Chapter Text
What happens after you die? It was a question that plagued many throughout the course of their lives, but never Clervie. As a child, there had been so much to explore and a whole life to live that the thought never even crossed her innocent mind, and even later, what happens after had not bothered her. To Clervie, death had simply meant freedom, to be able to free herself from the chains of the house, from the torment of her mother, and the endless suffering.
"You will be...a great king."
That was something she truly believed. Clervie didn't regret believing in Peruere and trusting her even in death. Her only regret was that she couldn't take Peruere wherever she went now, and yet once her best friend was ready to join her, she'd surely wait for her with a smile.
"Thank you... I'm sorry."
She could barely make out the desperate hand clutching her clothes as her knees gave in right below her. She opened her eyes one more time, revealing the dim olive green right below. She smiled at Peruere.
"You idiot, don’t hold back tears... it’s just me, you know."
She could barely cough up the words with all the blood gurgling in her throat.
"You’ll do... just fine."
Clervie's weak body lay right in the arms of the girl at whose side she had been for the majority of her life. She couldn’t speak anymore, even if she wanted to. Clervie was fading away, and she was aware. With a last weak attempt, she leaned over to press a kiss to the white-haired cheek. She wanted to chuckle, to laugh at her face at the gesture, but she was gone.
Clervie had never thought about what happens after death, but this wasn’t what she had expected. She saw shapes and colors rush past her eyes; it was dizzying, and she couldn’t tell if the world around her or the ground was moving. And then it all stopped. It took a few seconds for Clervie to come to her senses. She had the urge to cough, to get out all the blood, but nothing came out. The pink-haired hand trailed over her body, looking for the injury in her stomach, but there was none. She was uninjured, alone. But the most horrifying part was that nothing was anywhere to be seen. It was what the human brain couldn’t imagine—not dark nor white—this place truly was nothing at all. And she? She was trapped in here, at least from what she could tell. No matter how loud Clervie yelled or how far she ran, there was nothing. She was stuck once more, chained to a place in which she didn’t want to be, and this time there wasn’t even Peruere’s comforting presence. No, she believed Clervie was dead. If any living person could even reach this place, there was no way anyone would look for her. Her friend was too much of a realist. She was truly alone for the first time.
Snow crunched under the knave’s heels. In this weather, it was no issue to even pass over grassy land since the ground would be deeply frozen and stone-hard. She was wandering over the empty street leading up to the majestic building of nothing but the purest ice that was Zapolyarny Palace. Arlecchino was focused on the task at hand and paid no mind to the children jumping left and right when they saw her pass by. It seemed that even in Snezhnaya, people weren’t quite used to a Harbinger’s presence. But her mind was kept busy by the fact that she had an arranged meeting with Her Majesty, the Tsaritsa herself. Project Stuzha was right around the corner, after all, and she had a favor to ask in return for her putting herself and, most importantly, her children at risk. The woman was aware of how selfish her desires were, and yet she could hardly help it. She had believed that with the shadow child gone and only the prophecy left to focus on, she would be able to fully get over her past pain, but it seemed she had been wrong.
Even with the reassurance of what had been left of her dear friend, even if just as a child, she still felt the same about herself. Clervie hadn’t seen all the nights spent sitting on the ground, doing nothing but staring at the wall, or the countless times she had tried to scrub off blood even though she knew it would never come off.
"Ah, my dear, please come in."
A gentle female voice echoing from every single wall of the icy throne room greeted her. The Tsaritsa had no real physical appearance; she never had, or at least no one that Arlecchino had ever gotten to see. With slow, respectful steps, she made her way up the icy stairs in front before kneeling before the empty throne, which, despite its emptiness, held a strong presence, almost as if there was a higher power constantly forcing her down.
"Yes, Your Majesty, it’s me."
"You asked to speak to me? Do tell me, dear, what is it that requires my direct attention?"
There was no bite in her voice, more so a genuine curiosity.
"I did."
"Then tell me, what’s wrong? I can sense you’re not your usual calm self."
She sighed. Despite her by-now perfected facade, the Cryo Archon still always saw right through her.
"I saw you picked up, Your Majesty."
