Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The birth of Raiden Bosenmori Mei was supposed to be important. It was supposed to be celebrated, worshipped; to be revered: it was at first.

“A child blessed by the gods! By the nihility!” is what the people would sing. A child, and a noble at that. She was born, she was healthy, with perfect skin and sleek dark hair.

But then, she got older. Her parents realised that perhaps, the mark of the IX wasn’t such a great thing after all. On paper, it was fine. She was tall, the strongest sword wielder of the generation, and smart as well. She was beautiful and pale, and her skin didn’t colour easily.

It was forgetfulness. It started when Mei couldn’t remember the names of emperors and warlords in her studies. Her parents waved it off; they couldn’t complain about their daughter’s short term memory or abysmal listening skills when it was her only fault, after all.

It didn’t stop there, though. Once, the first time Mei left the lord’s mansion by herself on a trip, a servant approached the young girl.

“Lady Raiden is awaiting your return.” She stated with a respectful bow, only to be met with a confused expression. Mei’s eyes were dead and held no emotion, but her eyebrows raised and lips quivered; soft childlike features hardened, and she tilted her head.

“Who?” It wasn’t normal. Any child should know her own mother’s name, and her parents began to fear for her. Of course, this was only the first of many such occurrences. She forgot her birthday, how to get through the mansion, and once, after being grounded for a while, what colour the sky was.

Instead of the Raiden’s sacred golden child, she was simple. An arrogant idiot who’s only use would one day be on the battlefield. A woman, at war! Their enemies would laugh to see her lead.

Being a social outcast that was widely ridiculed made Mei a solitary child. Most of the time, she was found in her room, reading fictitious novels or painting, perhaps playing with dolls. She would trace illustrations of beautiful princesses in flowing robes and pretty dresses, or heroines clad in glowing armour, witches with their hats, broomsticks, cats.

To an outsider, the worst thing about the young Raiden heir was not her forgetfulness, or supreme idiocy, but her soulless, unnaturally purple-grey eyes that held no shine. They were staunch, flat, and unmoving, never synchronising with the rest of her face. Her eyelashes were dark and thick and perfect, and the whites of her eyes were so perfectly blank and uncoloured that it was as if they belonged to a doll instead of a human.

Mei’s parent’s despaired, as both bearing another heir and disowning their daughter would be disrespectful to the nihility, so the girl was simply shunned throughout her childhood.

At first, it was common for servants and waiting staff to hit her. But after a butler slapped her hard on the cheek, Mei’s expression, normally complacent, darkened somewhat. The next week, the butler went missing, and rumours spread. A few more sharp-tongued ladies-in-waiting disappeared, and so hurting her was an unspoken rule.

“She’s cursed,” The servants muttered, “Don’t touch her. IX will punish you, she’s its demon child.” They all prayed that the time would pass quickly until she was grown, and could be sent away.

It was the morning of her eighteenth birthday.

At least, that’s what the handmaiden had happily proclaimed that morning, when shaking Mei awake. Had she always been this cheery? Probably not, but Mei didn’t really care to ask what could possibly put such a pep in her step.

Clothes were thrown her way, and she was told to pack a bag and be down in the courtyard in the next hour, with a servant outside her study to show her the way. She frowned: she wasn’t a morning person in the slightest, and quite certain that training didn’t start up until the evening. Mei looked to her wall, littered with small sticky notes, calendars, and reminders. Practice weekdays 3:00-9:00, one read. Still, she only nodded, and the handmaiden left with a swish of her skirt.

Mei grasped the soft silk shirt and trousers that had been thrusted into her waiting hands, scowling at them. She wished she could wear a skirt, or something that flowed around her body like the fair ladies in picture books; all the manor staff seemed to think that being a warrior meant utmost masculinity: gloves and thick, baggy clothes to cover her curves.

She liked fighting. She was not a man. Mei dreamed of dancing in wide, poofy dresses and cinched waists, perhaps with a sword in hand, or maybe even on a dancefloor. Maybe, someday, she would have a dance partner, so it wouldn’t be quite so lonely. Mei could be a knight, she thought, and her partner could be someone to fight for. She’d read about that thing; love, in books before.

An hour later Mei arrived in the courtyard. Her eyebrows raised minutely when she saw her parents standing by a carriage, frowning. She sunk to a knee.

