Archive of Our Own ^beta

i.

Taking a carriage had been mistake; Lumine would have a better time walking the miles with her feet bloody rather than suffer like this. The wheels seem hellbent on hitting every single pothole along the road, and the vehicle itself veers left and right without turning, as though its driver had gulped down a whole barrel of ale before taking to the reins. The driver hadn’t seemed intoxicated—a mistake, then, in her evaluation.

Lumine slides her head out the window, hoping that a view of the natural scenery would alleviate her suffering, and then proceeded to shove herself back. A blur of green and brown immediately reproaches her for the awful idea. The dizzying motion of the outside world only served to make her stomach turn even more. Of course, it’s entirely on Lumine for having hailed the cheapest one she could find; money should be saved where possible, even if it was a literal pain in the—

Language, her mind scolds. Certainly not language fitting for an adult that’s soon to be acting as a role model for a child, Lumine thinks ruefully.

The only comfort she takes is that the ride is almost over. Or at least, she hopes. She’d left her pocket watch behind with Paimon, and so had no way of telling time. Not that she could even tell up from down at this point. It had felt like a long, long time since she signed herself up for this crashing disaster of a cab, though, so they must be close. Lumine swallows and lays her head back, closing her eyes while clutching onto her travel bag. She whittles the time away by imaging how Paimon is doing: crying, most likely. The little girl never took well to Lumine’s departures, no matter how many times Lumine told her she would return. This time, Lumine had to leave behind her pocket watch to console her, gems pried off long ago off its worn casing and pawned off, but well-loved in its polished metal body. It was a way of easing Paimon’s worry. Better to call it insurance, Dainsleif had pointed out wryly. Or maybe leverage. The little one is smarter than I expected.

Lumine had laughed at Dainsleif’s dry remark, and then he’d smiled too. Paimon was too naive for anything so cunning, they both knew.

And Dainsleif would take good care of her, Lumine comforts herself. He was a responsible man who never shirked his duties, nor anything Lumine requested, really; hadn’t left her, even as their noble house fell into destitute and loneliness after her father’s death, an inheritance of only unpaid debts. Lumine’s only sorry that she couldn’t pay Dainsleif enough for his troubles. They both knew he could find better work elsewhere, but he insisted on staying even with the shoddy pay that Lumine brings home from whatever pay she scrounged up from her miscellaneous teaching jobs.

When the cab does stop, it’s with a whiplash to her neck as the sudden change in acceleration almost sends her toppling into the seat in front of her.

"We’re here, Miss!" the driver hollers from the front. He doesn’t even bother to open the door for Lumine, nor does he offer to help her with her items. This is what cheaping out gets you, Lumine tells herself as she drags herself out of the coach with a wince.

But a few mora here and there so that she can send more money home is worth more than any cushy ride. Even if it did feel like her neck had been snapped in half from the abrupt stop. With a grunt, Lumine drags out her trunk and her travel bag. The driver looks down at her from his seat behind the coach, cheeks red but not from the drink. Wasn’t drunk, after all. Just a natural inclination to be the next traffic accident. While she straightens her bonnet, Lumine memorizes his face so that she would never hail his cab again.

"You sure you want to stop here, ma’am?" There’s a sliver of subtle emotion in his voice, one that Lumine can’t quite pick out.

Lumine briefly glances at the manor house behind her. Seems quite normal, if a tad isolated. "This isn’t the address I gave you? The Raiden Estate?"

The driver takes off his hat. "Sure as can be," he says. "Wanted to make sure you’re really going here, is all."

Lumine narrows her eyes. "What’s wrong with here?"

"Nothing!" He backtracks, "Nothing at all. Just that it’s not a popular destination. Thought you might have wanted to go a bit further. Or maybe even turn around and go back."

"Why on earth would I want to turn straight around?" Lumine says. "I’m here for work." Was he trying to scam her out of more money by encouraging her to get on his death trap again?

"Right, ma’am. The Raiden Estate, as you said." Having made sure this location was indeed the one she requested, the driver then repeats the price he’d told her at the beginning of their ride, and Lumine pays the rest of her deposit. Every mora coin she hands over stabs her heart a little, but it has to be done. Can’t make mora without spending mora—an unfortunate reality for her.

The driver tipped his hat to her before he left. "Got you to your destination, but from here on, ma’am, it’s your loss." Then he drives off without another word, horse flying off again in that familiar dangerous sway, ten degrees away from tipping into a crash. The horse’s galloping looks just as deranged as its master’s driving. Even watching the motion of the haphazard carriage was enough to make Lumine feel queasy all over again.

Your loss, the driver had said with that strange look in his eyes.

Pity, Lumine realizes. He’d looked at her with pity.

…What a scam artist. Trying to scare her off from the place so she’d take the coward’s route and return back the way she came from. "I’m never going to take that cab again," Lumine vows sourly. "Not even for free."

: : :

The Raidens. A family that settled in Celestia as Inazuman diplomats long, long ago. Rumours abound in society—from what little Lumine could glean, as out of touch as she was from the usual scenes that noble ladies frequent—of their secretive family. They kept to themselves mostly, choosing to live in the countryside and not participating in civil society at all, save for the rare appearances of the master of the house in government proceedings at the capital when necessary.

Contrary to what little information floats around about them, the Raiden Estate itself is massive, its sprawling manor bigger than at least fifty of Lumine’s own pitiful house. Forest crowd the horizon behind the manor, a thick and dense carpet of trees that wrap around the house in a heavy embrace. And despite the sun out, the chimneys jut into the sky in stubborn defiance; its shadows stretch over Lumine like a portent to bad weather ahead as she steps toward her final destination.

However, despite the clear wealth of the estate, there is no sign of any outdoor staff to greet Lumine. She carries her luggage trunk with her to the entrance and tries not to feel too intimidated at the huge entrance; the door seemed large enough to swallow an entire parade.

Lumine knocks once: no answer. At the second, more insistent knock (her knuckles smarting from how hard she raps, at least she could say the craftsmanship was superb), one panel of the door creaks open in a slow swing. A head of orange and yellow explodes into her vision, bright and bubbly eyes inspecting her. "And you are…?"

"Ah," Lumine says awkwardly. She’d been expecting a manservant, not a maid; certainly not one so… cheery. "I’ve been told I should ask for one Yae Miko…?"

Recognition lit up the woman’s eyes. "Housekeeper Yae! Let me get her for you, then." Lumine wasn’t sure what she expected—perhaps the maid calling for someone else to announce to the housekeeper of Lumine’s arrival, or the maid scurrying off to find her supervisor—but instead, the blonde takes a deep breath and hollers so loud Lumine’s ears almost pop from the pressure, "Someone here for you, Yae!" as if the housekeeper is sure to hear her, despite there being no one else around.

Lumine stares at the maid with wide eyes (and ringing ears), and she smiles warmly at Lumine. "She’ll be with you soon," the maid reassures. "I’m Yoimiya, by the way."

"Lumine Viatrix."

"Lumine! What a cute name." First name basis, and they haven’t even met for more than ten minutes; were all the servants in this household like this? Lumine should feel uncomfortable with the casual use of her first name, but Yoimiya’s eyes are sparkling, almost infectious in their joy. "While Yae makes herself free, let me take you to the drawing room. It’ll be better to speak there."

"If you wouldn’t mind," Lumine says.

Before Lumine has a chance to protest, Yoimiya goes for Lumine’s trunk. She tugs at the handle, but the trunk lifts only an inch. She tries again, but no luck.

"Hm. Maybe I should get Itto to take care of this…?" she says with a scratch to her head.

"It’s okay," Lumine says. This is what she gets for packing too much into one trunk. Hoarder, some may say (namely Dainsleif), but Lumine’s firmly in the camp of 'you can never be too prepared'. "It’s my luggage, so let me take care of it."

She hoists the trunk in her hand and lifts it up like it’s nothing. Yoimiya whistles. "Strong set of arms on you."

Lumine coughs, embarrassed. "Family trait."

"A good trait," Yoimiya says firmly.

The entrance hall is decorated with paintings, foreign sceneries of a homeland far away as though the owner of the manor was often homesick. Swords hang from the wall of Inazuman make, purple sheaths well polished. The lone portrait at the top of the main staircase stares down at Lumine as she’s led to the side by Yoimiya; the portrait’s face is strict and stern, the slight frown on her face making Lumine feel as though she were being scolded for breathing too loudly. A long braid waterfalls down her shoulder in deep, violet hues. Her eyes are cold, brows drawn too angular to soften any features. Despite the clear Inazuman ties this household has, her clothes are that of the military officials in the Celestial tradition, pinned lapels and all.

"She looks a bit scary, doesn’t she?" Yoimiya comments from beside her. "But she isn’t, I promise. She’s much nicer in person."

"Is she the lady of the house?"

"Yes, our master," Yoimiya says. "She doesn’t take well to being called a lady, so we call her Master Raiden. No need to worry though; she’s not around often."

Lumine turns her attention to Yoimiya as the maid leads her into the drawing room—room, when the size of it could be as big as Lumine’s entire house. At this rate, Lumine’s going to be measuring everything in this place in units of her house.

As Lumine settles into a chair, she takes off her bonnet and declines Yoimiya’s perfunctory offer for tea, stomach too upturned from the cab ride to even think about tea sloshing around in there. Instead, she takes in the drawing room with its cushioned armchairs and polished table, lace curtains embroidered with extraordinary details and oil paintings hung in intricate frames. Even the carpet felt too soft for her scuffed boots.

"Something piqued your interest?"

Lumine jumps slightly at Yoimiya’s sudden question. "Er… Just admiring how well-kept everything is," she says awkwardly, not having the heart to tell Yoimiya about her own destitute situation. And while her last stint as a tutor was also at a grand house, it definitely didn’t compare to the sheer opulence of a manor like this, where even the painting frames seem gilded in gold.

"Looks like our hard work hasn’t gone unnoticed then!" Another bright smile. How Yoimiya can possibly beam so naturally without her cheeks hurting, Lumine has no idea. "Though I’m sure the 'no expenses spared' policy doesn’t hurt. The young master likes to have the best of the best at his service, whatever the cost. And whatever he says, goes."

Already with such influence on the household, despite being a child? He must be an extremely spoiled child. Lumine frowns and opens her mouth right as the door to the drawing room opens.

A pink-haired woman enters without much pomp, but Yoimiya immediately straightens her posture. The maid uniform she’s wearing is similar to Yoimiya’s, albeit with more elaborate frills. This must be Yae Miko. Lumine springs to her feet, standing to attention.

"Yae!" Yoimiya chirps. "A guest for you."

"Believe me, darling, I heard you. Loud and clear. It always makes me glad to know you’ve such a strong set of lungs on you." Yae Miko tilts her head, gaze finally landing on Lumine.

"Oh my," Yae Miko says, circling around the armchair. Lumine stiffens and tries not to curl up on herself, feeling oddly like trapped prey under the piercing gaze of a predator. "You must be the young master’s new governess. Greetings, Miss Viatrix."

"You as well, ma’am."

At the word 'governess', Yoimiya’s brows furrow. "Governess…? Isn’t the young master a little too—"

"Ah, Yoimiya, darling," Yae interrupts. "I do believe the southwest hallway on the second floor could use another round of dusting."

Yoimiya scratches her head. "I could have sworn that Miyuki cleaned it only yesterday?"

"Perhaps the wind’s blown in something strange. Itto’s been sneezing terribly around there, the poor dear."

"All right then," Yoimiya says. She gives Lumine a little wave as she leaves. "It was nice meeting you, Lumine!"

"Same to you, Yoimiya." Lumine smiles as Yoimiya leaves with a little skip in her steps goes, then her eyes slide back to Yae Miko. Something was amiss here, but Lumine doesn’t know what. Isn’t the young master a little too… Too what? Temperamental?

"Now then, Miss Viatrix…" Yae Miko turns her full attention to Lumine, and the weight of her violet eyes is strangely discomfiting. "Shall we discuss the terms of your employment?"

: : :

It’s not really a question.

Yae Miko talks, and Lumine nods. It’s not as if she’s picky about her work conditions. As long as she’s not at risk of losing her life, it’ll be bearable.

Lumine had liked her last job though. Ayaka was a sweet girl who took to Lumine’s learnings diligently. With Ayaka, Lumine was more a language tutor than a governess, given that Ayaka was only slightly younger than Lumine. It took some time for Ayaka to warm to Lumine, as shy as the young lady was, but once Ayaka did, they became great friends. However, nothing lasts forever. Once Lumine’s employment terms came to an end, Lumine started to look for newer opportunities. Perhaps an elementary school? Another household in need of a governess?

Ayaka had pushed Lumine to stay—even as a lady’s companion would be fine, the young lady offered—but Lumine didn’t think such a role suited her. The terms were too nebulous as a companion, 'allowances' instead of 'wages’, 'companionship’' instead of 'work'. Lumine never shied away from hard work anyway, and so preferred to keep to her current job as a governess.

Ayaka heard her out, and though she looked disappointed, did not stop Lumine. Instead, she’d recommended Lumine a new job instead. Only six months, Ayaka had said, and then proceeded to name a sum that made Lumine’s jaw drop rather ungracefully.

It’s enough to pay at least three-quarters the debt that her household has been saddled with. Enough to pay off interests and a good chunk of the principal, and if budgeted carefully enough, could see Paimon having a new wardrobe or Dainsleif a new sword. Free Lumine from having to work for a while. It’s this number rattling around in Lumine’s brain that has her sitting ramrod straight as she discusses terms with Yae Miko. Though 'discuss' may be too misleading a word, as it’s Yae Miko dictating conditions to Lumine instead. Not that Lumine is complaining—the contract was generous in its terms. There is just one peculiarity, however…

"You will be expected to attend to the young master from Monday to Saturday, with Sunday reserved as a rest day," Yae Miko says. "Should circumstances arise in which your services are required on Sundays, you will be paid more accordingly. While I would love for you to keep to this schedule, the young master’s occasional bouts of illness may make circumstances… erratic."

"He’s sick?" Lumine asks, concerned. "Is it severe?"

"It is what it is, and we do what we can." Yae Miko shrugs, brushing off the matter of the young master’s illness with the callous disregard of someone too used to the matter. She continues, "And there will be vacation days allotted to you too. If you find you need to use them, you may come to me at any time in my office. We can discuss the terms further then. You will find that this household is quite liberal in seeing to the needs of our employees.."

This was all well and good, but— "What about the actual, erm, responsibilities required of me? I was told it would be similar to that of a governess from Ayaka, but not further than that."

Yae Miko pauses. She smiles, lips stretching widely. No teeth, but for some reason, a cold chill runs down Lumine’s back regardless. She lays a delicate hand on the armchair and crosses her legs, looking for every inch as though she were the master of the manor instead. "Very true, Miss Viatrix. We haven’t yet discussed our expectations for you. It is as Lady Kamisato says. You come highly recommended, so I am assured of your skills. However, you needn’t bother yourself with reading, arithmetic, or anything of that sort."

"Then is it languages? I’m fluent in many tongues, though I’m not sure which one it is that the young master is interested in learning—"

"No, not that either," Yae Miko dismisses.

Lumine wracks her brain. All the other skills like piano and painting and embroidery weren’t exactly suited for a boy to learn from a woman. And while she could muddle her way through piano or painting, they weren’t her forte either. "Etiquette?"

Yae Miko gives that smile again. A strange leer. "Of a sort. Perhaps it would be easier to show you?"

"If you think it appropriate."

"Then let’s do that." Yae Miko reaches out a hand to help Lumine up. "Shall we see to your future charge, Miss Viatrix?"

: : :

The hallway they walk down is, first and foremost, dark. Heavy velvet curtains drawn closed, gas lamps lit despite the daylight Lumine had just left behind mere minutes ago. There is no dust, but there are shadows that stretch and crawl along the floor in line with every step. That’s what shadows were supposed to do, follow you like that, but Lumine feels jarred nonetheless. The portraits lining the path stare at her as though their eyes were following her. Yae Miko has not a hint of the same unease Lumine feels, a sway to her walk as though she were sashaying through a garden.

Given how large the manor appeared on the outside, there must have been hundreds of rooms. Not unexpected for a great house, but Lumine is praying it won’t be so hard to navigate once she settles in. At this rate, they’ll have to give her a map.

