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To say it was a beautiful day outside was an understatement. Today put all other beautiful days to shame. It was a beautiful day the likes of which the Goddess herself had never seen. There was a lake just past the camp that sparkled in the sunlight like a field of sapphires, and this hillock—covered in the most verdant grass one had ever laid eyes on, even after the entire Black Eagle Strike Force had trampled up it—provided the perfect vantage point to gaze upon it. There were the misty snowcaps of the Oghma Mountains in the distance, dark blue against the perfect periwinkle sky—a sky with just the right amount of clouds. The sun was warm, but the breeze was cool and brisk.
It was a beautiful day to end all beautiful days, Monica thought, and Lady Edelgard was wasting it! It wasn’t her fault, of course, but it wasn’t right that she couldn’t even have a single afternoon off in peace.
Lady Edelgard had her face buried in her hands. She let out a muffled sigh. “I’m sorry, Monica,” she groaned. She laid back against the slope and let the grass, rippling in the breeze, dance around her silver and scarlet armor. “But I simply cannot relax, no matter how I try. I’ve forgotten how to do it, I fear.”
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” Monica said. Even this perfect day was soured by the fact that Lady Edelgard couldn’t enjoy it. What good was good weather like this if the most wonderful woman in all of Fódlan couldn’t enjoy it?
“You’ve nothing to apologize for, Monica.” Lady Edelgard lifted her arms and let them flop down at her sides. “I’m glad you found a way to clear my schedule this afternoon, I really am. I do appreciate it. The problem lies with me. Thoughts bite at my head, like a thousand angry gnats; each one an obstacle or a dispute or logistics issue I have to solve. No matter how much I delegate, the work never ends. I even dream about it.”
“You shouldn’t dream of such awful things, Your Majesty.” Monica sat up. “I could make some tea for you, if it helps! You’ve had bergamot tea for the past five days straight, and though your taste is, of course, impeccable, that blend of black tea does keep you awake and alert. Maybe I could make you a nice herbal blend of chamomile and lavender?”
“That would be just fine, Monica.” Lady Edelgard sighed and closed her beautiful lilac eyes. She blew a lock of her snow-white hair out of her face. “What I could really go for,” she murmured, “is if, just for a little while, my head could be as filled with insubstantial fluff as one of those clouds up there,” she said, pointing to one of the few streaks of wispy cirrus clouds.
A candle’s flame sprang to life in Monica’s brain. A head filled with cottony fluff… Why did that ring a bell?
It rang a bell, of course, because there was a spell which she had read about (but never had cast before) in House Och’s prized tome, The Wind Caller’s Genesis—penned and imbued with power by the Wind Caller himself, Saint Macuil. The spell’s description specifically mentioned that it ‘filled one’s head with fluff,’ and that was exactly what Lady Edelgard wished for!
“I won’t let you down, Your Majesty,” Monica said, and she all but leaped to her feet, brushing the grass from her robes.
Lady Edelgard looked up at her and furrowed her brow. “Excuse me?” she asked, sitting up.
“No, lie right there, ma’am! I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail!” Monica insisted, and she ran off to her tent to collect the spellbook.
Of course, it wasn’t hard to find; Monica kept her quarters neat and tidy, and nothing was ever out-of-place. She was back with her spellbook in hand in a matter of moments, and it was easy to find the spell she was looking for; she’d memorized the table of contents ten years ago, and while people might change, books never did!
“Velvetize,” Monica read, while Lady Edelgard squinted curiously at her. “With this spell, thou shalt grant one a respite from the harshness of one’s life. Thou shalt fill one’s head with fluff, and all that troubles them currently shall leave them.”
“This sounds like those relaxing herbs Linhardt partakes in,” Lady Edelgard noted. “Perhaps I should simply ask him if he has any to spare.”
“Oh, but those will leave you airheaded for hours, Your Majesty,” Monica said. “This spell can be undone whenever one chooses! I can cast it now, and then cast the counterspell after an hour or so and all will be restored. That’s exactly what it says in the description.”