“Mother, Father. It is a surprise to see you here so early,” She remarked, internally wincing at the dull scrape of her unused voice upon the air.

“Is it,” Her father replied snappishly, “Or have you just forgotten what we are here for?” His face darkened. Mei said nothing, and her mother fumbled in the silence.

“Oh, dear, you mustn’t be so hard on the poor girl. It’s her birthday, remember? You may never see her again, after all.” Mei could’ve sworn her heart stopped beating for a moment. Never see her again? Was she leaving? And then it dawned on her.

She was eighteen, and so of age to both leave home and join the military. She made sure not to let her displeasure show on her face.

“I’m going to the capital, to join the knights?” She asked easily.

“Not quite yet. Though I have assured the king of your strength, he still doubts. You will be starting on the front lines.” Mei’s heart sank. The front lines meant eating little, with not much pay or merit. Though she wasn’t particularly worried about herself, many died not from battle, but mistreatment.

She inclined her head slightly with a frown.

“When shall I visit?”

“You don’t have too,” at the same time as “Next Fall, maybe?”

Her father turned to her mother, silently mouthing words. Mei could still hear.

“We talked about this. When she’s out, I want her gone.”

“But she’s my- no- our daughter! It’s our responsibility to care!”

“We can talk later” and that meant her father had resolved the argument. Mei would not be coming back.

“I’ll take my leave, then,” Mei said quickly, suddenly feeling very ill. Her mother nodded, and waved sadly. She did not look at her father. Her stomach twisted, and she turned to the pebbled courtyard beneath her feet as she stepped into the carriage. She did not know how long the ride would be, and hoped she would have snacks brought.

A man shorter than her grabbed her arm and helped her in before going to rein in the horses. She thought she might recognise him from somewhere, but couldn’t place his face. Perhaps a suiter? She’d had a few random ones, throughout the years, but they’d never stayed long. Just for her beauty or the promise of wealth, and left soon enough.

She felt the wooden floor quiver to life, and the brush outside moved past her. She probably should’ve looked back. She ought to. But there was no part of her heart that wanted to in the moment, so simply, she did not.

Instead, she opened her satchel and pulled out a worn-looking book. This she’d read before, enough times to actually remember the names of the characters and to recite plot events. It was her favourite, and her only romance novel. She liked the tension and imperfection of the characters, the awkwardness.

She’d once tried to show it to a girl about her age, inquiring her opinion. The girl had creased her eyes and her mouth had screwed tight.

“Didn’t peg you for someone who liked tropey, cheesy boys. Say, are your parents alright with you having this? I’m more of a sucker for tragedies, but if the shoe fits!”

Though Mei hadn’t really known what the girl meant at all, she could infer most. She didn’t read any others so she couldn’t identify many tropes- when she’d asked why her parents wouldn’t want her reading this, the girl had made another face, and prattled about same-sex relationships. Mei’s mother had always preached that love is blind. What a hypocrite.

The carriage rumbled to a stop. Mei looked outside. It was evening now, with the sun sinking from high in the sky like a pebble through water. The air was silent and cold. She wondered if, later she would sleep on the carriage cushions or under the stars. Was this a food break? God, was she hungry.

The man knocked. She opened the door.

“Want a snack?” He asked brightly, hair blinding against the rays of the sun. He smiled and had dimples. He looked kind of like a character from her book, she decided, and regarded him for a moment.

She subtly nodded her head, and made space for him in the compartment. He brought in a pack: pretzel bites, cheese slices, and…

“Is that wine?” Mei frowned. This boy looked younger than her, if only a bit. He looked up and laughed mischievously.

“Yeah, well. I remembered that you’re pretty damn sheltered, right? So I thought I might give you a little gift before you spend the rest of your life past the gates of hell, eh?”

He was right. Mei had never drank even a sip of alcohol in her life; such matters had always felt rather far away. She cautiously sipped the glass he poured. The taste was not horrible. It was sour, and had an unexpected but not unwelcome burn as it dripped down her throat.

“Not too bad?” He asked, eyes twinkling. She nodded, savouring the fruity aftertaste.

“No, not bad at all.” Her gaze flicked up to his sympathetic one, and all at once she felt a wave of confusion. “Why are you being so nice to me?” She intoned.

The boy frowned, and tilted his head. “I don’t have many friends. And why not?”