However, despite the long, winding way, Yae Miko’s steps don’t slow, and Lumine finds herself hard pressed to match her pace. Around the corridor, up the stairs, bending around another corner, a dizzying path with no predictable pattern until Lumine almost slams into Yae Miko’s back as she suddenly stops at an unassuming door, one that matched the many they’d passed on their way.

Yae Miko’s eyes flicker to Lumine. "Here we are."

And where exactly is 'here'?

Head spinning from this labyrinth of a house, Lumine doesn’t ask. She stands there. Neither of them move. Yae Miko remains silent.

"…Aren’t we going to go in together?" Lumine asks delicately.

"Oh no. I won’t be going in, not at all," Yae Miko demurs. "You have to make your own introductions, Miss Viatrix. I’d only make things more… difficult. Don’t worry about being a disturbance—the outcome will be the same either way."

Is this standard fare for this household? For one to just barge in on the masters of the house, even if it is a child?

"I must give you fair warning, little one," Yae Miko says. "He has a bit of a temper on him, our young master."

The answer that comes out is automatic, a product of practice in having so much of the same conversations. An arrogant child is a dime a dozen in her line of work. "I’ve dealt with many types of children before, Madam Yae. I’m up to the task."

"I’m sure you are," Yae Miko says indulgently. "Your past experiences will come in handy."

Curiosity has Lumine asking, "What kind of child is he?"

Yae Miko emains silent, a slight twitch to the corner of her smile. Eventually, she answers in a low voice.

"…A sickly, precocious one," Yae Miko says, and is it Lumine’s imagination, or is there a hint of distaste that flashes over her face. When Lumine blinks, Yae Miko’s mysterious smile is there as usual. Must have been a mistake. Lumine is too nervous for no reason, and now it’s even affecting her vision.

Lumine puts a hand to the doorknob. That sense of unease returns. Yae Miko encourages, "Go on, then."

Brass metal cold against her palm, Lumine opens the door and takes a hesitant step inside—and realizes: she doesn’t even know the child’s name.

The room is, like the hallway, dark. No lights save for the artificial lamp behind her, a lone shade of just herself beneath her feet. Lumine takes a glance back and Yae Miko is nowhere to be found, having left (abandoned) Lumine to her fate. Lumine takes a deep inhale and immediately regrets it. The air smells of days-old medicine, bitterness so perfused it’s as if it has been spilt and seeped into the carpets. It’s not unpleasant, but it’s strange enough it makes Lumine swallow to hold back the reflexive gag. Her vision gently adjusts to the darkness, and she could barely make out a canopy bed with its drapes closed.

"Hello?" Lumine whispers, talking a few careful steps toward the bed. If the child was sleeping, she didn’t want to disturb him.

"I haven’t called for anyone." The voice that cuts through the silence is sharp and cold, echoes in the room like reverberating daggers. A young man’s voice, thin and reedy. "Why are you here?"

"I-I was told this is where I’d be able to meet with the young master. Do you know where he is?"

A rustle of the covers from behind the curtains. "The fox has been taking in blithering idiots yet again." A long-suffering sigh. The bed curtains are wrestled aside, and a pale face peeks out. "Do the new hires not even know when they’re speaking to their employer?"

That, Lumine decides with all the blood draining from her face, is most definitely not a child.

"I-I think I have the wrong room," Lumine stammers. Her feet automatically step backwards. She lowers her head and stares at her feet, not daring to look up. "Madam Yae must have been mistaken. Please excuse me."

"The fox can be considered an entire mistake herself," the young man sneers. "But she’s right this time. I’m the young master you’re looking for, so memorize it well. Hurry up and speak, what do you need me for? If you’ve disturbed my rest for no reason, there will be consequences. And do remove that dumbstruck look from your face before I have to prepare myself to look for your replacement."

Lumine can scarcely breathe. "Y-You’re the boy that’s to be my charge?"

"Charge…?" The canopy is violently swept aside altogether as he swings his legs off the bed. Dark strands of hair frame a delicate jawline, brows drawn in annoyance; despite the fuzzy lights, the scowl is well-defined. Even in the darkness, even past the scowl, Lumine can discern it: he’s beautiful. As strange as that descriptor is for a man, it’s the only fitting one. If it wasn’t for the voice, Lumine would have thought it was a young girl instead. Too pretty to be anything but. If only the haughty, poisonous voice would match the face.

He stares right at her, voice dipping into a menacing growl. "Who’s to be your charge? What’s the fox playing at this time?"

"Sh-she told me I’m supposed to be the young master’s governess." Lightheaded with confusion, Lumine’s voice rises higher and higher. "But you’re not a boy… Not a child at all?"

"Governess? For me?!" The young master slams his hand on the nightstand and jumps out of bed; Lumine jerks at the sudden movement, feeling trapped. "You?!"

Lumine says helplessly, "It wasn’t up to me."

But he wasn’t having it.

"That stupid fox! I knew, I knew she would do something underhanded like this while that woman was gone! I knew it, I knew it!" the boy—man?—screeches. Eyes flashing, he points a shaky finger at her, trembling with an acute rage. "You there, wench! Get out!"

Wench?! In different circumstances, she’d definitely object to the horrid descriptor. How could such a sweet face be spewing such awful words? But between the both of them, Lumine must be the mature person in the room. She draws herself up and takes it upon herself to diffuse the situation: "I’m sure this is a misunderstanding, sir. Please calm down, we can go see the housekeeper about this and figure out what’s happening—"

Lumine ducks her head just in time as a glass cup shatters behind her. A gasp escapes as she stumbles backwards, taken back by the unusual violence.

"What in the world?" she cries. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"Did you not hear me the first time?" He heaves for breath, and the pallor of his face is now turning into a sickly puce. The young man clutches at his chest and says shrilly, "I said get out! Get out right now!"

Internally cursing her luck—and Yae Miko for playing this prank on her—Lumine does exactly as he demands and slams the door closed behind her. She clasps her knees, trying to catch her breath in quick pants as blood keeps its thundering beat in her ears. The door shakes from repeated crashes from what was likely more thrown things. Lumine is glad she closed the door on her way out, lest another household object come for her head.

"Yae Miko?! Where in the seven hells are you?!" The young man’s hollering voice comes through muffled, but even then, the anger is clear. "Come out so I can skin you alive, you thrice-be-damned conniving fox!"

: : :

Of course, Yae Miko is far, far away from the scene of the crime, humming to herself as she welcomes Ei into the manor. The rest of the maids and manservants are lined up, heads bowed as they welcome their master back into the mansion.

"There’s no need for this," Ei says with a wave of her hand as she walks briskly past them. "Return to your duties; I’m sure you’re busy enough even without my impromptu showing."

None of the servants protest. No one other than the housekeeper would dare to speak unprompted in Ei’s presence. They watch for Yae Miko instead, and at her nod, scatter like well-trained birds fluttering off to wherever they’re needed next. Yae retains Yoimiya for a few seconds, and then sends her off too. Dinner preparations will keep everyone shuffling quickly for the next few hours, leaving Yae Miko with Ei for some time together—a particularly needed commodity, considering the natural disaster that was sure to launch itself at Yae in the next hour.

Ei stops in front of the staircase, looking up at the painting of herself. She stares for a long while, reminiscing again. Yae wishes she would break the habit; it never did well, to dwell on things past. "Have things been well in my absence?" Ei asks absentmindedly.

Yae Miko hums, noncommittal. "As well as they can be. You’ve been gone for far too long, darling."

Ei sighs. "There’s always other matters to tend to," she says.

More like a self-imposed exile, Yae thinks sourly. And Ei never took Yae Miko with her, leaving Yae and her little lonesome self in the too-large manor house and its too-busy upkeep. Least all dealing with the snit that preoccupies the upper floors. But Ei had told Yae, I trust you, and Yae was utterly helpless in the face of Ei’s desperate, earnest request.

So few allies, so few friends; heartbroken, heartsick. With Ei in such dire straits, under these circumstances, how could Yae disobey Ei?

As Ei shrugs off her coat into Yae Miko’s hands, the screaming begins. Hard to make out, with how far the boy’s bedchamber was to the entrance hall, but Yae Miko’s hearing has always been good. Get out… skin you… fox!

Introductions seem to be going well. He didn’t even threaten to burn the house down this time. Threatened bodily harm to Yae, but when has he not. Yae hopes this potential new hire won’t be scared off like all the rest. Or worse, fall unconscious from the shock and leave Yae to drag her body out of the room. That is, if the boy didn’t get to her first. But it was good to expose the girl to him like this—if she could survive this, she could survive anything.

Thuds and crashes continue to ring out. It’s starting again, Yae thinks with an inward sigh. Now she’ll have to replace the furniture in his room again. If she could have the boy live in a room devoid of anything but a solid, sturdy oak bed frame, she would.

Not that it was up to her. No, these things were never up to her.

As the screaming continues, Ei slants a weary look at Yae. "What was it that you said? As well as they can be?"

Yae blinks innocently. "As well as they can be, but the boy is never well. I try my best, but it never seems to be enough."

Ei warns, "Miko…"

"I know, I know," Yae dismisses. "Indulge the boy, let him do as he wishes for the good of his own health, yes, yes. Whatever he wants, he gets. Even if it’s bloody murder, help him plan it out and remember to find a good place to dump the body."

Ei thins her lips, expression turning even more stern. Yae tugs her by the sleeve of her blouse. "Let us go to your office instead," Yae offers. "The boy will come by soon enough anyway, and I gather you won’t wish for the rest of the staff to hear his tirade."

When they do make it to the office, Yae closes the door gently behind her. "Will you be using your pipe?" Ei asks as she rummages around her cabinet, knowing Yae Miko’s preference for her tobacco pipe.

"Not today," Yae Miko says. She couldn’t very well deal with the coming conversation when there is smoke everywhere.

"Suit yourself." Ei sits and pours herself a drink—neat, like it always is—while Yae fusses with Ei’s coat as she hangs it up on the rack.

As Ei takes the first sip of her whiskey, Yae turns and faces Ei. With hands on her hips, Yae explains, "I found a new governess for the boy."

For a second, silence. Her face doesn’t change, but Ei takes in the news by emptying her glass and setting it down with a gentle clink! "This again, Miko? Hasn’t the last one been chased off, what was it, fifteen years ago?"

"Hence the replacement. They were introduced today, if you couldn’t tell."

"No wonder I could hear him from across the house. My son has been of age for a long time already," Ei says blandly. "There is no need for a governess."

"You sound so certain, but with the way you treat him, you’d think he was still five," Yae Miko mutters.

Ei doesn’t bother refuting her. "Regardless, governesses are for young boys. If he needs a teacher, it would be more suitable to find a tutor."

"We may call her a tutor then, if that’s your concern," Yae Miko says. "The title doesn’t matter." Though what Ei said was true. He was too old for anything like a governess; young women may have them, but definitely not young men. And even the young women of age kept companions instead. Yae only chose the title to anger the boy as much as possible—that, and the fact that what the job will entail is closest to 'governess' anyways. Either that or 'nanny', and she was certain the boy would anger himself into an early grave if she used the word 'nanny'. Which, while tempting, certainly isn’t what Yae is seeking.

Though if the decision was left to Yae, she’d drag the little monster out of his room and give him a good knock on the head instead.

"A governess is unnecessary," Ei says with a frown.

Yae glides across the room, settling her hands on Ei’s shoulders. She settles her mouth near Ei’s ear and whispers, "You indulge the boy too much. For once, won’t you indulge me too? Won’t you trust me?"

Ei falters. "That…"

"Ei," Yae coaxes, "have I ever led you astray?"

As though on cue to disrupt Yae Miko’s coaxing with the maximal force, the door bursts open, almost blown off its hinges from the kick.

The boy is apoplectic as he stomps into Ei’s office, pointing a finger at her as soon as he catches sight of Yae. "You!"

Yae sighs as she removes herself from Ei’s side. "Hello, Young Master."

"Young master," he mocks. "As if you truly see me as your master. What did you do, fox?"

And to think, he’d been so sweet as a child. Toddling after her with his short legs, hands always stretched out for hugs. "What I did, Young Master," she emphasized, "was see to your lacking education."

He hisses, "What exactly is it that I’m lacking?"

"Manners, for one," Yae Miko says with a sniff.

The boy pivots his anger toward Ei, who’d been quietly pouring herself another drink. "Did you know about this?"

Ei frowns. "I did n—"

"No. I don’t care for your excuses. It doesn’t matter if you did or did not know." He slams his hands on the desk and leans forward to stare directly at Ei’s blank face. "What matters is that I want that silly chit of a girl out of here now."

"If you could just listen to me," Ei begins.

But the boy isn’t having any of it. He seizes the whiskey glass in front of Ei and smashes it on the ground. The glass shatters instantly, liquor spilling all over the carpet. "Out, do you hear me?!"

Yae narrows her eyes. Again, that penchant for throwing anything he can get his hands on.

Ei says nothing, only listens to his mad ravings with calmness. Not that Yae expected anything different; she’s never tried to stop the boy, especially during one of his fits. After a few more minutes of his tantrum—mostly comments aimed at Yae mixed in with—the boy leaves with a huff. Door slammed just as hard as he kicked it when he came in. Like a whirlwind, he’s gone as quickly as he came. Likely from the desire to not see Ei any more than he has to already subject himself.

"After that little display, you’ll still tell me that a governess is not necessary to temper his behaviour?"

"He’s merely acting out. He’ll grow out of it."

"I fear he’s long past the growing stage."

"The anger will make him ill again," Ei says. Yae grinds her molars, gums itching with irritation. "I told you not to do unnecessary things, Miko. He’s still my son, regardless of everything."

"Your son is a menace!" Yae flings back, lips curled back to reveal bared teeth. "He is out of control and you will not do anything about it because you are blind to him, Ei! You refuse to see him for who he is!"

"Miko…" The call of her name makes Yae want to fall to her knees and beg. Wants to put her head in Ei’s lap, where Ei will stroke her hair and tell her, I am glad you remain, Miko. Despite everything. Days where sunlight shone over them all, no rain, no storm. Only the laughter, the sound of rustling grass, Ei’s gentle voice above her as Miko luxuriates in the scent of sakura that drift past them like an ocean tides, push and pull, wax and wane.

Ei closes her eyes briefly before looking to Yae, confusion and grief swirling in her eyes. Help me, they plead. I am entirely lost and I know not what to do.

Yae softens. Of course Yae does. Heartbroken, heartsick—it is not only Ei who suffers.

"If you have any trust in me as your loyal servant," Yae Miko says softly, "you will listen to me, Ei. You will let me, through my own ways, educate him on how to behave as a human being should. If not for me, then for her."

"…Maybe you’re right, Miko. Maybe so."

: : :

Lumine’s role as governess had been more serendipity than anything else. Left with a pile of ever-increasing debts, it was one of the only "respectable" positions she could take up after the Viator house fell into ruins. The memories of trying to decipher through tears the ledgers she’d been saddled with after her parents’ death still made her head spin. Then the debtors came, took anything that wasn’t nailed to the walls or floor or ceiling—then pried those off too, in the end.

The situation was dire, but at least she had Aether. And then he’d left, and Lumine was left with nothing. Not nothing, she insisted firmly to herself. She still had Dainsleif and Paimon, and that was better than nothing.

Some days, though, she so desperately wished Aether would return to her. He was the one who understood her the most—but it turns out, she hadn’t understood him in the same way.

No matter, Lumine tells herself. There’s more important things at stake than your own misery—food on the table, for one.

Which left Lumine with Yoimiya, who’d hurriedly dragged her away from the bedchamber of the supposed young master of the manor house. It’s okay, Yoimiya had soothed. Yae Miko sent me.

"When Yae Miko said you were here to be a governess, I was confused too," Yoimiya says as she passes Lumine a cup of tea. The kitchen around them is bustling with activity, on account of the sudden arrival from the master of the house. "The young master isn’t a child. Hasn’t been one for a while now." Yoimiya glances around as Lumine sips her tea, then lowers her voice. "Though if you ask me, some of those tantrums he throws sometimes… Not so different from a kid’s."

"I wasn’t aware," Lumine murmurs.

"It’s not so surprising," Yoimiya says. "Nothing leaves the mansion, not without the master’s say-so. Everyone around here knows to keep their mouths shut, even if they leave the job—no one wants to bring Yae Miko’s wrath upon them for having loose lips."

Lumine thinks back to those smiling eyes. "Is she so terrifying?"

"A very easy-going superior, but if you manage to get on her bad side…" Yoimiya shudders. "Last I heard, some maid was run out of the mansion for trying to get too close to Master Raiden—as in she sprinted out of here, wailing! With singed hair and shaven eyebrows too."