The Tsaritsa chuckled, a soft sound that was only amplified through the echo from the walls.
"I have, the second you walked in... Do tell, what is it, my dear?"
"I am not thrilled to risk the safety of everyone in the house, even though I am aware that we especially are a necessary part of the operation. Death, like so many things, is inevitable."
"Indeed, indeed... but again, we are planning to reverse it, aren’t we?"
It felt wrong to Arlecchino, to tamper with life and death. Death was a permanent consequence. No one really knew what would come of a revival, and yet, as much as she was ashamed to admit it, her selfish desires drove her forward.
"It’s necessary. Celestia can no longer get away with the crimes they have committed. But I have a favor to ask, if you allow me."
The knave went down a little lower, her forehead almost touching the cool ice below. This was the deepest she had ever kneeled; it showed just how much this meant to the white-haired.
"I have a feeling it’s much more of a request, isn’t it?"
"...You’d be correct."
"Oh, sweet girl."
The woman chuckled. Arlecchino never understood how she could show all of them such kindness, knowing what they were. And yet, in a way, the Tsaritsa had also been the one to make them this way.
"You still miss her, don’t you?"
The other’s fist clenched a little. She had a feeling that she knew, but hearing it from her lips felt so strange. She did miss Clervie, more than anything. They had had this conversation before, back when she had first become a part of the organization.
"You’d be correct. There was someone. Someone I miss. Is it weakness? Is it foolish to hope for their return when I know it won’t happen?"
That was the answer she had given back then. Nowadays, Arlecchino could answer that question herself. Perhaps she had always been able to and simply didn’t want to acknowledge the truth. It was foolish and incredibly weak to long for the presence of a dead girl. And yet here she was at 27 years old, still not over the girl from her childhood. Perhaps she had loved Clervie. That was something she came to realize only years later—loved her more than she had known back then. She didn’t answer directly.
"I’d like to request that I get to choose whoever gets brought back first. Since they’re technically a prototype, it wouldn’t be as much of an issue if they’re not what we expect."
A moment of silence followed before the woman spoke up again.
"You do understand the heavy burden that comes with such a request, don’t you?"
"I do."
"She’s going to be your responsibility, no matter what."
"I understand that."
I could never have an issue with caring for a gentle soul like hers.
"Are you certain? We don’t yet know what could go wrong."
"It’s better than having important chess pieces of ours messed up."
Arlecchino wasn’t just lying when she said that. Having the rage of those that had been so massively wronged turned against the wrong people would have fatal consequences.
"Then I hereby grant you permission. Let me know once the experiment turns out successful."
So here she had it, a final chance to bring back the girl she should have moved on from a long time ago. Perhaps this was the wrong thing to do, perhaps it was foolish to undo all the progress she has made, if any at all. But now it was set in stone. Now all she could do was hope for the best, that Clervie would forgive her for disturbing the peace she had hopefully found.
Once the knave set foot in Fountain, experiments began. It was twisted, she admitted it. Many of the experiments backfired. Arlecchino had tried to dance around the sacrificial part by using the bodies of those whose lives she had already taken. It soon showed that this wouldn’t do. Their souls were most likely no longer bound to the victims' bodies. She had to find a new solution.
It was one of those nights in which she could only sit in her office and stare at the wall across, a frown etched on Her features. She wanted to avoid using any of her children as a sacrifice at all costs. This was still a mystery; all they knew was that the trade had to be of equal value. What would happen to those chosen was her second priority, as long as it was anyone but her children. Did they have to be in on it all, or just freshly dead?
She ran another test trial, one after the other. Experiments failed. Arlecchino didn’t know how many times she wanted to rip her hair out when yet another attempt failed.
"Mission report: experiments have been unsuccessful so far. We have been doing our best to find potential solutions, but currently, there’s no success in sight.
Subject 001 up to 008 have all failed. It would be in the house’s best interest to avoid further experimentation until a suitable possibility can be fou—"
The Harbinger was interrupted by a knock at the door. She sighed. What was it now?
The kids should know better than to disturb her like this when she was working.
"Enter."