“I’ve never had one before, is all.”

“Because of your memory?”

“Yes, it makes me rather stupid. They just disappear.”

“That’s kinda IX’s whole shtick though, right? Mysteriously disappearing and shit? Ah well …If you really wanted to remember things better, I remember in my hometown there was a witch who was blessed by the remembrance. She can control memoria, so it could help.”

Mei wasn’t going to pretend she knew what memoria was, but the witch sounded promising. Maybe… maybe, if she somehow got ‘fixed’ by this woman- maybe she could go back home. And if she went home, she would belong. Her father would approve of her as a useful heir, and the servants might not talk behind her back so much.

She would have a real home.

“Yeah, I’ll… I can try that. I never got your name?”

“Me? I’m Kakavasha, nice to meet you…” A pause, and he gestured for her response.

“Don’t you already know?”

“But you never introduced yourself, did you?”

“Alright. Call me Mei.”

“Well, hello there, Mei!”

Kakavasha was a nice name. A memorable one, too. She felt that she wouldn’t forget it for a while.

It wasn’t the greatest birthday ever. Hell, it wasn’t even a good birthday.

But it felt important.

Kavavasha steered them through the greenery and pastures of the country, and the sun abated from its steady beatdown, retreating to the west. Eventually, clouds covered it all the way, and the sky darkened to a foggy grey, and he frowned.

“Hold on, Mei, there might be a storm up ahead. I’m getting us out of the fields, so I’m speeding up. It’ll be a bit bumpy, so hold on tight!” She made a noise of acknowledgement, shifting where she sat. The first drops of rain could barely be heard as they pattered absentmindedly. And then it poured, and she could hear it louder than a cacophony of trumpets blaring, with Kakavasha’s voice swearing in the background. He was yelling, but the downpour drowned it into a distant whisper.

Mei gazed out the window, her eyes seeing nothing but monochrome. She tore her gaze back to her hands, flushed in coldness, and traced the wrinkles boredly. Life line, heart line, marriage line, and… what was that other one again? She remembered knowing it this morning, and yet now the answer eluded her.

They were almost approaching a forest, with trees painting the edges of Mei’s vision. Kakavasha’s hair was dull and stuck to his neck. The horses’ hooves clattered, making wet sounds when they struck puddles.

Mei had been hit by lightning before. She was told by a group of peers that she should sit out in the middle of the courtyard the next time it stormed, so she did, getting a few peculiar looks from maidstaff, but nobody had stopped her. She’d been struck, and a tingling feeling had erupted across her body, accompanied by a brief, blinding pain. She had stared out at the sky, the world swimming around her. Then, she tried to move, and found it impossible. A cook had found her, gasping with horror, and then she’d been surrounded by a whispering crowd of onlookers, who eventually cleared to make way for her parents. Her mother cried, and her father had just stared with an unreadable expression. Eventually, feeling came back to her fingertips; her eyes blinked into reality, and she’d slowly stood up, and limped away, much to the surprise of the crowd. Even though her senses had returned, she still remembered feeling nothing.

This time felt very much the same, if not a bit less painful, but more: she wasn’t hit directly. It struck metal and wood, surging until it met skin, buzzing through her veins, numbing her senses. Mei’s brain tingled, her consciousness staticky. She tried to remember where she was. Who she was. What she was. She didn’t know, she didn’t know, all she knew was floating.

Floating, floating, floating in space, senses underwhelmed and yet overstimulated by the white darkness. Trees, and then they were gone. The sky, and then it was gone. Then she wasn’t floating anymore; because she was falling, and a splash, and she was a surging river. Her body felt tossed and violated, she was waved limply about like a ragdoll, and felt nothing. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t smell. She couldn’t hear. She couldn’t see.

All she could do was feel.

Her senses returned. Her body was floating. Why was her body floating? She opened her eyes, and the sky was dark. It was harder than she thought, which she realised was because her lashes were heavy with water. A look around, and her face was submerged with water that tasted like nothing.

She was floating down a stream on her back, body blackened with dirt and moss. A breath. Her throat was itchy. The water surged again, and her vision faintly wavered, and she was given little time to prepare for her body slamming into one rock; another. Pain dulled registered in her mind, sharp but far away. She felt her consciousness flitting away again, and gladly followed it, grateful for the escape from half-lucid suffocation.