Lumine touches her eyebrows and swallows. "Sounds like an ordeal."

Yoimiya’s face winces as though she’s swallowed a sour lemon just as a hot breath lands on Lumine’s neck. "Isn’t it a given? Naughty children should be punished," a low, feminine voice purrs.

Lumine jumps, the teacup in her hand almost dropped from shock. "Madam Yae!" she says, words strangled.

The woman who had been literally breathing down Lumine’s neck looks unperturbed by Lumine’s startle. "Are you quite all right, my dear? It must have been a terrible fright."

From the young master or you? And the worst part is that the housekeeper likely knew what Lumine would face by pushing her into the young master’s room alone. Smiling, all the while she was herding the prey into the lion’s den.

"I’m fine, thank you for asking," Lumine says warily.

"Hm." Yae Miko regards her with that glint in her eyes, that strange smile on her face again. Lumine is sure it spells nothing but trouble for her. "A word with you, if I may," Yae Miko asks pleasantly, but it really isn’t a request at all.

"Of course, ma’am." Lumine sets her teacup on the tea tray, meeting Yoimiya’s gaze as she does so. Yoimiya winks at Lumine before taking aside the tray. Good luck, she mouths, and Lumine smiles weakly in gratitude.

Yae Miko leads Lumine to the hallway. The bustle of the kitchen can still be heard from behind closed doors, shouts of the cooks directing maids and manservants here and there.

"What happened after you went into the room?" Yae Miko asks.

"I introduced myself," Lumine recounts. She hesitates, but plows ahead anyway. "The young master seemed unaware of my purpose in being here. He became displeased. His hand slipped."

Which was putting it mildly!

Yae Miko doesn’t seem surprised. "Yet you seem unharmed."

No thanks to you, Lumine thinks sourly. A bit of warning would have been nice. The signs had been there, now that she thinks back on them, but it’s easy to be wise after the fact.

Lumine replies, "I’m quick to adapt, ma’am." Translation: I have quick reflexes.

"Indeed. A needed trait around these parts," Yae Miko notes with a widening smirk. "What did you think, then?"

"Of what, ma’am?"

"The young master."

Lumine keeps her face purposely blank. "He has a very strong will." And a very accurate aim.

"Capricious, fickle, volatile—don’t worry, you needn’t mince your words with me," Yae Miko says. "He’s a disagreeable little brat and we both know it. Truthfully, though, your opinion on him doesn’t matter to me in the slightest. The most important matter is whether you’d like to remain to take him on as your charge."

Surprised at the housekeeper’s straightforwardness, Lumine says carefully, "He seemed adamantly against it."

Yae Miko scoffs. "As if it matters what he wants."

"Even so… I’m still a little unclear as to what’s expected of me."

"You’ve seen his horrid behaviour, right?" Yae Miko doesn’t give Lumine a chance to answer, "Of course you have, what a silly thing to ask. Your job is, using any means necessary, to school the brat into some semblance of a respectable human—whatever you think that entails. It can’t be worse than what we have already. In short, teach him some manners. Ayaka tells me you’re a rather resourceful child. Do you believe yourself up to the task?"

Lumine hesitates. "I can only do so much. Especially with a"—she bites her tongue, almost about to say "child"—"person of his age."

"As long as you attempt it," Yae Miko waves off. "You’ll be compensated generously for it, even if it does end in failure. All I ask is six months of your time. Though I’d prefer you to keep that particular stipulation a secret from the boy."

The terms were indeed generous. Lumine weighs the number of digits in the debt to be repaid against the memory of the glass cup flying above her head, and decides. If she could pay off this debt early, she could do so many things. She’ll finally be free…

"I’ll do it," Lumine says. "However…"

"Hm?"

"I have some terms."

Yae Miko chuckles. "To bargain with me, you’re a brave one. As you wish, then. Let us negotiate."

"No more tests," Lumine says firmly. "You could have adequately warned me beforehand about what you really want from me, and I don’t appreciate being surprised like that."

"So you realized. You must understand, I had to see how you perform under duress. And you passed with flying colours."

"Regardless, it shouldn’t happen again."

"You have my word. Anything else?"

Lumine lists off some other stipulations (wages are to be paid biweekly, the cost of injuries suffered while on the job and subsequent recovery time are to be covered by the employer, the terms are to be listed on paper and signed by both parties, etc., etc.) and Yae Miko agrees to them easily.

"And one last question."

"Go ahead."

"What’s the young master’s name?"

Yae Miko tilts her head. "Name? Oh, I see. You don’t know. Everyone around here just refers to him as the young master. There's no need to call him by his name along with his title. It’s not as if there’s anyone else around to confuse him with—though if we had two of him, that would certainly be a lot more merrymaking around here, hm?"

Lumine had the sneaking suspicion the last comment was meant to be sarcasm. What is this place, she thinks, what kind of trouble did I get myself into.

In truth, she already knows. The road to hell is paved with good intentions, and the road to hell is just where she’s heading—because dying costs nothing but living costs money. Which is just the unfortunate reality of the world.

.

.

.

ii.

"So you’re her? The one who’ll be looking after my son?"

"Yes, Master Raiden."

Lumine stands stiffly to attention as Master Raiden inspects her carefully. She can see why no one refers to the Raiden head as a 'lady'—with the waistcoat and pants, she would be quite out of place at a ladies' gathering. She’s beautiful though, just like her son. Exactly like the painting, down to the waterfall braid and the curve of her slight frown. However, despite the stern persona, the tear mole at her eye makes her seem… Lumine isn’t sure how to describe it. Sad? Grieving? Wistful, maybe.

Master Raiden stands up from her office chair, and Lumine mirrors her. "Polite," she notes. "Certainly different from my son."

I’d hope so, Lumine thinks. If she ever behaved as willfully as the young master did… Well, she’d rather be struck down by lightning than suffer the shame.

"Hold out your hand," Master Raiden intones.

Lumine blinks at the strange request, but does as she asks. Master Raiden grabs onto her hand, and Lumine instinctively tightens her hold. Somehow, it turns into an impromptu handshake between the two of them. Imagine that. Lumine’s never had to shake the hand of her employer before. It really wasn’t done between the ladies in polite society. Somehow, she admires Master Raiden more for it.

"A strong grip," Master Raiden says when she lets go. There was no change to the inflection of her words, but Lumine has a strange feeling she’s been given approval. Another one of these wordless tests, Lumine thinks with an inward sigh. "You’ll fare better than the ones before."

"And how many were before, exactly?" The question slips out before Lumine could think to stop herself. She resists the urge to slap her own cheek, looking for her employer’s reaction, scared to breathe. Stupid, stupid Lumine.

Luckily, Master Raiden doesn’t take offence. Instead, she furrows her brows and closes her eyes in brief thought. "The last governess my son had was fifteen years ago, when he was five. She was the eighteenth we hired. So that makes you the nineteenth."

"Nineteenth’s the charm?" Lumine says weakly.

"Miko certainly believes so. I hope you’ll last longer than them—it only took, let me think… Three weeks at most? Before they packed their bags."

"Perseverance is one of my strong traits," Lumine says automatically. Damn these ingrained responses, she curses herself. She’s gone to too many employment screenings.

"I hope so. When it comes to my son, you will need it."

And speak of the devil. The door slams open. Lumine hears him before she sees him. That voice dripping in disgust. "Is what the fox told me true? Is it true? Will she really be staying?"

"Yes," Master Raiden says simply.

The nameless young master takes after his mother—or so Lumine thought, until he starts spouting off again. His face twists in anger, so different from the placidity of his mother. As expected, the young master doesn’t take kindly to the idea of having a governess.

"I do not agree to this—this affront to my intelligence!" he insists. "As I’ll be taught anything by this dimwitted girl! Just look at her face: not a single thought in that empty skull! The only thing she has is her face and even then, I’m better looking!"

"At least the words "please" and "thank you" are in my lexicon," Lumine mutters.

He jerks around and gives her the evil eye. "What did you say? Say it again, I dare you."

"Indeed, my impressions were correct: you’ll do well," Master Raiden says. "Consider yourself formally hired, Lumine Viatrix. Welcome to the household."

And what a welcome it is, stuck between the anger of her charge and the indifference of his mother.

"Don’t just ignore me like this, woman!" he hisses. At first, Lumine thought he was talking to her, but he’s facing Master Raiden instead. Lumine glances downward, and his fists are clenched, knuckles white as though he’s one soon-to-snap string away from strangling her. Looks like "mother" isn’t in his vocabulary either. "I won’t have it, do you hear me? I won’t have it!"

"You will," Master Raiden says. "I’ve let you have free rein over this manor for as long as you’ve lived, but I won’t budge on this."

"Then I’ll dismiss her! As soon as you’re gone, she’ll be sent packing."

"I’ve already instructed the rest of the staff that Miss Viatrix is to be a permanent addition to the staff. I will not dismiss her, and you may not dismiss her either."

The young master’s eyes glitter. "Then I’ll move out."

"To where? There is nowhere for you to go, my son."

"Don’t call me your son!" He’s turning that hideous shade of red again. What a pity. He’d be quite stunning if he smiled more. As it is, he seemed more like a caricature seen from a warped oil painting folded one too many times.

Master Raiden looks at her son carefully. "Be careful not to throw too big a fit," she says mildly. "You’ll make yourself sick again."

"Shut up!" His mother’s casual concern seems to be the last straw, because the young master suddenly lunges for Master Raiden across the room, snarling, "How fucking dare you—!"

All in all, it had to be the most awkward mother-son conversation Lumine’s ever had the (mis)fortune of attending.

: : :

In the end, Master Raiden didn’t budge on her decision—though whether this was good news or bad will remain to be seen. Master Raiden had also tied up her son with the embroidered curtains he’d ripped off, turning him into one of those mummies she’d only seen about in illustrations from books about the ancient desert kingdoms of Sumeru.

Don’t think of her as a governess, Master Raiden had said. She’s more of a… companion. Yes, like a lady’s companion.

I’m not a lady! he’d screeched back, before dropping more curses. At least Lumine had several more expletives to add to her arsenal. For a sickly man who never left the mansion (or so she’s been told), the young master knew a shockingly diverse collection of vulgar words

Though she’d much prefer verbal curses to this. Warm liquid dribbles over her head as the young master leans back in his chair, smug as ever.

"Oops," he mocks. "My hands slipped."

Or so he says, and yet he still sets down the teacup—now empty—onto the table with a grace unbefitting of the childish way he’d dumped its contents onto her only moments before. Lumine pushes aside the wet fringes sticking to her eyes with the back of her hand. The gentle fragrance of tea coats over her, seeping into her hair. What a waste of good tea, Lumine laments.

Honestly, she’s the one at fault for thinking it would go any different when he’d asked her to read something for him. I don’t understand this word, Miss Viatrix, he’d said innocently, pointing at the book, and Lumine had fallen for it, hook, line, sinker. She’d leaned her head down, and got a shower of tea for her troubles.

"Perhaps our next lesson shall be on the etiquette of drinking tea," Lumine says, "seeing as the young master is sorely lacking education in that compartment despite his advanced age. Not that I will hold it against you, Young Master, but people will surely talk if someone with twenty-odd years behind them can’t even hold a teacup properly."

The smirk falls off his face, and oh dear, he’s going to go apoplectic again.

Lumine prepares herself for the onslaught of another tirade. Of all the idiotic, dimwitted, utterly insipient fools in the world, this, that, this, that. When he goes for the teapot however, presumably to douse her with the rest, Lumine snatches his wrist.

The young master freezes as though surprised at her assertion, looking up at her with wide eyes.

"No," Lumine says firmly. "I may be willing to overlook many things, but I won’t entertain more of that particular proclivity, Young Master. The effort of your staff shouldn’t be disregarded, and good tea shouldn’t be wasted."

He slaps her hand away. Lumine withdraws, resisting the urge to rub at the sting. Despite how frail he appeared, he wasn’t without strength. "Don’t touch me," he hisses. "You have no right to manhandle me as you wish with your grubby street urchin hands."

Lumine smiles wanly. "I bathe on the regular—though if I was dirty before, the tea certainly would have washed the grime away. No need for more."

Despite her coaxing words, he still gives her that trademark look of disgust before leaving his study in a huff. "We’re done here!"

Signature door slam, as expected. Which left Lumine with her hair wet and a puddle of tea beneath her boots. Lumine doesn’t bother to follow. It’s almost time for supper, and just like how the young master is done with her, she’s also done with him.

Slow and steady, Lumine tells herself. An hour here and there, and when she learns more about him, she’ll have a better idea of how to handle him. There was no need to overstep and try to ingratiate herself to him. An indulgent yet firm hand was better with children like this.

Wiping her forehead with her handkerchief , Lumine sighs. She’ll have to call for a maid to clean this up. Again. At least there was nothing broken this time; her dignity may be bruised, but it wasn’t anything of worth anyway.

When she rings the bell in the study, Shinobu is the one who comes. "Another outburst?" she says sympathetically as she dabs at Lumine’s hair with a towel. "I’ll let Yoimiya know to draw you a bath, Miss Viatrix."

"Thank you," Lumine says. "And no, it wasn’t an outburst. He was quite mild this time around." Didn’t even try to go for her throat, which Lumine considers a win—though that may be because he realized he could never beat her in a fight, not after she tossed him over her shoulders and threw him on his bed before tying his wrists to the bedpost with his own pillowcase. A trick Lumine had learned after seeing Master Raiden’s technique with the curtains, and it had worked beautifully. He’d been wriggling around and hissing for a while after that debacle, reminding her of a pinned-down cat, but never tried anything physical again.

Shinobu retreats from Lumine and lays the towel on the metal tray she’d brought. Her eyes dart from Lumine to the ground, then to the empty teacup on the table.

"If you consider this mild," Shinobu says, "congratulations. You’ve acclimated to this household well."

Lumine groans. "Is that a good thing?"

"Hard to say. Now shoo," Shinobu says. "Go take that bath. Supper will be soon. Kitsune udon tonight."

"Do you think Itto will try to out-eat Madam Yae again?"

"If he knows what’s good for him, he won’t," Shinobu deadpans.

Lumine laughs. Itto was responsible for the odd jobs here and there, anything that required strength. He was a bit of a slacker, but well-meaning. Most importantly, everyone knew Itto was deathly allergic to all things related to beans (except himself, strangely enough), yet he insisted on a noodle-eating competition with Madam Yae every single time kitsune udon was involved. It was a good thing Shinobu had some medical skills—enough to make sure Itto didn’t die, at least, though that didn’t stop the man from having a death wish.

Only Itto, lovable and slightly ignorant as he is, would dare to square off against Yae Miko like this. There was no butler, which meant Housekeeper Yae handled everything, and she was the highest authority around when the master was gone. Above even the young master she’s supposed to serve, Lumine has learned.

There wasn’t as strict a hierarchy in the Raiden household as there is in other places Lumine has had to work, likely owing to Madam Yae’s own lax attitude. As long as the work got done, she’d told Lumine, anything else is irrelevant.

Lumine was grateful for it. Before, she’d often had to take her meals alone before. Usually, servants didn’t allow themselves to associate with governesses. Too high in status to be part of the lower staff, yet not quite a family member, Lumine couldn’t eat with her employers nor the servants. With Ayaka, it hadn’t been like that—but not every family was like the Kamisatos.

The first night she’d had at the Raiden Estate, however, had been boisterous and welcoming. Yoimiya had surprised Lumine that night, dragging her along to the kitchen while saying, Supper’s ready, aren’t you coming, Lumine? She’d tilted her head in confusion when Lumine asked hesitantly about whether she should be dining with them, and said plainly, Why shouldn’t you? Do you not want to eat with us?

Lumine had protested vehemently, No, that isn’t the case at all; Yoimiya had beamed and nodded, Then come, and that had been that. They’d gathered in the kitchen and played silly games until midnight, gambled at cards with nothing but pumpkin seeds. Itto had crowed about being the victor up until the last hand when Yae Miko revealed her cards, upon which his jaw dropped to the floor. He’d even teared up when Yae Miko swept away all his winnings and unceremoniously cracked open a pumpkin seed before tossing its contents in her mouth. A good harvest this year, she’d commented, all the while ignoring Itto’s hysteric shambles from losing.