“You’ve never cast this spell before?”
“I’ve had no use for it, but it’s a simple one.”
Lady Edelgard stood up, stretched, and cracked her joints. “I suppose it cannot hurt,” she said. “Very well. Cast the spell, Monica. Oh, but—does it say why it has such an… ordinary name? Spells usually have much more impressive names than ‘velvetize.’”
“Well, I suppose it makes one’s thoughts as soft as velvet.”
“I see. That does make sense. If this works, I might enlist you to use it on me for… other occasions.”
“Of course it will work,” Monica assured Lady Edelgard. “I’ve never failed you before, and I shall not now!”
She recited the incantation. A magic seal engraved itself in the air between herself and Edelgard, and a soft, glittering, sparkling pink cloud wreathed itself around one gloved hand while the other held up her tome. At the end, she snapped her fingers to cast the spell just as Hubert did with his dark magic, because that belligerent, brooding boor certainly did not have a monopoly on looking cool while casting spells.
The cloud, gleaming like gaseous pink tourmaline, swirled around Lady Edelgard, lighting upon her armor, its colors dancing across the polished plates of her armor. “It, er, tingles a bit,” she said, smiling nervously. “I suppose it is meant to do that. It does feel… good, I suppose. I feel warm. And a bit… fuzzy? It’s nice. I think it’s working, Monica.”
“Well, as the spell takes effect, you ought to feel even better,” Monica said. Warm pride welled up in her heart; if anything, it felt as though the spell had filled her chest with fluff. Soft, warm, plush…
Wait.
Something was amiss.
Lady Edelgard pursed her lips. “Is something wrong, Monica?” she asked, looking up ever so slightly at her.
“Well,” Monica said, though (oddly enough) even though she ought to have felt worried, she still felt warm and fluffy inside, “you’ve always been exactly two-fifths of an inch taller than me, Lady Edelgard. Now you’re about two inches shorter.”
“What?” Lady Edelgard looked around, her scarlet cape and long white ponytail swaying to and fro. “What the—You’re right! You’ve suddenly gotten taller than me!”
“Don’t panic,” Monica said, but the moment she saw that, she saw two little protrusions poking out from Lady Edelgard’s white hair just past her golden tiara. Like little nubs of horns, slightly curved—except they weren’t made of what horns were normally made of: they were… soft. And looked to be ever so slightly fuzzy, as though they were made from gold-colored felt or velvet. And they had seams.
Come to think of it, Lady Edelgard’s tiara looked different, too—it was still gold-colored, but it didn’t look like metal anymore, just like the nubs.
“Your face belies your words, Monica,” Lady Edelgard said sternly. She raised her hand to her mouth to politely clear her throat, likely preparing to give Monica a well-deserved chewing-out—
“I can fix this, Your Majesty,” Monica blurted out, flipping to the next page of the tome. “The counterspell is right—”
“Monica von Ochs, what in blazes has happened to my hand?”
In all her panic, in all the excitement, Monica fumbled with the tome, and it slipped from her hands and fell to the ground at her feet, snapping shut. She looked down—
And, behind the faint translucent veil of pink tourmaline wreathing Lady Edelgard’s boots, saw that one had transformed into a golden hoof. A cloven hoof, like a sheep’s. But not a hoof made out of what hooves were normally made of: like the little nubs, it was soft and fuzzy, and it had seams lines on it. It was made of gold velveteen. And halfway up Edelgard’s leg, all the hard silver and scarlet armor had turned into white cotton felt. Even the bare skin of her thigh was taking on that texture!
“Monica,” Lady Edelgard said sternly, though her voice warbled just a little—panic or anger, Monica couldn’t tell—“I thought the spell would fill my head with fluff, not the rest of me!”