She was aware of blackness, then. A void, and IX was before her. She knew it was the nihility; she’d been here before, though she could not remember when.

It did not register her presence. It only oozed loneliness and knowledge and nothing. She thought that perhaps it was not even aware of its own existence. How pitiful. She felt bad for it.

The black infinity stretched out forever, and was unchanging. All the same, though there was nothing to match. It was rather boring, to be quite honest.

“I don’t want to be here. Can I leave?” Her voice felt small and fell flat against an eternal abyss. She held her breath; the world was unchanging. The IX did not answer.

A beat.

All was silent.

And then she couldn’t see anything, and she was falling, and then lost, lost to enveloping darkness, lost to the throes of consciousness.

She dreamed of trees and skies and a beautiful purple woman touching her face, of a bright red river of blood and death and souls, of children running, running, laughing, and falling like dominos. She was blind and deaf and her face peeled off like an old orange rind, and the cheery face of a young boy flashed through her mind, followed by lightning and then he was burnt and on fire, face ashy, disfigured. The dead man looked at her, he got up, his hands found her chest and he pushed.

She fell over, and behind her was a cliff. She fell and fell and fell, and suddenly she was back in the red river, flowing seamlessly as waters rushed towards a black, black void.

The world was hazy and unfocused. It blinked into existence along with her, colours disappearing into her toneless eyes.

“Hello, dear. Awake?”

The purple woman from her dreams sat across from her, lips turned up into a motherly smile. She felt slightly dizzy, and subconsciously pulled her body in close.

“I… yes. Where- where am I? What-” Her voice was nasally and grating, throat dry.

“Shhh… relax, darling. I found you floating downstream in a river. You should count yourself lucky to be alive, girl. You looked so much like death, I thought I might have accidentally ended up doing laundry along the Acheron.” She squirmed where she lay, slowly sitting up.

“Right- ah, apologies for the intrusion, Miss, ah…”

“Call me Black Swan. Yours?” She wracked her brain, trying to think.

Her name.

Kakavasha’s face flashed through her mind, his body fried nightmarishly.

Her mother.

Her father.

That red, red river.

IX the nihility.

Their faces were reduced to blurry monochrome in her mind, and a wave of revulsion swept across her body. She didn’t want to think anymore. She didn’t think she could.

“I… I don’t know. I seem to have forgotten it.” She blushed in embarrassment. The purple woman- no, Black Swan’s features hardened, complicated.

“Would you happen to be the young lady blessed by the nihility?”

“I- yes, I am.”

A silence flashed across the cosy cottage, and it was drenched in coldness. Black Swan chuckled.

“Do you know what the Acheron is, miss?” She shook her head. “It’s a mythical river; it’s said to carry souls to the afterlife. Or, well, the nihility. Quite like you.”

“I don’t… I don’t have anything to do with souls…”

“Not with that attitude, little miss Acheron!”

“Are you going to call me that now?”

“Do you dislike it?”

She thought about that river, and her bittersweet connection to IX, who couldn’t even acknowledge her existence. Acheron, Acheron, Acheron. Above all else, it was a pretty name. Her soul betrayed nothing from her. It felt like her own, and she thought that perhaps it had been, at some point at least.

“No, it’s fine. I… I like it.” Acheron replied.

Chapter Text

It was strange, leaving behind… everything. Acheron always expected to turn the corner and find dimly lit, winding stone pathways or large marble rooms. Sometimes her head throbbed and her eyes ached from seeing the world too much; too bright. Thankfully, her fatigue cleared after a day of bed rest, and she was able to explore to her heart’s content.

Black Swan always seemed to simultaneously be present and far away: when Acheron plodded around the gardens or walked through the kitchen, she was nowhere to be found, but the moment she had a thought like I haven’t seen Miss Swan in a while, I wonder where she is, suddenly she’d be there, melting out of the shadows with a sanguine smile. It was hard figuring out how to act around the woman, and they always ended up settling into a comfortable silence. Acheron wasn’t sure what she was even allowed to say to some mysterious, otherworldly lady who saved her life a few days ago. And saying thanks was getting a bit old.

The cottage was small, but the woods surrounding it seemed never-ending. Trees, trees, more trees, and perhaps a few bushes along the way as well. In the morning, the plants held a healthy, dewy glow, while at night they shone in the light of the moon.