It wasn’t all fun and games, though. More than once, Lumine had seen maids stumble from the young master’s bedchamber, brought to tears from his callous remarks or a careless hand across the face. Yae Miko doesn’t like to send the younger girls in to serve him, but sometimes there weren’t enough hands. And no one wants the young master to throw a fit and become sick again, despite him being so very spoilt and very particular about the cut of his clothes, the angle of his furniture, the way the canopy of his bed is to drape when let down, and… well, everything.

"Honestly, it’s a good thing you’ve come," Yoimiya tells her while she’s unloading the heated water from the bucket into the bathtub. She dips a finger into the waters and swishes it around, nodding in satisfaction at the temperature. "Since your arrival, he’s been less… shouty? Toward the other girls."

"Likely because he’s been taking it all out on me," Lumine says dryly as Yoimiya helps her out of her dress. "Where would he find the energy to get angry afterward?"

"Fair enough," Yoimiya says cheerfully, scattering flower petals into the bath. They’re so luxurious here, Lumine can’t help but think. Fresh flowers for every bath… "You handle him so well, everyone is surprised."

"Because he’s my charge," Lumine says, taking out the accessories from her hair. She’ll have to have it cleaned. "I’ve been conferred a certain amount of authority over him by Master Raiden. If I was a maid, I’d be scared witless."

"Somehow I doubt it," Yoimiya says.

"Either that, or I’d have quit long ago,"

"But you haven’t! And that’s a miracle in itself," Yoimiya says. "Bath’s ready for you, Lumine. Ring the bell if you need anything else, okay?"

"You’re wonderful, Yoimiya," Lumine says as she dips a toe in before sinking her entire body into the waters. "I’ll see you at supper?"

"Of course!" And then Lumine was left alone to her bath, no sound in the room save for the rare ripple of water as she scrubbed at her hair. Sighing, Lumine wonders what she’s doing here.

For the first two week, she had followed the young master around enough to know his normal routine, which mostly consisted of him lying in his bed or doing nothing in his study. There was the occasional foray to other places in the estate, but never outside. He doesn’t like the curtains to be opened, doesn’t like the silverware to be too shiny, doesn’t like the draft that escapes in from the cracks of the bedchamber window even though Lumine could swear on her parents’ grave that there was none, doesn’t like the angle of her shadows that fall on him when she stands too close to him. Doesn’t like much of anything.

Once, she’d told him they were to study Sumerian together, and he’d thrown the book she’d laid in front of him at the door instead, denting the spine. Of course, studying languages wasn’t really the goal: it was a means to an end, and they both knew it. But you can’t teach someone to behave like a well-respected member of society by starting from nothing, so Lumine had trailed after him like a chained pet. Had tried to interfere when he spoke too roughly to the other members of staff, and while she was unsuccessful at calming him down, at least she managed to redirect his anger. At her, but better Lumine than some other poor, unfortunate soul. It was the reason why she was brought in, anyways. To be his handler.

Lumine sighs again. She’s been doing a lot of sighing these days, as though her soul wants to untether from her body and escape from between her teeth. She shifts in the tub, raises a foot to rest it on the wooden ledge, and marvels at the pink and red petals floating on the water’s surface without a care. Flowers, she thinks. Memories of flower gardens and tea parties return in clouds of steam, fans splayed open as rumours pass quietly behind them. The July heat overhead, fought off valiantly even if unsuccessful by the parasol overhead, held by a stoic Dainsleif as she sat with the other ladies and idled the day away with chitter-chatter. The scent of tea and roses, cradled by the gentle summer breeze that suddenly brushed past Lumine’s powdered cheeks. She’d stared at the sky and wondered if this was happiness, if this was all there was to life, to be a well-loved nobleman’s daughter who had no care for anything except the dress she’s to wear tomorrow.

Dainsleif looked oddly at her. Are you all right, my lady?

Am I all right? Aren’t I always?

A hurried knock at her door startles Lumine out of her thoughts. "Miss Viatrix?" a timid voice calls.

The water sloshes as Lumine sits up. "Yes, Himari?"

"The young master wants to see you. I-I know you’re in the middle of taking your bath, but Madam Yae is out with the shopping and the rest of the staff are busy with dinner and there’s no one else to tend to the young master and he-very-much-insists-on-seeing-you!"

The situation floods from the girl’s voice out in a deluge of words, so fast Lumine had to take a few seconds to parse through the jumbled syllables. Poor girl sounds on the verge of tears.

"Don’t worry, Himari. I’ll come."

"Thank you, Miss Viatrix."

Lumine dries herself quickly and struggles with the random dress Yoimiya had laid out for her. "Ready," she breathes as she opens the door. "Where is he?"

Himari looks at her with watery eyes. Her auburn pigtails look a mess, likely having come undone in her hurry to fetch Lumine. "In his bedchamber, Miss Viatrix. Lydia’s already there, but she…"

The worry in Himari’s voice is obvious. Lumine lays a comforting hand on Himari’s shoulders. "Go to the kitchen, Himari. I’ll deal with what happens next."

Profusely thanking Lumine, Himari runs off toward the kitchen, grateful at having passed on the responsibility onto someone older and more capable. Hair still wet despite her best attempts at wrestling out the moisture with the towel, Lumine forges on anyway.

Eventually, she reaches that dark hallway with its drawn curtains and flickering lamps and the incessant rings of a bell that come through muffled by the door.

"I don’t want you," the young master says. "I want that woman. Yes, her—and stop calling her my governess!"

A low, girlish whimper follows, and Lumine has had enough. "The one you want is here," Lumine says, kicking open the door without a proper knock. "How am I to help you today, Young Master?"

A fistful of Lydia’s blonde hair clutched in his hand, a bell in the other, he only blinks to show his surprise before scoffing, "Finally here, hm? And terribly dressed to boot. You look like a drowned rat."

He tosses aside the bell and lets go of Lydia, whose lips tremble as she tries to pat herself down. Lumine winces. The little terror. "Come here, Lydia," Lumine orders.

Like a frightened bird, Lydia scampers toward Lumine, who reaches out to fold herself around the frightened young woman. She keeps a careful eye on the young master, readying herself to argue back if he said anything—even one snide remark!—against Lydia.

To Lumine’s surprise, he watches the proceeding without a word. Instead, he seems fixated on how Lumine’s arms are wrapped around Lydia, eyes flicking to follow the gentle touch of Lumine’s hand as she smooths down Lydia’s hair. A crease forms between his brows, his jaw tightening—but so what if he’s bothered. Lumine has more urgent things to take care of before addressing him.

"There, there," she soothes the younger girl, who sniffles and buries her face in Lumine’s embrace. The beautiful golden hair that Himari takes so much care into braiding every morning is ruined. Lumine channels the Comforting Guardian persona she’s put on so many times before with Paimon whenever the small girl was overcome with anxiety and worry and says, "You’ll be all right, dear girl. Himari’s in the kitchen waiting for you. Why don’t you head over there and help with the dinner preparations? I’ll see to the young master in your stead."

Lydia trembles and nods. "Thank you, Miss Viatrix," she whispers, then darts for the door like a startled deer.

Lumine watches her go, then fixes her attention on the young master. She suppresses a scowl and flattens her expression. "What is it you need me for, Young Master?"

The young master jerks, torn from whatever he’d been thinking of so deeply. He looks at Lumine then, as though just realizing she’d spoken to him. Shrieking fit aside, he was abnormally quiet when he wanted to be.

"My books," he says slowly, pointing to the bookshelves slotted next to the armchair. This bedchamber is too big, Lumine decides. Why have a study when the bedchamber itself is enough to function as one too? "Yes, my books. They’re dusty."

"Oh, the horrors of a dirty book. Whatever will we do. Shall I call for another maid?" Lumine says sardonically, though even if he agreed, she wouldn’t. Not after that particular show of terror, of which she wanted no repeat.

"Why call for another maid when you’re right here?"

So this was the new approach. "That’s not in my job description," Lumine says flatly. It wasn’t the cleaning she minded. Rolling up her sleeves and doing these kinds of work, it was all too common back at home when there was no one around except Dainsleif to help—but with that attitude, it’s clear he isn’t really in need of help.

"I pay your salary," he says, "so you’ll clean my books."

"Madam Yae pays my salary, not you. I refuse."

"You’re my servant!"

"I’m your gov—paid companion. Not your maid." Look at her, using the word 'companion' despite all the protestation she’d made to Ayaka before about it. Though she certainly felt more like a maid sometimes, having to clean up his crying messes of servants with always-on-hand handkerchiefs. Or perhaps his parent instead, having to emotionally compensate his victims with comforting words.

"I’ll fire you if you don’t."

"Go ahead and try."

He’d already threatened to dismiss her seven times—empty threats, they both knew.

"Then, then," he sputters, "I’ll scream and shout until I’m sick."

Indeed, his face was reddening again. At this point, he’ll anger himself into an early grave. Just yesterday, he’d already almost fainted from shouting himself hoarse. She’d heard of women being prone to hysterics and fainting, but never a man. Not that she truly subscribed to the idea of hysterics, but seeing how the young master acts, maybe she should give it a second thought.

Resigning herself to his antics, Lumine nods curtly. "Fine," she snaps. She stomps off and returns with a feather duster, then proceeds to viciously beat the tiniest of dust from the books. The young master looks at her as she cleans without a complaint, leaning against the wall. His crossed over arms let her know that he isn’t particularly pleased with this outcome. Perhaps he’d been expecting her to show despair at performing the menial tasks that are below her station as a gentlewoman. Lumine turns to him and waves the feather duster like a weapon. "Happy?"

"…Why do you look like that?"

Lumine subconsciously puts a hand to her cheeks, before abruptly dropping it just as she’s about to touch her face. She makes a face. Her hand was all dusty. "Look like what?"

"Like a drowned rat."

"Oh." He did say something to that effect earlier. Lumine says stiffly, "I was in the middle of taking a bath when you called for me."

"A bath," he repeats. His fingers tap his forearm. "Next time, make yourself presentable before you come here," he demands. "You look hideous."

"Only if the young master is okay with me showing up late," Lumine says mildly.

"Hmph. The table should be wiped down too, now that I think about it."

Of course it does. Of course everything in his room needs to be gone over with a fine-toothed comb, dust this and wipe that and sweep this and scrub that. Lumine cracks her back as she pushes herself up from her aching knee. Not too bad a job, she thinks as she gazes around the room. Not that the lamplight really illuminated anything; why on earth he was so meticulous about being clean when it was too dark to notice, she has no idea. Lumine tosses down the rag as though she were throwing a glove for a duel. "Is that all?"

And he doesn’t look happy at all with her diligent cleaning, even though he’d been sitting so comfortably on his armchair while she laboured herself away in front of him. He scowls and says, "It’s almost time for my medicine. Go and fetch it."

What a piece of work.

"As you wish," Lumine says grandly, dropping a curtsy. At least it’ll be over soon. After he has his medicine and takes his dinner, he usually doesn’t cause any more fuss for the night. No, the monster prefers to terrorize the daylight. In hopes of getting this over as quickly as possible, Lumine rushes for his medicine downstairs.

"What’s the hurry?" Shinobu asks, surprised at Lumine’s sudden entrance. She fans the fire slowly, already in the middle of preparing his medicines. Owing to her meticulous nature, Shinobu was usually the one who handled the young master’s prescriptions. Around them, people rush around like ants in a colony, pots and pans here and there. The young master will take his meals, and then it’ll be the rest of them—and like everything that comes into contact with him, he’s also particular about his meals. The plates need to be clean but not polished, the meat needs to be tender but not mushy, et cetera, et cetera. "And why do you look so…"

"Unkempt? Damp?" Lumine says. "Because of our dear young master, of course. He’d like his medicine now."

"It’ll be ready soon," Shinobu says. Within the minute, the brown soup is ladled out and served.

Lumine grimaces at the scent. Bitter and herbal, it wasn’t bad, but definitely medicinal. "Does it taste as bitter as it smells?"

"Worse," Shinobu confirms.

"Ugh." She almost feels bad for him. Lumine drops her voice. "Maybe we should add a little bit of sugar. Or find some fruit drops to chase the taste."

Shinobu chuckles. "He hates anything sweet," she says. "And despite his complaints about everything else, he’s never said anything about the taste of the medicine."

"That’s surprising."

"You’re telling me." Shinobu hands the tray to her, patting her on the back. "Good luck."

"Thanks. I’ll need it."

When Lumine presenting the bowl of medicine with a lowered head as though he were a king and she his devout courier, his eyes narrow. He says nothing. Lumine groans internally. That look can only mean trouble.

He stirs the bowl. Before even taking a sip, he lets go of the spoon and says, "It’s too hot."

"You could always wait to take it."

"Dinner will be served soon."

"Then take it after dinner."

"It’ll be too cold, then."

Lumine looks to the ceiling and prays to every god she knows, the entire pantheon of the seven nations and even the gods from kingdoms past. "What would you like to be done about it, Young Master?"

"Cool it for me."

Why don’t I stuff it down your throat too, while I’m at it? Lumine thinks scathingly, but puts on a strained smile anyways. "Sure," she says. She bends down and picks up the bowl, gently blowing across the hot medicine. Steam rises and scatters, that strange herbal scent again. Lumine wrinkles her nose. "It’s ready now," she says once the heat has turned tepid, holding the bowl out.

The young master watches her with dark eyes. "Feed it to me."

"You can drink it yourself," Lumine says.

"My arms are too tired. And besides, isn’t taking care of me your job?" he mocks.

What a kid.

"My, my," Lumine says sweetly, "your arms are so tired they can’t even hold a spoon?" She crouches next to him and holds out said spoon, blows again for good measure and then leans in close until their faces are inches apart. Trapped between his chair and her face, the young master’s eyes widen in that odd way again, pupils dilating as he gawks at her. Cheeks reddening, as though he’s about to throw a tantrum again.

Oh no, you don’t.

"Here comes the train, darling boy," Lumine croons, all saccharine sarcasm as she brings the spoon close to his lips. "Be good and swallow it all, and maybe you’ll get a treat later from Miss Lumine."

"W-What are these revolting words, you—" He smacks her away, sputtering; the sudden shift causes Lumine’s grip on the bowl slips, and oh, there goes the entire content of the bowl, splattered all nicely over her like an abstract painting.

Again with this? Lumine looks down at her dress, where a nice brown stain was setting in like a freshly formed bruise. There goes the bath Yoimiya had so painstakingly drawn for her…

"It’s your fault, you know." The young master looks at her, as though expecting her to act as he would, screaming or crying, oh, how dare you, why did this happen, the indignity of it all.

Lumine takes a deep breath. He’s nothing but a bratty child, she tells herself. Who’d debase themselves by picking fights with a five-year-old? Lumine takes out a handkerchief from her pocket and dabs at the mess in vain. Regardless, she smiles. Her eye twitches, and she says pleasantly, "You should drink the medicine well, young master. We can't continue with our lessons if you were to fall ill, after all."

Her words pacify no-one, because the young master growls and surges to his feet. Despite his frail stature, his shadow blots over her as he stands in front of her, face warped by anger again.

"What’s wrong with you?" he demands as he grips her chin. Lumine doesn’t move. "After everything I did, that’s all you’re going to say? You’re a noble lady, and don’t think I couldn’t tell. It’s in the way you walk, the way you talk, too careful to be anything like the rabble downstairs. I made you get on your knees and scrub the floor, something so beneath you that you shouldn’t even entertain the thought, let alone actually do —and yet you did it with a smile. What kind of daughter did your parents raise? I’ve ignored you, talked down to you, done so many things and yet why—do—you—keep smiling?!"

Lumine’s smile falls.

"What should I say?" she says quietly. "What would you like me to say? Would you like me to rage and scream and fling things like you? Would that make you happy?"

"Nothing you do could ever make me happy," he says in contempt. "Not unless it’s leaving this house. Go back to your parents. Girls like you should be at home sewing or at parties hunting for husbands, not trying to strike it out on their own and invading other peoples’ homes. What would they say about you in polite society, trying to act like a teacher to a grown man? Won’t your dear mother be concerned about your wanton behaviour?"

"My parents are dead," she says flatly.

His lips pull back in a sneer. "As if that’s of any concern to me. No one asked for your sob story, stupid girl. Twenty miles away at sea or six feet under—it’s all the same to me. If they were still alive, maybe you wouldn’t have turned out the way you are: a dimwit of a woman who doesn’t understand her place in the world."

