twenty years ago. Do you think she’d recognise the Acting Grand Master, today?”

Rosaria shook her head. “No. Perhaps not. Time changes us all. So what?”

Lisa raised an eyebrow.

Rosaria frowned. “What is it, witch?”

Lisa smiled. “So what? That’s all you have to say?”

Rosaria blinked, unsure how to respond.

And Lisa winked. “You did hear what I said, right? Jean had a pet tortoise.” She put her hand to her lips in silent laughter, and then found Rosaria’s eyes, once again. “The difference between the Jean from back then and the Acting Grand Master we know, now… Compared to that, Rosaria…” Lisa’s smile was warm – almost caring. “You and your own childhood self… You look practically like twins.”

Rosaria, now doubly cynical, found herself beset by dismissive incredulity. Time had mercy on nobody, true, but time had been especially cruel to Rosaria. For Lisa to trivialise the extent of Rosaria’s corruption – the extent to which the spilling of blood had altered her, ever since her initial abduction by the bandits… If Rosaria were less thick-skinned, she might’ve taken offence. But then…

A thought gave Rosaria pause. The truth was…

Rosaria knew nothing about Jean’s childhood.

The example Lisa had given, with the tortoise, may have seemed silly, but was it possible… That there was a deeper truth hiding in the story?

Rosaria’s rebirth had been in blood. By contrast…

What version of a baptism had the past forced upon Jean?

It might not have been blood – there might not have been flames and smoke – but Rosaria wondered… What, by the merciless hand of time, had Jean lost? What had been taken away from her – and by whom?

And…

Rosaria smiled, unable to conceal the mirth she felt in response to the irreverence of own thought:

What did a tortoise have to do with it?

Lisa’s voice was easeful. “Don’t think about it too hard.”

Rosaria looked up, her frown of doubt barely concealed.

And Lisa smiled. “You already know the truth – the thing that was stolen from Jean as time went by.”

Rosaria felt increasingly impatient. She realised, then, that the conversation had gotten way off track. They were supposed to be talking about Lisa’s wish – that was, after all, the request Rosaria had made – but Lisa had gotten away with a duplicitous trick; somehow, Lisa had twisted the conversation, and now Rosaria found herself sceptical, as ever, of Lisa’s intentions.

But Lisa’s expression was gentle, and she spoke with equanimity. “What was stolen from Jean. It was, of course….”

Rosaria shivered with irritation.

But Lisa only smiled. “Barbara.”

And Rosaria felt a chill.

Chapter Text

The plaza was taken in the grasp of shadow – subtly, as if a cloud had eclipsed the sun – but this shadow was revealed also – and, in this way, it was perhaps even more profoundly clear – as the dimness against which Rosaria found her now vibrantly unclear thoughts.

Barbara…

And in Rosaria’s mind, months of doubt and intensifying thoughts finally burst out into the truth.

Rosaria found herself as if suspended somewhere timeless. It was just her mind – just her memory. Rosaria was there, all alone, strangely peaceful in the privacy of her epiphany.

Why had Rosaria returned to the city, again?

Yes.

That was it.

Judgement. It was finally time for the conflict with Lisa to be brought to an end. The only thing left…

Was arbitration.

Guilty, or innocent?

And the path to Rosaria’s answer had been long and hard.

Silence. Contemplation. There was no sound or light admitted into the place where Rosaria found herself, but still… Somehow…

There was memory.

The kiss. Jean’s lips – her ephemeral warmth.

Rosaria, in the darkness of her mind, felt herself breathing steadily.

Rosaria had returned to the city in the spirit of truth; she’d told Lisa the truth about what happened at Windrise – the kiss – and in response to Rosaria’s confession, Lisa had been unexpectedly calm; she’d expressed neither hostility, nor jealousy.

Perhaps, one might’ve thought, all of this might’ve been enough to convince Rosaria that Lisa wasn’t her enemy – enough to vindicate the words Jean had spoken as she’d walked away from Windrise, leaving Rosaria’s life in pieces. But…

It hadn’t been enough.

Even despite Lisa’s reaction to Rosaria’s confession, Rosaria had remained doubtful; she still hadn’t made up her mind about what Lisa deserved – about what Lisa was, in the end, going to get.

Punishment? Or absolution?

Rosaria hadn’t, at that point, been ready to let go of her beliefs – hadn’t been ready to forget every time she’d been convinced that Lisa deserved nothing more than a blade across her throat.

But that hadn’t been all. There was more. There was…

Lisa’s honesty – her undeniable sincerity, and genuine vulnerability.

After Rosaria’s confession, Lisa had opened up, and shown the truth that she held in her heart: the truth about her suffering.

When Lisa had shared so much about her life with Jean – the loneliness of her apparently unrequited love – Rosaria had known that Lisa was truly earnest, and this, too, might’ve been enough to convince Rosaria that Lisa wasn’t her enemy. But…

Once again, it hadn’t been enough.

Once again, Rosaria had remained doubtful; she still hadn’t made up her mind. Even in light of both Lisa’s lack of jealousy and her vulnerability, Rosaria still hadn’t made her judgement.

Guilty, or innocent?

Rosaria still wasn’t ready to be let go by what gripped her.

She still needed blood.

Because after so long engaged in merciless war with Lisa…

Blood was the only thing Rosaria could see as justice.

But, eventually…

Things had all changed – all at the mention of one particular name.

Barbara.

And the thought of that name was enough to admit into Rosaria’s doubt-darkened mind a glimmer of hopeful light.

Rosaria felt the light, like absolution, warming the cold of her heart.

Barbara.

Rosaria felt herself smiling.

“Don’t think about it too hard. You already know the truth – the thing that was stolen from Jean as time went by.”

Those words spoken by Lisa… Rosaria remembered them, and now – now that Barbara’s light had brightened Rosaria’s mind…

Time.

Change.

Rosaria found herself vibrantly certain of a new truth – something that chased away the remnants of Rosaria’s bloodlust, and glimmered like a promise of dawn.

Lisa…