It was during one of these excursions that Acheron ended up following the road out of curiosity- just to see where it might lead. She found her answer upon a small village a little ways down, lively and quaint. A rickety- but homely- sign read ‘Welcome to Moment of Joy’.

Acheron found herself stumbling awkwardly into the village, looking around at the stalls and houses and people milling about. It seemed that they didn’t get many visitors, judging from the curious glances many of the townsfolk were shooting her way. She was surprised, though, when instead of being wary, many of them smiled, and some of the bolder children gave an enthusiastic wave. It was quite adorable; she didn’t know what else to do other than wave back.

A gasp.

“Hey! Is that a REAL sword?” Asked a kid suspiciously, poking at the sheathed scabbard that rested against her hip. Acheron inclined her head and bent down after recovering from shock, poking the kid on the nose.

“It is. But it’s also dangerous. Don’t touch.” The kid pouted, and Acheron felt a guilty warmth fill her heart.

“I can show it to you though, if you’d like.” The words slid out of her mouth entirely unprompted, and she was ready to take them back- but then, the child’s eyes lit up, and her face broke into an awkward toothy grin, and her resolve to do so slid away like water. She glanced around, rubbing the cool metal of the hilt against her thumb.

As usual, the sword slipped out of her scabbard, clean and oiled and shiny and buttery-feeling, and she saw, out of the corner of her eye, a small crowd had silently gathered around to watch. She held out the silvery blade to the child, who let out an awed gasp of respect.

“It’s so shiny, like a mirror! Do you fight with this, Miss?”

“Sometimes,” She replied absentmindedly, sheathing her sword in one motion.

“Cool! What kind is it?”

“Ah… a katana, I believe.”

“Woah. My Dad used to have one of those, I think. He’d hunt boar with it, but I wasn’t allowed to come, ‘cuz I was too little. Can you hunt boars?”

“I suppose, I could…” The kid gave her another goofy grin, her pigtails bobbing under her hat… from how hard she was vibrating, perhaps?

“My name’s Hook the Great, big boss of the moles!” She puffed up proudly. Acheron gave a small, confused smile.

“Nice to meet you then, Miss Hook of the Moles. You may call me Acheron.” Hook looked absolutely delighted by this development, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the other children. Acheron heard a bit of laughter coming from the adults, and wondered if this was a regular occurance. While adorable, she couldn’t imagine the stress that accompanied these little rampant terrors.

Hook eventually deposited them in a corner of what Acheron assumed to be the main square, and boldly introduced her friends.

“This is our newest member of the Moles, Miss Acheron! Miss, this is Clara, Julian, and Timmy. Luka is also a Mole but he’s bigger so he doesn’t get to hang out all the time.”

Clara, a little girl with pale hair and no shoes, spoke up shyly, her eyes lighting up in interest.

“I’ve never seen you before, Miss Acheron. Did you come recently? Are you staying for a long time or just for now?” Acheron blinked from the barrage of questions, which were going to take some getting used to. She wasn’t accustomed to being asked things; most of the time she was just told what to do, which, she found, was a whole lot easier.

“I don’t know how long I’m staying. I got hurt, so a lady called Black Swan helped me.” Clara nodded knowingly.

“It’s because she’s got healing magic, that’s why. Svarog said she was a mem-memo-ry keeper.”

“Woah! You talked to the witch!” Shouted Hook, scandalised, which earned her a dirty look from Clara.

“She’s not a witch.” Hook sulked, but shut her mouth. The other kids laughed.

Despite the rather draining kidnapping that had resulted in Acheron’s indoctrination to the Moles, she left feeling lighter. To be honest, she’d always liked kids. They made their own opinions, and it was easy to tell how one felt about another. Children also generally didn’t particularly care that Acheron was her family’s failure, and seemed more preoccupied with hanging off of her like she was a tree of some sort.

Though, here, it wasn’t like her identity mattered anyways.

Escaping the claws of the Moles was a challenge, but not impossible- though proved to be useless, as immediately after she was accosted by a loud bunch of manic-looking women. The youngest-looking one, who looked to be the leader, grinned before loosely flipping her hair over her shoulder.

“Welcome to the Moment of Joy- though I see you’ve already been treated to the entrance ceremony.” She laughed, and the other women giggled along with her. Acheron couldn’t help but feel a bit uncomfortable, as if she was a specimen to be studied- or a criminal in a courtroom.