Monica looked back up at Lady Edelgard. Or, rather, she didn’t have to look very high, because Lady Edelgard had gotten shorter still. Those plush horns, the same gold-colored velveteen of that hoof, had grown longer and started to curl back on themselves, like ram’s horns. And both of Lady Edelgard’s arms up to her forearms had transformed into the same white felt; her gloves had simply vanished, it seemed, while her hands had turned into cloven hooves of their own.
“Oh, Goddess, oh, Saint Macuil,” Monica moaned. She bent down to pick up the tome. “I’ll reverse the spell, Your Majesty! It’ll be easy, don’t you worry!”
“Ugh! Why would one of the Four Saints’ spellbooks even have a spell that transfigures people into… stuffy animals?” Lady Edelgard huffed, looked down at herself and taking stock of her transformation, watching skin, steel, and silver even out into smooth felt and velveteen. Even her cape’s texture, and her hair’s texture, was changed—braided locks of snow-white and the long tail that fell down her shoulder turning into a single sheet of felt. “Monica! Your ears!” she cried out.
“My what?” Monica gasped, and in a panic she reached up, her tome momentarily forgotten, and felt… felt. Long plush bunny ears made out of felt and stuffed with cotton.
She couldn’t let that distract her. She just had to reverse the spell… She reached down to grab the tome—
But she couldn’t. Because her hands had transformed into paws, big and stubby nubs of vermilion-colored velveteen, and instead of fingers and thumbs they just had a few embroidered lines that suggested digits.
She fumbled with the tome to no avail. And was it just her, or had the tome gotten larger? And was it still getting larger?
“Um, Lady Edelgard,” she warbled, “I, uh… I’m trying my best—”
She looked up at Lady Edelgard and found herself staring into the exact same kind of beady glass eyes one would find on any high-end plush animal, and a face that was drawn in embroidered thread upon the cotton-stuffed snout of a plush sheep.
And the face looked very cross with her.
“I’m so sorry,” Monica said, and she found that speaking was a very strange sensation now, because the words didn’t vibrate in her throat, since she no longer had one. Nor did they slide across her tongue, because she didn’t have one of those, either. There was nothing inside her body but cotton stuffing, no bones, no muscles, no organs. She simply thought the words and they came out of her.
But when Lady Edelgard spoke, Monica could see the embroidered curve of her mouth change shape, and even open up to reveal a patch of pink velvet. Her embroidered eyebrows shifted on her face to match. It was an unnerving, in a cute way, effect.
“That’s… alright, Monica; the, er… transformation seems to have run its course,” she said curtly, prodding at her plush stomach with a golden hoof. The transformation had indeed run its course; she was a tiny plush sheep now, with curved horns and hooves of gold-colored velveteen, drooping lop ears, and a fluffy cotton coat. Nothing remained of her glorious armor save for her cape, which was now stitched directly onto her shoulders, and a velvet facsimile of her crown.
She was, Monica had to admit, extremely adorable. If the situation were not so dire, Monica would have swept Lady Edelgard off her hooves and squeezed her tightly enough to break her spine, which she no longer had.
“Now,” Lady Edelgard said, blood-chillingly sternly (although Monica didn’t have blood anymore, she didn’t think), “let’s pick up this tome, find the page with the counterspell, and fix this. Preferably before anybody sees us like this. You know that Hubert’s men are never far behind me.”
“R-Right away, Your Majesty,” Monica stammered, and she tried as best she could to prop up the tome and flip through its pages with paws that weren’t even real paws. “It’s, um, very hard to do this without fingers or thumbs.”
“I can help,” Lady Edelgard said, and in spite of all Monica had done to ruin this perfect day, she brought her stubby little hooves to her aid.
It turned out that while many hands made light work, many plush paws made absolutely no work at all.
Yet, with herculean effort, the two of them managed to at last stand the book up on its end and crack it open. With Lady Edelgard at her side, Monica told herself, all things were possible—so long as she believed!
Turning the pages turned out to be utterly impossible.
“Um… wh-what do we do now, Lady Edelgard?” Monica asked.