She’s tired, she’s hungry, she’s still aching from being on her knees and damp from her interrupted bath, and she did not come at a mere crook of his fingers to hear talk of her dead parents. Lumine draws herself up with a deep breath and advances on him, anger burning in her chest like a ship set alight in the middle of a storm. Torrents of words rise in her throat, crashing out her mouth in a disastrous loss of control.

"You are a horrid, spoilt brat who will never understand what it means to lose someone you love," she snaps, stabbing her finger into his chest. "The worst of the worst, the lowest of the low. If you have your own issues, fine. But don’t take your problems out on the people around you. We’re here to serve, not a target for you to displace your anger upon because you can’t earn the attention that you covet so badly from your mother."

"How dare you." The rage in his eyes are palpable, mirroring hers, but Lumine can’t bring it upon herself to stop.

"Yes, how dare I!" Lumine refuses to back down. "But why wouldn’t I dare? Did you think there would be no consequences for your actions? Stop acting out and grow up already! If you’re an adult, start acting like it. All this power that you have at your fingertips, and you choose to use it to make everyone’s lives miserable? The way you are right now is exactly like those silly girls you keep making fun of—a simpleton who knows nothing of the world outside her caged dollhouse."

He grabs a fistful of her collar and yanks her toward him until their faces meet with mere inches between them. "Power? What power? You don’t know anything," he says vehemently. His breath ghosts over her cheek, a soft, slithering threat. "Who do you think you are, to waltz into this house and spill your bleeding heart everywhere? You know nothing at all, you foolish girl. Nothing about this house and nothing about me."

This boy, he does not know the whisper of the wind through cracked windows. He does not know the paradoxical weight of an empty coffin for two being laid to rest, the fullness of a single biscuit when you’re starving. He does not know the frantic blur of rushing out onto the streets, hair undone, dress dirty, clawing for someone, anyone, Have you seen a man who looks like me? He’s my twin brother, and I haven’t seen him in weeks, please tell me you’ve seen him pass by. No, it is this boy knows nothing at all about the realities of life.

But while his voice is hard with resentment, it is also on the verge of cracking. From this close, his eyes glitter with rage and an emotion Lumine refuses to acknowledge because knowing will make her soft, and she does not want to be soft for him after he insulted her parents. And yet.

"Help me learn," Lumine says softly. "Help me understand."

He’s shaking. With rage or something else, she can’t tell, only that he shoves her violently away from him, breathing heavily as though she’s shoved his head underwater and only now has he been allowed to resurface. Shipwrecked. "I’m tired of you," he says flatly. "You’ve done enough. Leave."

"Fine."

Lumine gathers up her stained dress in her hand and walks out the door with her head held high. She closes the door carefully behind her and does not shut it with a slam. Afterward, she slides down against the door onto the cold floor, shivering. Her head in her hands. Eyes stinging. Does not cry.

.

.

.

iii.

Sunday comes the next day, the only reprieve Lumine has after their little tussle. As childish as it is, Lumine doesn’t think she could attend to him without fleeing. Coward, Lumine scolds herself, but her mind keeps catching back to that look on his face.

The worst part about having such a bleeding heart, Lumine thinks wryly, is that hatred comes so hard. She’d hated her parents for dying, hated her brother for leaving, hated herself for her own lack of will—but loved them regardless, lived despite her own despair.

It would be so easy to hate him unconditionally. To see him as nothing but a villain, a shadow on the wall that darkens doorsteps wherever he appears. But that look on his face would not leave her alone. He’d reminded her of herself, months ago, whenever she looked in the mirror. Driven to the edge of a cliff, nowhere else to go except down.

Though it is strange, now that Lumine looks around her bedchamber. Yae Miko had assigned her to one of the guest rooms, far away from the servant quarters and meant to entertain guests. It was furnished well with all the things that a young lady could need, writing desk and wardrobe and vanity, dark polished wood that gleamed in the sunlight, but still missing one vital component that she’s always forgotten to ask about: a mirror.

Lumine is not so vain as to absolutely require one, and she had already given up on powdering herself up and making herself pretty in this house—not when she was at liability to be splashed with tea at any time, or whatever other mischief the young master got up to in her presence.

Still, it was strange. When Lumine had asked Yoimiya for whether she could borrow her mirror, the maid had smiled oddly and said that mirrors were bad luck, and so the manor had nothing of the such.

Lumine had been taken back, but chalked it up to Inazuman tradition. The back of a polished silver spoon served her well enough. However, now that Lumine ponders over it a little longer, Yoimiya’s reasoning held no water. Ayaka’s household was as traditional as they came, but there was no lack of mirrors like in the Kamisato household.

Lumine stares out the window of her bedchamber, lost in the maze of her own mind. A knock at the door has Lumine’s thoughts in disarray as she opens the door. Yae Miko greets her, "There you are, darling. How are you holding up? I didn’t see you at breakfast today."

The deliberate dodging of the reason why she had skipped her breakfast doesn’t escape Lumine. "I lost track of time, ma’am."

"Preoccupied with other matters, I’m sure." Yae Miko sweeps a thorough gaze over her. "Will you take your lunch today, at least? It isn’t healthy to skip meals."

"I will. Thank you for your concern, Madam Yae."

"Good," Yae Miko says, satisfied. "Some matters in life are not worth skipping meals for… people included."

The pointed way she’d said it comforted Lumine in a way. Don’t let him get to you, he is entirely undeserving of your misery.

Lumine has never been in a household where a servant would dare to speak so badly of their head of household—and with Master Raiden gone, that honour automatically falls upon her heir—but the silent tug-of-war that goes on between the housekeeper and the young master in the manor is not lost on Lumine.

"As you say," Lumine acknowledges. "Though I was curious…"

"What is it?"

"…Is the reason why there are no mirrors here really because of bad luck? I haven’t heard anything of the sort while serving at the Kamisato estate."

"Is that what you heard from the other maids? Well, the two houses both have prior history in Inazuma, but the way that we do things are a bit different from the Kamisatos." Yae Miko’s eyes twinkle with a humour that sends a chill down Lumine’s back. "Bad luck… It’s not quite the right words to use. Do you really want to know, Miss Viatrix?"

Lumine regards her warily. It is day time, and the curtains in her bedchamber are open, light streaming through the window to alight over Yae Miko’s face at the door, sending every shadow fleeing. Yet she can’t help but see the shift in the housekeeper’s gleaming eyes as monstrous in some way, deep-rooted instincts squirming inside her.

"It wouldn’t be appropriate to pry," Lumine finally says.

"Hm." Yae Miko hums, a flick of her wrist through the air as she says carelessly, "The third door on the right in the East Wing. With some guidance, perhaps the young master may find himself there. If so, you’ll hear the answer from his own mouth. Though I’d advise against mentioning the superstition—he’s not a great fan of these things, you see."

"…Is this another test?"

"Not a test," Yae Miko says. Her hand reaches out to tilt Lumine’s face up, fingers skimming against Lumine’s chin. Yae Miko’s nails are sharp enough to claw and wound, but remain as gentle pricks against Lumine’s skin. Lumine resists the urge to swallow, feeling as though she is about to buckle under the delicate force of Yae Miko’s touch. "Merely the answer—a personal demonstration is a far better teacher, in this humble servant’s experience."

"I’ll keep that in mind," Lumine says hoarsely.

"Great." Yae Miko withdraws. That pressure disappears with the indulgent smile that steals over Yae Miko’s face once more. "Now then, shall we to lunch? And knowing that it is your day off and the weather being so permissive, perhaps you will find yourself wanting to stroll around in the gardens afterward. Else there will be no other pairs of eyes to appreciate the view, and it would be a pity to see such devoted care from the old gardener go to waste."

: : :

The hierarchy between servants weren’t reinforced greatly in the Raiden Estate. However, as with every great house, there are still the odd, not-known-until-quietly-whispered rules.

It’s not as if Lumine hasn’t heard them before: do not step foot into this wing; do not exit your room after sunset; do not listen too closely to the noises at night. Disobey them at your own peril, and obey if you knew what was good for you.

After all, every family has their own secrets to hide.

So she shouldn’t be surprised at the lack of mirrors. And she also shouldn’t be surprised when she encounters the locked door in the gardens. She raises her head and squints against the sun’s vicious rays, vision barely catching the tips of the branches that protrude from the brick wall in front of her. Sprawling ivy crawl up and down the red bricks, but there are no leaves on the tree behind the walls despite the flourishing spring foliage around her. It’s a strange little structure, four walls enclosing a small plot of land in the open gardens of the estate, and as she circles around the walls, she finds the door hidden behind hanging ivy. When she tries to turn the rusted doorknob, it refuses to give. All she has to show for her efforts are stained gloves and an unresolved curiosity.

The rest of the gardens were open to Lumine. There was the typical botanical gardens like the roses and orchards, though each had their Inazuman touches from flowering cherry blossoms to drooping wisteria whose petals coated the stone sidewalks. The food gardens in the back near the kitchens were also interesting with their eggplants and radishes, and even a small pavilion in the middle of the windings paths that thread their ways through the trees for taking cover when the overhead sun is too bright. This place, however, was tucked away in the furthest corner from the main manor, door locked to visitors. Judging by the thick ivy, it hasn’t been maintained for a while.

The old man in charge of maintaining the gardens is in the middle of directing the other workers on the back steps of the manor when Lumine returns from her walk. When he sees Lumine, he bows as best as he could given his age and his hunched back; it amounted to only slightly more than a nod, but still managed to make Lumine feel guilty.

"No need for any of that, Mr. Saimon," Lumine says.

"It’s only proper!" he insists, and Lumine had a feeling if she was any other servant, he would start have said something similar to what he always tells his wife Eri, Bah, you worry too much! I’ve still twenty years left in me to serve this house! "How was the walk, miss?"

"They were beautiful," Lumine says with a smile. "You maintain the gardens so well, Mr. Saimon."

"Oh, you compliment this old man too much."

"However, I did want to ask," Lumine continues. She lowers her voice. "On my walk, I found a most peculiar place. It was bricked off on all four sides with ivy hanging everywhere. When I tried to open the door that was set in one of the walls, Do you know something about that, Mr. Saimon?"

The immediate recoil from the old man surprised her. Saimon Katsumi clears his throat. "No point in asking about that plot o’ land, little miss," he says. His eyes dart to and fro, refusing to meet her curious gaze. "Nothing alive in there to sightsee."

Lumine nods in agreement. Given his firm refusal, Lumine deems it wise to leave the subject matter untouched. "I gather I’m not missing out on much—not as important as dinner, at any rate."

Grateful for the easy out she’s given him, Saimon Katsumi nods with her, head bobbing up and down like a mechanical wind-up Fontainian doll. " Yes, yes, dinner is far more important for your health. You should get going, little miss."

And that was that. Lumine slips her way back to her room as she prepares herself for the evening meal. But the tips of those bare branches behind ivy walls seem to have caught the edges of the her mind, refusing to let her go. A mirrorless manor, a leafless tree, they aren’t great secrets in the grand scheme of things. Yet they tug at her, whispering of the answers entombed behind the third door to the right in the East Wing.

: : :

Come Monday, the young master is acting as he always is, kicking servants out of his room for not performing up to par with his insane standards. Insane, in the truest sense of the word, because who cares if the corner of his sheets was slightly wrinkled? Not one, but two creases, he’d ranted like a madman upon seeing how they were tidying his bed.

Hidden in the darkness and out of reach from the lights, Lumine observes the entire interaction from the other side of the room; she’d come early today to make sure he wasn’t terrorizing the staff again. Despite her own desires, it wasn’t really her place to intervene as he verbally berated the maids, despite how much she wanted to shake him until all the stuffing came out of him, and not in a lovely teddy bear kind of way. Doesn’t mean she won’t do it though, if he goes too overboard.

This time, the girls aren’t crying. He didn’t put his hands on them at all, didn’t pull their hair or pinch their ears, so Himari had only sniffled a little at his scathing assessment of her bed-making skills with none of the bawling that Lumine had expected.

Better behaviour than before, and Lumine despairs at the fact that she’s almost proud of him for the slight restraint he’s showing today. Perhaps their talk from last week tempered him slightly, or so she could only hope.

He’d seen her this morning, waiting outside his door as he called for the servants to help him out of bed, and hadn’t said a word despite scoffing at her meek mannerisms as she let herself in with the maids. Neither of them spoke of what had happened. It had been a little surreal, like walking inside a lucid dream with the perspective wobbling to make all the straight lines curved slightly instead. Things were back to that normal status quo, one where he hated her vehemently and she remained indifferent to his hatred until she saw fit to intervene and stop the arc of his hand before his palm met some unfortunate’s face.

The young master is twenty years old, Lumine is aware. Yet she can’t help but feel like she’s been taken on to help train a rabid kitten instead. Yes, a kitten, Lumine decides as she silently demotes him from human child to baby cat.

"What are you gawking at," the young master snaps, and it takes Lumine a moment to realize that he’s speaking to her.

"You," Lumine says, and look, he’s shaking again as though he’d like nothing better than to choke her with his own hands, so flushed was his face. Not that he’d ever lift his hand, if he could help it. Would probably order someone else to dispose of the body afterward too.

"What’s there to see," he mutters, fiddling with the hem of his sleeves as though to straighten them out just like his bedsheets.

"You’re my charge," Lumine says. "Who else am I supposed to look after if not you?"

His face pinches, as though he’d swallowed a lemon. The curtains are closed, in daylight, as they always are, and the lamplight strikes a strange canvas of light and shadow across his face. "Look after?"

Lumine says helplessly, "What else would it be?"

"Just be quiet if you have nothing better to say, you stupid girl," he hisses, leaving Lumine silent with confusion. What is it that he wants from her?

However, despite the strange anger he had directed toward her, there are no further incidents. The young master drinks his medicine without a fuss and reads his books in his study without another glance at her. As always, he’s lounging around in shirtsleeves; if it were any other woman, they’d be scandalized. The white of his shirt only adds to the odd paleness of his skin, hanging loose over his slender frame like the funeral garbs of a corpse.

It’s not until the clock strikes six, as Lumine is letting herself out of his study, that he says flatly, "Where are you going?"

"…Dinner?" Lumine says, confused. Her eyes flit to the clock again, and she hadn’t seen wrong. It’s definitely six. He should already know; she always leaves him alone around this time.

The young master sneers. "Some companion you are."

Lumine grimaces at his tone. There it comes again, that contempt. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Aren’t you supposed to be 'looking after' me? Yet you skip happily toward the other servants so easily—like an abandoned dog who licks the hand of whoever pities it enough to toss a leftover bone."

What was his problem now? And to think, Lumine had felt pride at his supposed improvement. Lumine says exasperatedly, "I have to eat. I won’t be able to be any good company for you if I’m about to faint from hunger."

"No. You’re not allowed to leave."

Lumine ignores him. "Goodbye, Young Master—"

"No!" The sudden slam of his hands on the desk is enough to give her pause, however. Lumine turns and eyes him warily. He’s heaving for breath, face flushed again, liable to explode at any moment. "If you don’t want me to call in that blonde maid you favour so much, you’ll stay exactly where you are."

Blonde… "Lydia?" Lumine asks, astonished. "Are you trying to threaten me with Lydia?"

"Whatever her name is. If you don’t want anything to happen to her, you won’t leave until I dismiss you."

Yae Miko is here tonight, which means she wouldn’t let him bully around Lydia as he wants. However, what about the times when she’s away?

"You won’t be able to eat anyways," he says haughtily, "because I’m not feeling particularly hungry at the moment. It’ll be a late dinner tonight."

"…As young master commands," Lumine says as she returns herself to standing by his side, right next to his chair. She’ll have her meal later; Yoimiya is sure to save her some food, and even if she doesn’t, Lumine can scrounge something up. An orange, maybe.

The young master makes a rough sound of acknowledgement as he flips through his book, though Lumine has the sneaking suspicion that he isn’t taking in the words. Just another way to toy with her, a new form of psychological stress to make her break. The clock moves in agonizing ticks as she picks at the fabric of her skirt, wondering when he’ll take his meal. The rest of the staff must be getting antsy; like he’d reminded her earlier, no one ate until the young master was served.

Soon enough, her assumptions proved right. There came a knock at the door. "Will you be partaking in supper soon, Young Master?"

Addressing the muffled voice, said young master says carelessly, "Not yet. I’ll let you know when it’s time."

Lumine bites back a sigh. She shifts from one foot to the other, wincing at the strain of her muscles. Look at him in his comfortable armchair, she thinks sourly. And look at the rest of those chairs placed so conveniently right in front of his desk. She doesn’t know why they’re even there—as if he’ll ever have any guests to entertain in his office. Those soft cushions, however, are just begging for her to sit on them.