Her tone was sharp. She would have preferred to keep her distress from the children's eyes entirely, but this time it just didn’t seem possible.
"It’s me, Father..."
A young, sickly-looking blonde girl stood in the door. She was bowing, good manners and respect, just as she had taught them. And yet, Arlecchino had to hold back, not losing her cool—it wasn’t the children’s fault.
"What is it, Silvy? Didn’t I already excuse all of you to bed?"
"You have, Father, but—"
The blonde could hardly finish her sentence before falling into a fit of coughing. The Knave was aware she was ill; she had been since she was a child, and it seemed terminal. The girl could hardly stand up on her own two legs. Arlecchino was well aware of just how bad her condition had gotten despite countless medical treatments. She got up slowly, walking to the girl’s side and guiding her to one of the two chairs in front of her desk. Just why was Silvy even here? It wasn’t like her to disobey her father’s command.
"Thank you, Father."
"No need."
The woman once more sighed inaudibly before taking a seat right across from her sick child.
"Silvy, what is it? It’s unlike you to even be up at this hour. Have you been feeling worse again?"
The blonde nodded. It was what Arlecchino had already guessed, and yet she struggled to connect the dots on just why Silvy came to her now.
"Then may I ask what brings you down to my office? Do you need something? You kids are aware of the rules of the house, are you not?"
"I apologize, Father... this was urgent."
"Then enlighten me. What is so important that you felt the need to interrupt me at this hour, Silvy?"
"I believe it should be me, Father."
"Elaborate."
"Our latest research showed that the person sacrificed needs to die knowing what they’re dying for. I am ill; I’m no use to the house. Perhaps I would be a fitting candida—"
"No."
"I understand you want to avoid taking such measures, but I really think it’s worth a shot. If we don’t dare to try new measures, we won’t get anywhere."
"Someone’s life is more than just daring to take new measures."
"We took countless lives."
"They weren’t like us; they were bad people suffering the consequences of their own actions."
"Do you know that, Father?"
This situation was new. Usually, children of the house didn’t argue once they were given an order.
"For a fact, I do."
"No, you don’t. There could have been so much more to them, just like there is to us!"
"I won’t discuss this with you. You won’t die, Silvy!"
"Just let me be helpful!"
"You won’t be much of a help dead!"
"When will you stop being afraid?"
It rubbed her the wrong way. Arlecchino wasn’t afraid; she had witnessed countless sacrifices of children that had passed on.
"Don’t speak to me like that."
"Usually, you’d see my reasoning. I am useless to the house, so why can’t you see that now?!"
"ENOUGH!"
Her flat hand slammed down on the wooden desk, sending papers and her pencil flying and hitting the carpet below. The girl across from her flinched and stepped back slightly, her facial expression quickly changing from challenging to being taken aback.
This wasn’t good.
"...."
Silence followed. The two just stared at each other before the white-haired woman pushed herself back and straightened her posture before turning to the window to look outside.
"We will find a solution. I don’t wish for anyone else to lose their life simply because they deem it less important than anyone else’s. I—"
She didn’t finish that sentence. Seeing her angry was enough; she simply couldn’t stand that mentality, not after knowing what it had taken from her.
Silvy didn’t even answer. She took the first opportunity to get out of there with her tail between her legs, just as Arlecchino had thought. Silvy wasn’t usually the kind of person to stand her ground against an authority figure. It was surprising enough that she had dared to argue with Arlecchino when she was usually submissive and quiet, avoiding any and all conflict.
What scared her the most was that the more time passed and the more desperate she grew, she found herself actually considering what her daughter had suggested. Silvy was too weak to even move most days, and perhaps—
No, she couldn’t think like that. That would make her exactly the kind of monster she was in the public eye, or had she been that all along? Many evenings, she stared at the wall instead of writing the reports. This was driving her mad, and her wrists were bloody from all the times she had clawed into them out of stress. She hadn’t even noticed it until the sensation of her suit jacket rubbing against her skin became unbearable. The scratches weren’t deep, merely taking off the most upper layers, but the fabric was rough on the inside. It frustrated her to no end. Was she fully going insane now after all this time in her position? Oh, Clervie... she always had this way of getting her all worked up; even now, in death, she drove her insane.