Lady Edelgard let out an exhausted sigh. “We take this tome,” she said, “drag it back to camp, and have Hubert cast the counterspell on us.”
Monica would have hissed air through gritted teeth if she had any teeth to grit. Somehow, she still made the sound anyway. Hubert. How could she let Hubert of all people see her like this?! She would never live this down. Never, never, never—long after this war was over, she would still be renowned as the woman who had turned Emperor Edelgard into an animated plush doll. That would be her legacy, and history had a much longer memory than even she herself did.
Speak of the demonic beast. All Monica had to do was think of that gangling corpse-faced goon and his raspy voice rang out down the slope of the hill. Lo and behold, there he was, scrambling down the hillside with his spindly spider limbs. And behind him was… Bernadetta von Varley?
Monica’s spirits fell even further. Hubert, odious and obnoxious as he was, could at least keep a secret. If Bernadetta, who was perfectly fine and a wonderful person in her own right, saw the two of them like this, everybody would know.
Hubert came to a stop in front of her and Lady Edelgard, with Bernadetta trailing close behind. He stared down at the two of them, at a loss for words, mouth agape.
“Er… hello, Hubert,” Lady Edelgard said, waving a plush hoof at him. “It’s a long story. But if you could pick up this tome for us, turn to the page with the counterspell for ‘Velvetize,’ and cast it on us, we… should go back to normal.” She gave a stern look to Monica. “Right, Monica?”
Monica nodded. “Right. Right! Change us back, Hubert!”
The corner of Hubert’s lip curled upward in a wry, sadistic sneer. “‘Change us back,’ what, ‘Hubert?’”
“Right now, Hubert,” Edelgard told him, planting her plush hooves on her hips. Even as a stuffy sheep, she managed to project an aura of command—even as a stuffy sheep, she was utterly beautiful, mesmerizing even.
He had already reached down to pick up the tome before the words had left her embroidered mouth. “I jest, Lady Monica. I will, of course, restore you to your human forms posthaste.”
“Wait!” Bernadetta cried out.
Hubert waited.
“Um… Lady Edelgard, Lady Monica,” Bernadetta said, wringing her hands and kneading them like dough, “are those… seams?”
Lady Edelgard looked down at herself. “Er… yes, they are, indeed, Bernadetta. They’re preferable to scars, I suppose.”
“Please, before Hubert changes the two of you back, can I do some research?”
“Research?” Hubert hissed.
Lady Edelgard held up a hoof to bid him quiet. “What sort of research, Bernadetta? Nothing involving removing my stitching, I hope?”
Bernadetta shook her head like a dog shaking itself dry. “No, no, no, of course not! Bernie wouldn’t even dream—Uh, you know how plush dolls and stuffy animals are made?”
“Of course,” Monica said. She couldn’t help herself. “One cuts a pattern out of felt and sews it together… oh!”
“Yeah! Wh-What Bernie’s thinking,” Bernadetta babbled, “is, um… by turning you two into little stuffy animals, that spell must have created a pattern for a real plush doll out of thin air! By magic! If I take a close look at your seams—and I promise I don’t have to remove any stitches or take out any stuffing—I can recreate the pattern! And make more of you!”
“More of me?” Lady Edelgard looked down at herself. If she had a brow, it would have furrowed. Her sheepish little nose twitched. “Er… I’m flattered, but… who on earth would want more of me?”
Monica sighed. Lady Edelgard simply didn’t know how beautiful she was sometimes, even in a state like this. “Every child in Adrestia would want a doll of you as a Saint Cichol Day present, Your Majesty! And just think—if we gave certain artisan guilds in Adrestia and Leicester exclusive permission to use that pattern, they could make and sell Lady Edel-sheeps—”
“Lady Edel-baa-rd,” Bernadetta suggested, giggling softly to herself.
“They could make and sell them all across Fódlan!” Monica continued. “And we would receive a percentage of the profit, of course—and just think of what it would do for your image, Lady Edelgard!”