Soon enough, Lumine is tired enough to dare. Ignoring how his eyes follow her like a hawk locked onto prey, she swiftly maneuvers herself in his office, plucking a random book from his shelves and plopping herself down on the chair.

"Tired of standing?"

His mocking tone doesn’t bother her. "You know us women, young master. Weak and delicate. If I keep standing, all the blood will drain to my feet, leaving none for my brain. I may faint—and when that happens, I can’t guarantee I won’t topple and crush your equally weak and delicate frame."

Lumine is not a vindictive creature–certainly not to the extent of the man in front of her—but she does take a special pleasure in seeing his face twisting like that. But he says nothing else, leaving her to her own book as she leafs through its worn pages. Some analysis on Celestia’s influence on Inazuman law after annexation. It had surprised her at first, his book collection of historical documents and political treatises. Particular interests for a particular master, Lumine decides, despite the fact that he never left the manor.

At some point, two or three hours have passed. Lumine’s stomach decides to make itself known by grumbling. She glances at the young master, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

Clearly he did, because he’s smirking. "Hungry?"

"It’s"—Lumine checks the clock—"a quarter to nine already, young master. Almost three hours past the usual time for dinner. If I wasn’t hungry, that would be stranger."

"The maid becoming hungry before her master," he says haughtily. "How ill-mannered."

"Not a maid," Lumine says automatically. "And if I’m the ill-mannered one, I suppose that makes you the strange one. Are you not hungry?"

"I could be, given the right words."

Too smug for his own good, Lumine decides, and this is definitely psychological warfare. "Is there any way I can offer the right words?"

He leans back in his chair, more arrogant than ever. "Beg me."

"Please, I beg you, young master," Lumine says immediately. Her voice is entirely flat, without any rise or fall in pitch. "Please let this humble servant eat, for she may faint soon without sustenance."

Whatever victory he’d been hoping for is crushed by her easy surrender. He looks disgusted at how quickly she took to grovelling, never mind her capitulation being entirely sarcastic on her part. "You have no shame."

"Because there’s no shame to be had in hunger, Young Master," Lumine says. "Hunger implies a will to live, and there’s no shame in wanting to live."

The darkness of his eyes and the flattened line of his mouth is hard to read. The fringes of his hair frames his fair face with a delicateness that other women would kill for, to possess even a fraction of that beauty. And hell would freeze over a thousand times before he smiled, but he’s so pretty regardless, it’s almost unfair.

If she were anyone, she would be entranced. And perhaps on some level, she fell under the spell; when he opens his mouth to speak, she almost startles at the bewitching illusion being broken so easily with the toss of a few muttered words.

"You have no idea what you’re talking about." Still, he says nothing else to her. Instead, he stands up and strolls to the door. He pauses, looking back at her. Lumine remains seated on the armchair. He folds his arms together and taps his foot. "You’re supposed to follow," he says impatiently.

Lumine pushes herself up, bones creaking from the effort. She falls behind him obediently as he exits the study. "And we’re heading where…?"

He sneers. "Is your memory so terrible that you don’t even remember how desperately you’d begged me mere moments before? Whatever happened to being hungry?"

Oh gods. Please don’t let this be heading toward where she thinks it is. "How am I supposed to eat if I’m to follow you?" she asks, desperate for him to not say what he’s about to say, which is—

"You’ll dine with me."

"That’s not very funny, Young Master," Lumine says humourlessly.

"Do I sound like I’m playing around?"

"Why make both of us suffer," Lumine says, tempering her voice to be sweet and coaxing as she tries to keep up with his rapid strides. "I’m sure you can have a more comfortable dinner without me around to make things miserable."

He stops in his track and looks back at her, and his eyes are burning with an insistence she doesn’t understand. An ire that could only be cultivated through years and years of hatred, sharpened and whetted over and over again. When he speaks, his scorn is palpable despite the chill of the night, words pointed like a knife. "I’ll suffer the misery gladly," he says, "if I can see you suffer that same misery alongside me."

: : :

Admittedly, the food was… nice. It had been its own kind of mercy, realizing that she wasn’t going to be subsiding off of whatever sickening ideas he had for food (leftover bones, for one, given his previous comparison of her to a dog). She’d been served the same meal as his upon request, and then they’d waited in silence until the plates arrived. The misery he’d wanted to inflict upon her is far more sinister than mashed up food, however, even the taste of the medium-rare steak melting in her mouth isn’t enough to make her disregard his eyes on her.

Lumine chews slowly. The queasy sensation in her stomach doesn’t fade, however delicious the baked potatoes. Compliments to the chef, but Lumine would rather be back in the kitchen with the rest of the servants than have to pretend that there isn’t a volatile potion of a man sitting in front of her.

He hasn’t even touched his own plate.

Hasn’t blinked either, or maybe Lumine’s own eyes were playing tricks on her, nerves too frayed from being observed so intensely. The black tunnels of his pupils bores into her, grinding up whatever pieces of rationality is left in her. If he stares at her any longer, he’ll wear her into dust.

Dry mouth, clogged throat, swallowing is its own herculean task, and she almost chokes on her food as it tries to go down. What did he want from her? Was she supposed to play along?

"You’re not going to eat?" she finally asks. It comes out weak, too raspy for her own liking, like showing fear in front of a stalking tiger. Her shaking hand reaches for the water, and his eyes follow that motion too.

"Not hungry," he says. Then he changes the topic, never one to resist making a dig at her. "You eat like a squirrel."

"Squirrels eat quite well, so I’ll take that as a compliment."

That pointed, disgusted look at her again. Lumine spears another potato on her fork and shoves it in her mouth, purposely chewing as loudly as she can. If he wanted the performance of a squirrel stuffing itself, she’ll give it to him. However, despite her expectations, he doesn’t rise to the challenge.

Seeing his food being left untouched is starting to make her feel slightly guilty, as though he’d taken her to dinner for her benefit more than his own desires.

"You shouldn’t skip meals. It’s not good for your health." She finally plucked up the courage to say something, but he only scoffs at her kindhearted suggestion.

"I don’t need your concern. Worry about yourself first." But he does finally pick up his fork only to stab into a potato before nibbling into it. If she ate like a squirrel, he ate like a rabbit, she thinks vindictively. When her own plate is empty, he stops his own assault on his food (his fork had stabbed into the vegetables so hard she’d thought he was going to crack the plate) and waves a hand for the servant to clear away the dishes. Lumine laments at the young master’s steak as it’s carried away, its lovely presence has been left neglected the entire meal.

"Dessert," the young master says.

"Young Master?" The attending footman looks shocked at being called upon.

The young master taps the table with his finger and says scathingly, "Do you not have ears?"

"O-Of course. I will inform the kitchen."

Lumine watches the attendant leave, almost tripping over his own shoes. "You didn’t have to berate him," she says.

"I have no use for servants who can’t do their jobs."

"You’re a hard person to please."

"Or maybe others’ standards are too low."

"I’m not so sure about that," she mutters under her breath. They both wait in silence for the last course of dinner to arrive, and his expression has shifted from irate to bored. The chef comes soon enough with their dessert, and it’s back again, his strange fixation on her as she picks at her cake. Lumine ignores it in favour of enjoying her dessert; it’s been a while since she’s tasted anything so decadent as chocolate cake.

Lost in her own enjoyment, it’s not until she’s taking her last bite that she realizes: once again, he hasn’t touched his food. "…You should eat too," Lumine says.

He scowls at her, glancing down at his plate as though she’d challenged him to a duel, but cuts into his own slice of cake as though he was butchering a chicken leg. When he takes his first bite, he swallows and then looks at her pointedly.

"Good job?" she says weakly. What did he want from her now?

The young master narrows his eyes, and his fury is palpable. He throws down his fork on the table, metal clattering against porcelain, before hissing at the attendant. "Can’t you see that we’re finished here? Clear the table already!"

The plates are swept away in a hurry, and once again, her plate is empty while his is full. If you’re not going to eat your dessert, why did you ask for it? Did she make him that angry? So angry that he couldn’t eat? Lumine tilts her head, trying to understand—but he’s always so hard to read. Angry one second, bored the next, shifting through emotions faster than the weather. A nameless entity, stubbing her heel every time she tries to take a step forward toward the solution.

Yae Miko’s words echo, Do you really want to know, Miss Viatrix?

"Madam Yae told me something the other day," Lumine blurts.

"The fox?" The young master spits out the moniker as though the it’s poisonous. "She’s a monster."

Lumine rolls her eyes. "Compared to you, I think not."

He sneers. "What drivel has she seen fit to espouse this time?"

"That there’s a secret in the East Wing, hidden behind the third door to the right," Lumine says. "Do you know anything about it, Young Master?"

The little laughter Lumine receives is sharp and sardonic. "A secret? There’s nothing of the sort," he says. "You’ve been tricked."

"Still," Lumine says. "I’ve never been there before."

The East Wing was completely opposite of where the young master’s rooms were, so there hadn’t been any reason to walk along its hallways. From what Lumine gathered, it was a place that wasn’t frequented much, not even by the servants. No one lived there anyways, so there was no need to be so meticulous about its upkeep. It was mostly storage rooms and archives, various paintings and ancestral records left to gather dust from disuse.

Just as Lumine’s wracking her brain for a way to bring the young master with her, the subject of her dilemma stands up.

"Show me," he says stiffly.

Lumine blinks in surprise. "It’s late," she says. Yae Miko had said she should guide the young master there, but the way she’d said it… The gleam Lumine had seen in her eyes made Lumine want to do decidedly not that. She’d only wanted to know what the young master knew, but from the determined set of his jaw, perhaps it had been a mistake to bring up the subject. "You should be going to bed instead, Young Master."

"I’m not a child with a curfew." His fists are clenched by his side. "I said, show me. I want to see what exactly the fox is up to."

Later on, she would blame it on the curiosity. Later on, it would be too late to regret. For now, the command in his voice has her nodding without thinking too much on it. There shouldn’t be anything so harmful in the manor, right? And as much as the housekeeper and the young master clashed, there had never been anything so malicious that passed between them. Only verbal spars and contemptuous glares.

It’s not until she’s stepping foot in the East Wing that there comes a distinctive thought on how this may be not-so-great an idea. A terrible one, in fact, judging by how her inner voice sounds exactly like Dainsleif reprimanding her when she’s stayed up too late. The chamberstick in her hand quivers as she comes to a stop in front of the door. There were no lit gas lamps here to light their way, the wing enveloped in a cool darkness. Lumine reaches out for the brass doorknob, then pauses.

"Maybe we shouldn’t," Lumine says weakly. She turns around to face the young master, flattening her back against the door. "It seems a little silly. Madam Yae was probably fooling around to teach me a lesson about being too gullible."

"I’ll be the judge of that. Move," the young master says impatiently as he pushes her away from the door.

Lumine stumbles to the side as she catches herself and the chamberstick, the candle’s flames fluttering in the darkness. "I really don’t think—"

"No. I want to see what exactly the fox dares to hide from me."

By the time he’s finished speaking it’s too late. The young master also already thrown the door open and stepped inside, ignoring Lumine’s feeble protests. Lumine scampers after him, heartbeat quickening. She prepares herself for a scream, a howl, a scolding. What was behind the door? A mirror? A monster?

By the time Lumine peers through the doorway, the young master has already found his way to the far corner of the room. His head is bowed as he stands in front of the full-body mirror, and there is no sound save his heavy breathing.

"Young Master?" Lumine calls out, unsure.

She steps toward him, and with the candlelight closing in on his location, he raises his head. Their eyes meet in the mirror. He’s frozen, staring at his reflection like an owl caught in sunlight. Eyes so wide, it would be comical—if it weren’t from the way he’s shaking.

“I can’t—” the young master stutters, the reaction so severe that Lumine has to take a step back. He slams a hand on the nearby desk and grabs an object she can’t quite make out. “I can’t, get it away from me! Away from me!”

He flings something at the vanity—a slit of silver in the dark, glinting like a bullet—and the mirror shatters. A pair of scissors clatter down, shards of bright glass brought down with it. Lumine flinches as he turns around.

"Get out!" he screams. She looks at him then, as he heaves for breath, his pale face turns an awful ruddy shade. He glares at her. "Didn't you hear me? GET OUT!"

Her own face is bloodless in the shattered mirror on the floor, warped and broken. With a final glance at him, her heart pounding in her ears, Lumine turns tail and flees.

.

.

.

iv.

The howl of his words haunt her steps even as the candlelight flees with her, leaving the young master behind in his own darkness. She doesn’t look back, and by the time she’s found her way to her bedchamber, her heart has jumped into her throat, beating so quick that she feels like she’s about to become sick.

It’s not until she’s turning the doorknob to her room that she remembers Shinobu’s words: he hates anything sweet.

The dessert. Lumine breathes out heavily, suddenly dizzy from the realization. And to think, she’d led him right into Yae Miko’s trap as thanks. Oh, what did she do?

She trembles as she steps into her room, setting down the chamberstick with an unsteady hand. She can’t—quite—his scream still in her ears—think clearly—the sight of his ashen face—like this—

"You see? This is who he is."

Lumine whips her head toward the door. She’d left it open, and now instead of the all-consuming darkness of the hallway, there’s only Yae Miko’s slender figure, her face enveloped by dancing shadows. The candlelight has become frail from Lumine’s sprint, a flame barely enough to illuminate the inches around her, let alone a room. There’s a kiseru held between Yae Miko’s fingers, a tobacco pipe of Inazuman make. It’s lit, a tiny orange that flickers when Yae Miko takes an inhale from the long pipe.

"You knew this would happen," Lumine says, voice strained.

Yae Miko shrugs. "It was a miracle you managed to get him to step foot into the East Wing to begin with. Think of it as your reward."

"You’ve played a trick on us both."

"Less a trick, and more a…" Yae Miko takes another drag from her pipe, smoke unfurling delicately from her mouth. "…helping hand. The truth is never easy."

"What is the truth? That he hates mirrors? That he can’t stand to see them?"

"You’re no fool, darling. It’s not the mirror he hates. What do you see when you look into one? More than just a mirror, yes?"

Lumine smiles wanly. "And what am I supposed to take this as, Madam Yae?"

"A warning, a hint," Yae Miko dismisses, "whatever you’d like. If you’d like to unravel at the bindings plaguing him, then think of it as a beginning. A small tear in the envelope."

Lumine regards Yae Miko. To her credit, the housekeeper meets Lumine’s accusatory gaze head on.

"Will he be well?’ asks Lumine.

Yae Miko laughs softly at her question. "Ayaka was right. You’re a perfect fit here," she says with a saccharine fondness that has bile rising up in Lumine’s throat. Through the winding smoke, her mouth is curled in a smile, the curvature too intentional to be kind. "He won’t die, if that’s what you mean."

"It’s not."

"I suppose being alive doesn’t necessarily equate to being well. Whether he’s well or not… That’s up to you, my dear."

: : :

It keeps her up at night. The wide eyes as he saw his reflection. The scissors as it pierced through the mirror. Shaking, as though he’d been about to shatter apart in a spontaneous breakage from the weight of living. And she’d just up and left him like that: alone with himself in the dark, glass settled around his feet. She hopes he didn’t cut himself on the mirror shards.

She made a mistake, and Lumine feels a little more than sorry for him, for having to bear the brunt of her curiosity. The truth is never easy, and the understanding aches as it buries into her bones: more than she hates him, he hates himself more.

: : :

The next morning at breakfast, Yoimiya comments on the dark circles under her eyes. Lumine waves her off, "It’s fine. I stayed up a little too late."

Yoimiya’s eyes dart back and forth, checking for eavesdroppers. She lowers her voice. "Was it the young master? Did he do something to you? I didn’t see you last night, and I heard that you took supper with him instead…"

"I did eat with him, but that’s not why," Lumine says. "It was my fault; I kept tossing and turning in bed."

It was close enough to the truth. She’d kept waking up in the night from her own dreams, nightmares of him hunched over the mirror, clawing at his own face, flesh melting like candle wax that dripped all over the bloody floor.

Shinobu rushes past them, the green of her hair too bright to go unnoticed. There’s a flicker of recognition in her when she glances at Lumine, and she stops in her tracks to inform her, "You won’t be required to attend to the young master today, Lumine."

Lumine touches the back of her neck. "Did he ask you to tell me that?"