“Yes.” She shifted, wondering if it would be a good idea to speak further, or just wallow in the silence. The girl grinned wider, showing glossy white canines. Despite the wicked blade sheathed at her side, Acheron felt ready to run. She’d never been a part of the buzzing groups of young women that had all talked and talked and gossiped back home: always content to sit on the sidelines and observe. But now that she was in such a setting, it was uncharted waters. She would have to proceed with caution.

“Call me Sparkle. So, how did you end up here? And with that gorgeous sword as well! You must have quite the story.”

Her eyes glittered, reminiscent of a journalist or bard stumbling upon a good topic to sink their teeth into. She didn’t give Acheron a chance to respond before stepping forward excitedly.

“Ah, no need to answer me now; you must have so many questions! I can show you around, don’t worry. Just come along!”

And with that, she dragged her away, the rest of the women smiling in a way that wasn’t entirely innocent, and somewhat filled with a great deal of mirth.

“What’s your name? I liked your eyes by the way, they remind me of the rocks I used to play with when I was young. I killed a squirrel with one once! Oh, and that’s the school. Over there is Ms. Natasha’s library…”

“...I’m Acheron?”

“Of course, yes! And that’s where we go to fix clothing, the leather store is over there… and that’s Sampo’s place over there, I’d avoid hanging around with those heathens.” A man grinned from across the street, almost as wide and manic as Sparkle.

“Oh, come on! Poaching my future customers already, Sparky? Thought you were better than this.”

She ignored him, only cackling slightly as they passed. It was quite off-putting, in Acheron’s opinion. Were all young people like this? She knew she was sheltered, but not that sheltered. Or perhaps this town was full of oddities? She pondered the thoughts while following behind the brown-haired girl, having long given up hope that her yapping might cease any time soon.

The sun rose high over the horizon, and Acheron stared at it. Her eyes burned at the bright light, and she looked away. The cobblestone streets were hot and brown. A bead of sweat dripped slowly down her neck, and the atmosphere thickened to an almost sickening point.

“Excuse me.” She interrupted, eyes wandering over the small town. Sparkle looked back, unoffended.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry, but I am afraid I must go now. Thank you for your time.”

“Quite the posh one, aren’t you? Tell me about yourself later, I’ll be seeing you. And send Swan my regards!” She took the abrupt dismissal in stride, smile unfaltering. Acheron felt a bit bad for her rudeness, but she couldn’t think of a better way to shake her off. Ah, well. Whatever got her away from the crowd would do.

She headed back the way she came, eyes tracing the patterns of leaves on stone. She heard a child-like, high pitched shout of her name, and raised her hand in acknowledgement. Words bubbled in her stomach, but her throat felt thick and clogged. Speaking takes far too much effort to be worthwhile, she thought. How on earth did everyone manage to do it so much?

Trees rose around her as she walked, and the breeze tickled her hair. Acheron thought about the recent events. Black Swan. The kids. She couldn’t help but feel like she owed a debt to anyone who had helped her; it was an awful feeling, a weakness. It would be alright, if only she knew how to repay them. Her hands were clumsy, and she didn’t know how to make anything that had the slightest bit of value.

It felt like the only thing Acheron was good at was breaking things. Breaking things. Perhaps she could hunt an animal to present to them in a display of strength? The idea felt almost barbaric; slaughtering and bringing a bloody deer carcass as thanks- not very conforming to the standards of a proper youth.

Although, did she really need to be proper, as long as it could be useful? At home, when the boys would go out to hunt, they always treated their spoils as mere triviality, a useless product of good fun on horseback.

They wouldn’t let her join them, and she knew, instinctively, why that was: to others, she didn’t seem human.

A pretty girl, but rough. Shy and quiet, but not timid. A lean, perfect body- but it was ruined by pale scars and bulky muscles that made her frame look awkward and uneven. Her footsteps tapped lightly, like a dancer, but when she fought she planted her feet and used a sword.

Acheron knew she had what was objectively (if only in mother nature’s eyes) a perfect body, but only for survival. Survival, which is not necessary for one who bathes in riches and lives covered in gemstones- but maybe here, in this little village with not a ruby or mosaic in sight- maybe it could be necessary.