Attempt after attempt: 009, 010, 011, 012. It was hard to still care about the sacrifices made with all the pressure on her back at the moment. Was she really this weak, cracking after all this time?
013. She kneeled in a darkened room of the house. In front of her was the body of a young woman. She had brought this upon herself. They had attempted to inform the victims of what was about to occur beforehand; perhaps that would do something to help, but it didn’t seem to work. Had she messed something up?
Her gaze slowly trailed over all the things in front of her. Everything was there... nothing was happening.
"FATHER"
Her racing thoughts were interrupted by the door swinging open. Seriously?!
She swung around, her eyes glaring with anger, even if she didn’t enjoy showing that to her children. She wanted to be angry, to yell at them, take her pent-up frustration out on someone other than herself, but the raging flame that was fury was quickly extinguished as she saw what this was about.
In front of her stood Freminet and another boy from the house, Filliol. The two seemed panicked, one of them desperately trying to cover something, which was hard with the crimson fluid soaking right through his fingers.
"Silvy..."
The Knave rushed towards her children, taking the blonde girl from their middle. There was a penetrating wound from right below her heart to her stomach.
"We don't know what happened, we just found her like this!!"
Filliol seemed to be the most disturbed of the bunch; he had only recently joined the house.
"Quick, get me something to close this wound up now!"
"Yes, father."
Freminet was the one to run for medical supplies, but Silvy protested, trying to break free from the woman’s embrace and crawl towards the body in the middle of the room.
"Please."
She could barely even speak as right now blood was gurgling in her throat and dripping out of her mouth, but Arlecchino wouldn’t let her. She was stronger. She didn’t speak; it infuriated her as much as it was terrifying to see how little disregard the teen had for her own life.
"Sixteen isn’t an age to die."
"It’s the right thing."
She took her leg to push herself out of the tight hold and closer towards the sacrificial area in the room’s center.
"The wound is too deep, it’s dirty too, there’s no point in saving me."
"What about us?!"
The young, now sobbing boy ran towards them in a final attempt to stop his sister from getting any further, but it was too late. Golden particles began to slowly loosen from the girl’s weakening body. She was dying. Dying, but not only that—the ritual was succeeding. Everyone else could practically watch the life drain from the eyes that had once held so much life in them, that had once been a source of energy and joy before Silvy had become sick.
"Stay back," Arlecchino advised the boy who didn’t seem quite sure what to do yet.
"It’s too late."
Slowly, she inched closer to her child's body.
"Si—"
"Clervie..."
It was just the same as all those years ago. The stiff and cold body in her arms, with the knowledge that she had yet again failed another person she had sworn to protect. It was a familiar sensation, even if it stung slightly less. Clervie...
Wait, no, no, not now, not after all of this!
The dust began to fade. No, this was the furthest they had ever come; she couldn’t just let this fail now, not when one of her children had given their life.
She spun around, grabbing a pair of scissors from a disturbed Freminet, even if she knocked bandages and yarn out of his hand in the process.
"Father, what—"
Arlecchino wasn’t listening. She was distracted by the sharp pain of the scissors plunging right into her arm, tearing through skin, muscle, and veins. It was agonizing, but the Harbinger had sat through worse. The ritual needed to proceed, and if Silvy’s dedication wasn’t enough, she had to help.
This was the weakest any of her children had ever seen her. Blood began dripping, and the tool she had used to create her injury fell to the ground, bloodied up and messy. She held her bleeding arm, her eyes tightly closed. All the Knave could make out through her shut eyelids was a bright flash and a familiar smell.
She could hear someone coughing up something, and just seconds after, she could feel a warm fluid soaking through the fabric of her jacket. She opened her eyes just to realize that now it wasn’t just her own blood soaking her clothes, but also someone else’s, someone that wasn’t Silvy.
"Clervie..."
Her voice was weak, and the Knave was close to tears, her arms pulling so tightly around the girl's body that she felt she could crush her. She didn’t even look at her, at least not properly. The Knave kept her face buried in the other's chest, ignoring any sort of commotion behind her.
"You’re home, you’re finally home..."