Shinobu shakes her head. "He’s fallen ill with fever again," she says. "It’s quite high, so he’s in no state to see anyone at the moment. The doctor’s already seen him, so I’m going to prepare his medication. Rest easy today, okay?"

Before Lumine could say anything else, Shinobu’s gone. Yoimiya sighs. "I know he’s not a great master," Yoimiya says, "but I do feel sorry for him at times like this."

"…Does it happen often?"

"When he was younger, yes. I heard from the older servants that he’d almost never left his bed as a child." Yoimiya puts a hand to her cheek. "Nowadays, not often. Enough to be worrying for his overall health, but not a usual occurrence. Not unless he angers himself into a fit—which is why Master Raiden lets him do as he wishes, most of the time. It’s easier to indulge in the temper tantrums of a child than to see him so unwell."

Upon seeing Lumine’s frown, Yoimiya pats her shoulders. "Don’t worry, though. He’ll get through this. I think he’s too spiteful to let anything like a fever take him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s back to his usual self in a few days."

"If you say so," Lumine says, biting her lips.

"I’d bet mora on it," Yoimiya says. "If there’s anything you can count on in this world, it would be the extent of the young master’s spite."

Thinking about it like that, Lumine could almost believe her.

: : :

In the afternoon, at Yoimiya’s suggestion, Lumine walks through the gardens again. The morning sun shines pleasantly over her open parasol, and the wind is gentle enough to tickle her ears as it breezes past. The greenery of the grass seems to stretch for miles and miles over the horizon, dotted by pinks and violets clusters of flowers at the peak of their bloom. Cherry blossoms dust the quaint little path next to the artificial pond as she strolls past the ducks padding around in cool waters painted pink by the falling petals.

Once upon a time, she would think nothing of its grandeur, would never appreciate the amount of work it took to maintain such a large estate. After her house fell to ruins, however, and the creditors came knocking, she could never see such luxuries the same. How wasteful, to keep such large gardens without anyone else to appreciate them. The maids and manservants had none of the time nor higher enough a status to properly enjoy its views without a little bit of sneaking around, and the masters of the house were either absent from the great house or shunned sunlight like a creature undead or too ill to step outside without a breeze bullying him half to death.

She’s thinking about him again. Her mind keeps wandering to him today, just as her feet keep taking the path to the dead tree surrounded by ivy-infested bricks. And the more she looks at the locked plot of land, the less she understands. This abandoned garden is very much like its young master: obvious in its secret, yet too closed off for perusal.

Lumine trails a hand against the ivy hanging over the doorway, letting the leaves snag at the fabric of her glove. The wood is old and worn, an unknown history in its making, its aging. The garden hidden behind it is the same, no one to know its story except the creator and the key holder—Lumine can try all she wants to peer through the keyhole, but without the unlocking, there is no knowing. The great house of Raiden is the same as this garden, all its mysteries naked to the eye but without a way to flip past the cover.

Looking up at the sky, Lumine almost wishes… wishes… That she were back to being the kept lady of her youth, no worry in her mind except for which dress to wear to her debutante ball, what colour blush she should dust her cheeks with, what ribbon would best match with her brother’s. It had been a simpler time, a cherished time.

"Where are you, Aether?" Lumine murmurs as she caresses a broad leaf hanging from the vines. "What am I to do without you?"

There is no answer; there hasn’t been an answer for what feels like months, years, and perhaps she will always live with this hole in her chest, what was once filled with memories and love, now turned to dust and blown away with the storms.

When she walks back to the main house, she passes by that lake again. The wind picks up, skittering over the surface of the pond to clear the surface of the stochastic petals and her figure in the little patch of clear water is almost mirror-like; for a second, Lumine catches a glimpse of Aether through her own face. For a second, she hates him as much as she loves him, and it is this moment that makes her think of the young master. How he had poured tea over her and dragged Lydia by her hair and snapped at the attendant for dessert and smashed the mirror that was lit by a flickering candle flame because he could not bear to see his own self reflected so plainly in its honest depths, that self-inflicted monstrous visage.

: : :

"Be careful," Shinobu says in a low voice, as though a sick man could do much of anything to Lumine. "He’s sleeping now, but who knows when he’ll wake up."

"I understand," Lumine says.

"Just asking again to check… Are you sure you want to be the one to tend to him?"

Shinobu gives her a doubtful look, as though saying Are you crazy, but Lumine nods.

"It’s partially my fault for the state he’s in right now," Lumine says.

"I doubt it."

Lumine says sheepishly, "I know it’s hard to believe."

Thankfully, Shinobu doesn’t pry. "Even if that’s the case, it was bound to happen one way or other, knowing the way that he is," she says kindly. "Don’t torment yourself too much over it; the young master will do it enough once he’s well."

Whether out of guilt or responsibility, Lumine doesn’t know. It doesn’t do well to dwell over these things anyways, so she doesn’t. All she knows is that she should go to him. She has to.

"But either way," Shinobu says, "you only have to stand next to the door and wait. There’s no need to go in the room other than when the medicine is ready or when he needs something. The young master doesn’t like anyone in his room when he’s sick."

Despite Shinobu’s last words, as soon as she disappears down the hall, Lumine’s hand is pushing the doors open. The air is heated and dry from the fireplace that’s being put to use despite the warm weather today. It’s a testament to how many hours she’d spent in this room, because even that bitter, medicinal smell has faded into the background, noticeable only if she focuses on it. The lone gas lamp is off, leaving the only source of a light from the sun leaking through the bottom of the closed curtains like a disobedient child slipping past hidden opening in thick hedges. Lumine closes the door quietly behind her, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dimness of the room.

Even though Shinobu had initially protested against it, she had looked relieved in the end as she left. For what Lumine had gathered, whenever the young master falls ill, it was a game of hot potato as to who’ll receive the privilege of tending to him. No one really liked to do it—she’d heard stories of wash basins overturned and towels thrown, to name a few reasons why—but everyone did their duties diligently. No one really wanted to see him unwell; as horrible as he behaved, it was generally understood that it was a part of the job description, and that the suffering was brief.

They talked about him like he was bad weather, Lumine muses. And said bad weather is currently sleeping in peace, unknowing—or uncaring—of the fear he struck into the hearts of young maids. When Lumine pushes aside the drapes hanging over his bed, he doesn’t stir an inch.

She’s never seen him asleep before, and the peace on his face is almost… awe-inspiring. His eyebrows are relaxed and his lips are without the usual downturn of a frown or the curl of a sneer. He looks kinder like this, Lumine decides. Maybe that’s why didn’t want anyone inside his room, because they’ll see him in his most vulnerable state where he has none of the thorns.

She puts the back of her hand against his forehead, and frowns. He’s hot to the touch. Too hot. The fever-reducing medicine would work within the hour, so she had to trust it would work. In the meanwhile… She pulls her hand away, only for a sudden grip at her elbow.

"No," he moans, lashes fluttering as he drifts into consciousness. "Stay. Don’t leave. Not again."

"Who are you calling for?" Lumine says. It shouldn’t surprise her, that he also has someone to long for while he’s sick and craving comfort, but it does. Because the last she’d left him, he’d been standing by himself over mirror shards, looking more shadow than man.

The young master’s eyes are barely open, squinting at her as though he’s seeing her through a hazy fog.

"What’re you doing here," he says hoarsely, words slurred together. He lets go of her sleeve. "Told the servants to get out."

"And they did," Lumine says, taking his hand in hers. He tries to jerk himself out of her grip, but she holds tight. He goes slack immediately, as though he’s satisfied enough with a perfunctory protest and plausible deniability to let her touch him. "But I’m not a servant, remember?"

"Don’t need your help," he grunts. "Jus’ leave me alone, like how it always is."

"It’s not a wise idea to refuse help when you’re ill," Lumine says.

"Doesn’t matter. I won’t…" His eyes shut closed again. "…won’t be pacified like this…"

With that, he falls back asleep. Lumine frowns. When she tests for his temperature with her hand again, his skin burns. She steps away from the bedside to rinse a fresh towel in the wash basin, and against the drip of the warm water wrung from the towel, she hears him mumbling. It’s only when she’s next to him again that she’s able to understand his babbling.

"Always like this… Coming and going… I hate you… Hate you… One day, 'm going to…" His moaning turns unintelligible, almost like sobbing. "Swear it… Mother…"

He’s almost bearable like this, Lumine muses as she sets the wet towel over his forehead. Holding his hand and caressing his hair like she would with Paimon whenever the little girl was feeling unwell, Lumine could almost believe that he was just another child sick with longing.

Then he repeats that unintelligible phrase again, the words she couldn’t quite catch the first time, and the subsequent understanding darts right through her, sending chills down her spine.

"I’m going to kill you… I swear it, I will…"

Did he hate his mother so much? Master Raiden hadn’t seemed anything close to a doting, affectionate mother, but she hadn’t seemed un-caring either. If she didn’t care, she wouldn’t let him throw his weight around like this. And if she didn’t care, she wouldn’t have worried about his health the way she did when he was about to blow up from anger.

I’m going to kill you, he’d mumbled between his clenched teeth, as though he’d been dreaming of his hands around her neck. But the grief in his words… The reaching out of a hand, Stay, don’t leave, not again. Just another child sick with longing.

"So many secrets," Lumine says softly as she squeezes his hand. "So many shields. Aren’t you tired of it, Young Master? Who hurt you like this?"

"Mother," he moans again, voice cracking. A tear slips down his cheek, almost invisible in the curtain-closed room with its cloaking darkness, and Lumine looks on, fascinated yet horrified. "Mother…"

"Shh…" Lumine lays a hand to his cheek and wipes away the tear. She sits there for a long while, letting him hold her hand in place of the person that he truly wanted. "You’ll be okay, Young Master. I’m here to stay."

The most terrible thing to gain from this encounter was the thought that maybe… maybe he kept everyone out because he didn’t want anyone to see him like this. A child, crying out for someone who is not there.

: : :

She wakes up in a daze from a gentle tap on her shoulder, marks pressed on her face from the wrinkle of her sleeves, a byproduct of laying her head on her arms.

"Lumine," Yoimiya whispers, which coming from Yoimiya isn’t really a whisper at all. "It’s fine if you want to keep sleeping, but let’s go sleep in your own room, okay?"

"Huh?" Lumine raises her head and rubs her eyes, taking in the surrounding. Where was she… Bookshelves that are too familiar, that strange bubble of frustration at how tall they are because it’s so damn hard to clean without a stool to reach…

She stands up so suddenly that her head spins, the chair beneath her scraping as the wooden legs drag along the floor.

"Oh no," Lumine moans. So preoccupied with seeing to his illness and coaxing him through his fever break, that somehow Lumine has fallen asleep on a chair right next to his bedside. The only reprieve she has is that the bed is currently empty, which means that the young master is off prowling somewhere else in the manor.

"I get it," Yoimiya says sympathetically. She places a hand on Lumine’s shoulder and steers her gently toward the door. Lumine stumbles, feet sore from being bound to her boots the entire night, and Yoimiya catches her before she falls. "You’re okay, don’t worry. Let’s get you to your bedchamber so you can sleep some more. Or if you’re hungry, we can head to the kitchen for some food. It’s past supper, but I can scrounge something up for you."

"I-It’s okay," Lumine says, shaking her head vehemently. If she eats something right now, she’s not sure she’ll be able to keep it down. "How are you here, Yoimiya? Where’s the young master?"

"He called me here. His fever must have broken during the night—no small thanks to you, I’m sure!" Yoimiya hums. "I heard the bell ringing downstairs and ran up. The young master stood at the door and told me to be quiet before letting me inside. He pointed at you and told me to get you out of here. I stepped inside, and when I turned my head, he was gone."

"Did… did he say anything else?"

Yoimiya shrugs. "Nope," she says with a pop of her lips. "He didn’t shout or scream or anything. Looked well enough, though it was a little hard to see in this lighting."

They turn the corner and go down the stairwell toward the guest quarters, Yoimiya holding Lumine’s back the entire time to make sure she doesn’t fall. Once they arrive at the door to her bedchamber, Yoimiya inspects Lumine from head to toe. She straightens out Lumine’s rumpled collar and pats her head as though Lumine is also just another child in this manor.

"Do you need help out of your clothes?" Yoimiya asks.

Technically, the maids were supposed to help her in and out of her clothes, but Lumine had already told them she was all right by herself. It’s kindness that has Yoimiya offering, but Lumine shakes her head. "I’m okay."

"And you’re sure about skipping supper?"

Lumine nods. "I’ll just eat extra tomorrow morning."

"I’ll come get you," Yoimiya promises. "For now, just sleep well, okay? You’ve had a long day, it looks."

"Mhm."

Satisfied with Lumine’s answers, Yoimiya leaves Lumine alone to her thoughts. And what thoughts they were, jumbled enough to feeling like tangled mix of yarns like that one time she’d tried to knit a autumn-themed sweater for Paimon only to end up with a splotchy, ragged thing that resembled the inside of a kaleidoscope, instead.

Which is exactly how she feels right now. Bits and pieces of sequins splattered over her bed, limbs too heavy and mouth too sore.

: : :

Something has definitely changed with the young master, Lumine can tell. It’s hard not to tell, because not only was she woken up the next morning to have breakfast with him instead of in the kitchen with Yoimiya like she always did, he didn’t even spit anything insulting at her like he always did when he saw her.

Lumine hesitates, but speaks anyways. "Can… Can you not do this? It’s frightening me."

The young master’s face sours. "What do you mean?" he demands, waving around the knife in his hand. "Do what?"

"B-Buttering my toast," Lumine’s mouth stumbles out, feeling as though her soul has slipped from her body. The moment he’d snatched her bread from her hand to slather yellow butter over the poor toast as though he’d meant to drown it instead, all the blood drained from Lumine’s face.

Maybe it was a new form of torture, making her eat so much butter. Lumine would rather he try to skewer her on the butter knife instead. Physical violence, she could deal with. What she can’t deal with was the way he’s holding out the bread coated in a thick layer of fat and looking at her as though he’ll disembowel her for refusing to eat it.

"Thanks," she says, and resists the urge to cry as she slowly chews on the bread. The butter is cold and heavy on her tongue, and this entire sequence of events feels like some strange nightmare that refuses to let her wake up. She pinches her palm after finishing her toast, and the young master gives her a strange look from across the table.

"Why did you do that?"

"To wake up?" Lumine says weakly.

He gives her a look of disgust, which makes her perk up. The familiarity is comforting. "Exactly," Lumine says with great enthusiasm. "You should keep looking at me like that."

"Are you touched in the head?"

Lumine nods frantically. "Uh huh. Perfect expression, Young Master."

His face twists even more. He whips his head to stare at the attendant. "Fetch the doctor!" he snaps. "There’s something wrong with her."

…Which is how Lumine found herself under Doctor Yasumoto’s care, being fussed over as though she’d caught consumption. Or worse, a pregnant mother a minute away from active labour. The way the young master had barked at Yasumoto to handle her more carefully is enough to make Lumine wish she could sink six feet under the cushions.

"Check her over one more time, just to make sure," the young master, whose lovely voice is the bane of her existence right now, says again.

"I’m fine, Young Master," she also says again. "Really."

"I’m inclined to agree with Miss Viatrix, Young Master," Doctor Yasumoto says. The poor doctor rushed into the room, thinking the worst, only to be subject to the cruel whims of a man who won’t be convinced that no, Lumine is not having a fever, she is not going through a psychotic breakdown, she is not going through female hysteria, she is perfectly fine.

"It’s true," Lumine says quickly. "I was just a bit frightened, but I’m all right now! I was just concerned because you know, it was a terrible sight for me, seeing you butter my toast like a servant would, and well, you can’t just do something like that without giving me a warning ahead of time, young master—"

"—the fever’s gone to her head," the young master interrupts. Can’t you see how she’s babbling?" He aims a vehement stare at the doctor, who only bows his head helplessly before putting on his stethoscope again.

It takes two whole hours to convince the young master otherwise, which makes Lumine wish she never got out of bed to begin with. Lumine didn’t think he would be able to act even stranger than he already did, but he seems on a warpath to prove her wrong. What was up with him?

: : :

For the next few days, Lumine avoids the young master as though her life depends on it. It’s not only from embarrassment at her faux pas—falling asleep next to him, really now, Lumine—but also because she can’t bear the thought of trying to decode why he’s acting the way he is. Whatever theory she can concoct is so ludicrous, perhaps the young master was right to think that she’d been broken somehow.