“With that kind of money,” Bernadetta thought out loud, “maybe we can help Balthus pay off his debts…”
“No,” Monica and Hubert both said in unison.
Lady Edelgard scratched her chin with her hoof. “Well… I suppose. But if you mean to study me, Bernadetta, I insist you study this velveteen rabbit here,” she said, gesturing to Monica. “We’re a set, you see.”
Bernadetta and Monica laughed nervously at her joke.
“Lady Edelgard,” Hubert whined.
“I think it is a good idea. Go ahead and study us,” Lady Edelgard told Bernadetta, “but do be gentle.”
“O-Of course! Bernie’s on it!” Bernadetta saluted. “I-In fact, gentle’s my middle name! Bernadetta Gentle von Varley! Let’s go!” Easing her way around a bewildered and befuddled Hubert (good for him, he deserved it), Bernadetta scooped up Monica and Lady Edelgard both in her arms. “I’ll take good care of the both of you! It’ll feel just like a vacation! You can even spend time with some of the plush animals and plants I’ve been making. Though they don’t really make for good conversation partners… good listeners, though…”
She carried both of them into camp and brought them to her tent, while Hubert skulked off with The Wind Caller’s Genesis (how dare he sully it with his greasy, dark-magic stained fingers) to no doubt plumb its depths and steal all its arcane secrets for himself.
“Well,” Lady Edelgard said while she sank into the crook of Bernadetta’s elbow, “this is not so bad… now that I’ve had some time to let the shock pass me by. I actually feel as light and unburdened as a cloud.”
“Really?” Monica asked, shocked. Lady Edelgard certainly wasn’t lying to spare her feelings; she would never lie simply to make someone feel better—but could she really mean it? “I’m glad to hear it, but… I’m sorry to have wasted this time I set aside for our afternoon off.”
Lady Edelgard sighed. “I’m sorry for losing my temper at you. Truth be told, no afternoon could be wasted, so long as I spend it with you.”
If Monica had still had a heart, it would have skipped a beat. “Oh, Lady Edelgard—Y-Your Majesty… you don’t mean it, do you?”
Lady Edelgard leaned in and nuzzled her cheek with an embroidered nose. “Of course I do, my favored vassal. I still have to wonder, though—why in blazes did Saint Macuil devise a spell like this in the first place?”
Flayn stared out at the raindrops rolling down the window. Spring in Faerghus meant rain. Very cold rain. It was so dreary out. She let out a sigh. “Father,” she asked.
Seteth held a finger to his lips and sternly shushed her.
“Please, we are the only two people in this house,” she groaned. “I’ll call you what I will.”
“No, you shan’t,” he said. “We are in hiding.”
“There is a mile between us and the next house! Ugh.”
“I do not appreciate your newfound attitude, Flayn. Did you have a question for me?”
She rolled her eyes. “I was going to ask about Uncle Macuil.”
“Ah, yes, him. It has been quite a long while. Perhaps we shall pay him a visit… if you behave.”
“No, I wanted to ask… do you remember that big collection of plush Agarthan dolls he had? And those big, long pillows that had embroidered artwork of—”
“This conversation is over, Flayn,” he said, and he stood up and left the room, his face beet-red.
She sighed. Father was absolutely insufferable sometimes. It wasn’t as though she were asking about anything adult, and even if she were, he could at least treat her like one! Simply because he was five hundred years older than her, he acted as though she would never grow up!
But anyway, so long as he was gone, at least she could indulge in the little gift she’d secretly gotten in town the other day. She crept over to the cupboard, eased it open, reached deep inside, and pulled out that adorable little plush Edel-baa-rd doll the traveling merchant from Leicester had given to her—for free!—because of what a, in his words, ‘comely young lass’ she was. It would make a wonderful gift for Uncle Macuil the next time she and Father visited! She hoped he would like it… if he didn’t, then Father would be so cross with her…