Her request for a few days of leave is easily granted; Yae Miko doesn’t say much on it when she sees Lumine slinking around the hallways, only a little smirk to her lips that tells Lumine she knows exactly what happened. The head

Eventually, the consequences of her whimsy catches up to her in the form of a crying maid. A rarity these few days, given that the young master hasn’t found reason to make trouble in a while.

And this time, it’s Lydia that finds her while she’s lounging around in her bedchamber, soaking in the sun in an armchair while she’s embroidering a new handkerchief for Dainsleif. The old one must be going ragged, and the horrid, fraying design on it is years out of fashion, and every time Lumine tells him to throw it away, he shakes his head and tucks it in his breast pocket, hiding out of her reach. As she’s pulling the dark blue thread through the silk gauze, a head of golden hair bursts into the room. "Miss!"

Lumine sighs, pinning the needle down before setting aside the embroidery. "Study or bedchamber?" she says, listing the only two places he seems to haunt. It irks her, that she’s already so attuned to his habit when it hasn’t even been a month’s end since she’s been here.

"Bedchamber," Lydia says. Her uniform has become rumpled in her rush; she must have sprinted through the halls to reach Lumine. "He hasn’t asked for you, but Himari is in trouble, so I thought…"

Clever girl. Though… "Was Madam Yae unavailable?" Lumine says.

Lydia hides her hands behind her body, as though she’d been caught idling on the job. "He likes you more," she admits.

Lumine resists the urge to shake the girl, You have it entirely wrong, Lydia, he hates me, he would push me off a cliff if given the chance, you will send me to an early grave with these innocent words. Instead, she settles on, "Don’t let him hear you say that."

Lydia looks horrified, as though Lumine had asked her to swallow frogs. "Of course not, Miss. I have no such death wish. Himari will be sad if there’s no one to accompany her to the markets on the weekends."

"Considerate," Lumine says, and leaves it at that as she heads toward the young master’s bedchamber again. Sunlight eventually evaporates into darkness once more as she treads the path toward the devil’s domain, readying herself for yet another battle to come. To think, it had been mere days ago when she’d been so afraid of the eyes on these portraits. Now, they only remind her of the young master and his heavy gaze as they landed upon her when they’d had dinner together.

Legacy, Lumine thinks as she nears the young master’s bedchamber. Legacy: a double-edged sword. Inheritance comes as features or assets or titles—and with the weight of history, generations of expectations, centuries of memories that are not supposed to be yours, but yours anyways. To take pride in a house is to relinquish the self, and tradition swallows the body like a snake’s jaw. The ancestral portraits that lines the halls all feature the same expression, stony stoicism. Master Raiden does not love her son like her son loves her, but she does so anyways. A broken line of inheritance, one she will not pass one because she loves her son too much to deny him anything.

There is a reason why Master Raiden does not live in this house, Lumine concludes, and it is not because of her son.

The door to his bedchamber muffles his voice, but it remains as blistering as ever. Bits and pieces slot themselves in Lumine’s ears, something about spilled soup. Himari stumbles through the door, her eyes wobbling like a puppy kicked to the curb.

Lumine motions for her to leave, shoo shoo, I’ll handle it, before throwing open the door. A bowl crashes past her and lands on the floor with a crack, splintered words hissed through clenched teeth,"I told you to leave me alone!"

He looks wrecked. There’s a stain on his white shirt, splatters of soup over his chest and sleeves. His face is that awful ruddy red, sweat beading at his temples, and if he keeps on this trajectory, he’ll make himself ill again. When he sees her, he flinches. "What’re you doing here," he says.

"Here to temper you."

"Then you’re late." And he has the audacity to look as though he was the one wronged, flashing an aggrieved expression at her. "And it was her fault to begin with—!"

"That’s enough," she says flatly. When she takes a step inside his room, he steps back. Almost comical, if it wasn’t for the way that he looks about to faint. "We can prepare a bath. We can wash your clothes. We can get you a new bowl of soup. What we cannot do"—she says scathingly as she points at the broken pieces of porcelain on the floor behind her—"is put this bowl back together the same way."

His mouth sets in a stubborn line, refusing to acknowledge the implications of her words. "If it’s broken, we can replace it."

"Is everything in your life so replaceable?"

"Is it not?"

"Like your mother?"

"Especially her, stupid girl," he says bitterly. "You don’t know anything."

Unlike the foolish, impulsive child from her youth, as an adult, Lumine doesn’t like risk. Risk implies having to bear the consequences of stormy weather and sunken ships and dead parents; money can be earned back, but human lives, once slipped through the fingers, could never be recovered. No matter how long that fishing line is pulled, there is nothing on the other end.

But now, this young master makes a fool of her. Against the odds, Lumine makes a bet. She throws down the chips, gambles on nothing but the basis of her lunatic theories and wild conspiracies and Lydia’s artless words. Stakes it on nothing but two words:

"Like me?"

Here, he flinches again.

"Why not," he says. Hooked and caught, flailing words as he tries to escape. "You’re all the same, every last one of you. Greedy liars and shameless opportunists who will steal the silver and leave without saying a word given first chance."

"I don’t know anything about you, Young Master. Just as you don’t know anything about me," she says softly, willing him to understand. "But would you believe me if I were to tell you that I want to know? That I won’t run, even after knowing?"

The young master starts pacing back and forth, running his hand through his hair, driven manic by her plea. "You have no idea what you’re saying—you don’t know—wait, you’ll see, and then you’ll—just like with the mirror—"

Lumine watches him carefully. "You told me to get out."

"—and you listened, because you were scared."

"Maybe if you’d asked me to stay, I would have. Like that time you fell ill. You asked to stay, so I did."

"I wasn’t asking for you! You must have heard me when I asked for her," he spits out.

"I heard you say 'stay'. So I did. If no one else is around to do it, then I will."

"You—you—stupid, foolish, absolute imbecile!" He picks up a spoon from the table and raises his hand, about to fling it at her. Seeing Lumine stand her ground, her eyes meeting his own, the spoon drops from his hand and lands on the floor with a dull clang. He laughs. Stops. The abrupt cut is harsh and dissonant, like he’d taken a knife to his own lungs and excised his trachea. His breathing turns heavy, and when he opens his mouth, no sounds come out except an odd wet gurgle that turns into a dry heave as he stumbles toward her, hands grasping out as though begging for support.

Oh dear. Maybe Lumine’s the one who’s broken him, instead of the other way around. "Young Master," she cajoles as she steps closer to him. He clutches onto her like a lifeline cast into tempestuous waters, and never mind the stain on his shirt that will dirty her own dress; clothes can be washed, but his ego is a little too fragile to be scrubbed out so thoroughly by the laundry maids. "Here, lean on me. There you go, just like that. Let’s get you out of here."

"Don’t treat me like a child," he hisses, breath hot against her neck, but the way his hand grasps her sleeve is decidedly familiar. His head is lolled against her, and his forehead against her skin is warm and damp from the exertion of his tantrum. Goodness, it’s hard to walk with his arm around her neck like this. He’s lucky she’s strong enough to support someone the same size as her without an issue.

"You are a child," Lumine says. "But every child grows up—and you will too, Young Master. So don’t be in such a hurry to die, all right? Let’s not anger yourself into an early grave."

"I won’t die," he sniffles in disdain. "If only to spite you more."

Yoimiya was right. Spite carries him far. Lumine lets out a soft laugh, and the arm wrapped around her neck suddenly stiffens.

"I’m hungry," he says, almost a whine.

"We’ll get you out of these clothes, then you can eat."

"Is soup still on the menu?"

"If you promise to behave."

"Only if you feed it to me."

Lumine makes a choked noise. "Ha ha. Very funny, Young Master, but it’s time to stop kidding around."

"I’m not."

And the worst is that he hadn’t been kidding, because he settled into his seat in the dining table of the parlour room and refused to even look at the new bowl of soup that the chef placed in front of him until she sighed and moved from across the table to the chair next to him.

"I’m not your nanny," Lumine says.

"You’re not."

"So why am I doing this?"

"Because I asked."

It is no good reason that has her blowing across the the spoonful of soup before holding it out to the young master. He sips from the spoon obediently, and the strange show of docility almost makes her wish that he would just flip the entire table over instead, because huh? How did it come to this?

Because I asked—it was no good reason at all. Yet they’re here anyways. Somehow.

And after they’re done with the main course, he calls for dessert again. Two sets.

Lumine doesn’t know who he’s trying to fool, because he’s glaring at the caramel pudding in front of him as though trying to set fire to it with only his eyes.

"You don’t have to eat it."

"I want to. That’s why I ordered it."

"But you dislike sweet things."

He looks up at her, wide eyes like prey caught at the end of a hunter’s bow. "How did you—" He catches himself and says in a rush, "That’s not true. Which one of the servants dared to tell you? "

"Is that important?"

The young master lifts his chin. Stubborn as always. "Servants shouldn’t gossip about their masters."

Lumine rolls her eyes and snatches the caramel pudding from him. One advantage to being seated right next to him: easy access. "If you say so, Young Master."

"You—You can’t just take my food like that!"

"Too late," Lumine says as she digs her spoon into the pudding. Here she is, doing him a service, and he still has the audacity to look so offended. How childish.

: : :

For the next month, as the branches of the cherry blossom trees dwindle down to their last petals, he’s quiet. The young master reads his books and drinks his medicine and says nothing much to her at all except to tell her to sit instead of standing behind him all the time, which would be kind of him if it isn’t for the way he said, I don’t need you hovering over me, sit down before you faint, isn’t that what women are prone too with their weak bodies.

As though his constitution wasn’t weaker than hers, the hypocrite.

Quiet as he is though, he sticks to her like glue. Walk out the door, turn the corner, and he’s right there behind her like some street urchin begging for coin. Even after her hour-long lecture about how it’s not so polite to follow after a lady like that, he had only blinked and nodded and then proceeded to do exactly what she just said he shouldn’t do.

It’s only Sundays where she has any semblance of peace to herself, when she can hole herself up in her bedchamber or leave the estate with the rest of the maids as they chat cheerfully on the way to the nearest city centre for shopping.

"It won’t always be like this," Yoimiya soothes Lumine after she’d let out a tirade about the young master. The cart beneath them rocks back and forth in a pleasant rhythm, so unlike the carriage Lumine had arrived to the manor in. "Cherry blossom season is over, which means it’ll soon be business hours."

"What do you mean?"

"He’ll start having private visitations in the coming months."

"Visitors? Him?" Lumine snorts. "Is he fit to receive polite company?"

"The young master does a lot more than you would expect from first glance," Yoimiya says with a hum. "Master Raiden does leave most of the estate for him to handle during these months."

"And he’s capable?"

Yoimiya shrugs. "He may not leave the manor, but that doesn’t mean he’s clueless on what’s happening outside."

"If you say so," Lumine says, and then Yoimiya starts chatting about the toys she’d like to buy to send for the children back in her village. Soon enough, Lumine has put the thought behind her in favour of pondering on the best colour thread to complement the blue handkerchief she’d yet to finish embroidering.

Then Ayaka’s brother shows up at the door to the young master’s study, and Lumine has to do a double take before she could speak properly. Whoever it was that she’d assumed was knocking at the door, Ayato was definitely not included in that pool of guesses.

"Miss Viatrix," Ayato says.

"Lord Kamisato," Lumine says politely as she holds out her hand. "Is Ayaka well?"

"As always," Ayato says, smiling gently as he kisses the back of her hand. The niceties do not fool Lumine; Ayaka’s brother is like a slithering serpent in the husk of a man’s clothes. She didn’t hold it against him—the strained politics of his clan wasn’t lost on her, when she had been living in the Kamisato compound—but she didn’t trust him with anything but Ayaka’s wellbeing.

Lumine moves aside so that Ayato could enter the study. "May I ask the reason for your visit—"

"Out," the young master says suddenly, slapping his book down on the desk and interrupting the midst of their pleasantries.

Lumine and Ayato share a glance, which only serves to incense the young master further.

"Did you not hear me? Out!"

Lumine points to herself. "Me?"

"Why would I tell you that? Obviously it’s the fool who came in without permission!"

Lumine aims a look at him, but the fierce scowl on his face only becomes more severe. Any worse and he might lunge across the desk at Ayato.

Ayato, for his part, doesn’t seem worried at all. "It seems I’ve offended the young master," Ayato says in a low voice, lips curling in amusement as he bows with his hand over his chest. "I’ll wait until I’m to be called upon then. Good day, Miss Viatrix."

The moment he steps out of the room, closing the door with a gentle click, Lumine turns to the young master and raises an eyebrow.

"He was being a hindrance," the young master says.

"He came to see you."

"So what? There’s a lot of people who want to see me. Doesn’t mean I’m obligated to hear them out. "

"I suppose I should also leave you alone," Lumine says. "I wouldn’t want to be a hindrance, after all."

"No, that’s not what—" The young master clenches his jaw at her deliberate misunderstanding. "You already know what I meant. Don’t play around."

"Will you speak to him while I’m here then?"

"…"

Of course not. Even a casual conversation between two great houses is reason for secret. Every time her father received guests, particularly those there for business, Lumine was always kept in her room or in the gardens, far away from her father’s study. There’s no reason for her to stay while the acting Raiden head conducts business with the Kamisatos. Taking pity on him, Lumine says, "If you need me, I’ll be in the drawing room."

Resigning himself, the young master lifts his hand to wave her off. "Fine. I’ll see you at dinner?"

The undertone of hope to his voice is enough to have Lumine smoothing out her skirt, palms of her hands going slightly clammy. It’s rare, him asking instead of just demanding. "I know," she says. "I’ll be there." Not being able to help herself, she says, "Don’t be too harsh on Lord Kamisato."

His brows furrow, annoyed. "No promises."

Maybe she did more harm than good with that request, Lumine thinks as she steps out the door. Ayato is leaning against the wall, gauging her with calculating eyes. Measuring up her value, she’s sure, and whether she could be used to further his own agenda.

"I tried my best," Lumine says apologetically, "but he’s in a bit of a temper right now."

"It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before," comes Ayato’s smooth reply.

"Regardless, he’s all yours."

The corners of Ayato’s eyes crinkle in wry amusement. "Somehow, I doubt it," he says. "Though I have been asked to forward a request, Miss Viatrix."

"Yes?"

"If you ever have time, the gates to our humble home are open for visitation." He pauses, and it is not the head of the house that speaks to Lumine now, but the fond big brother who always fusses over his young sister, no matter how old she’s grown. "Ayaka misses you."

: : :

At the end of spring, more people come and go from the young master’s room. They trail in and out, a resignation on their faces more often than not, readying themselves for the young master’s scathing tongue. And these days, their aides are always carrying a stack of documents for the young master to peruse.

Whenever Lumine asks around on what exactly is going on behind the closed door to the study, whether it be the servants waiting outside for their masters to finish conducting business or the house staff, no one ever answers her properly. The servants have no idea and the masters won’t say anything. Ayato, for his part, only smiles gently at Lumine before excusing himself.

Being on the out is frustrating, but not unfamiliar. The only good thing is that his room is cool, sunlight so thoroughly exiled from his domain.

"You should look into hiring an aide," Lumine says. For some reason, her role from governess-companion has changed to office aide instead. "It’s what all busy people do."

"Less talking, more sorting."

"Are you sure I should be seeing these papers?" Lumine glances at one of them, and it’s all Inazuman script. Something about the garden flourishing in the Komore Teahouse? The Shuumatsuban having caught no birds in the wisteria trees?

"You won’t understand them," he dismisses.

Put out, Lumine flicks a page at him. It floats in the air, and even without looking, the young master catches the edge of it between his fingers with ease, slides it under the pile of papers he’s currently working. "I know how to read Inazuman."

"I’m aware," he says, too absentminded to say anything else. The fountain pen in his hand glides across cream coloured pages in curt replies or graceful signature. There was also a thin Inazuman brush to the side, but it rarely went used; grinding ink tired her hands the first few times she tried, and the young master wasn’t going to grind his own ink, who do you think I am? And he won’t let the other servants do it for him either, despite the fact that it’s what he’s always done before.

"If you’re aware, you should be more worried."

The pen stops in his hand. "Why? Are you curious about these family matters?"

"I’m always curious," Lumine says.

Gesturing for her with a wave of his hand, Lumine lowers her head, confused. He whispers in her ears, "If you truly want to know, then…"

Lumine whispers back, "Then…?"

"…You’ll have to become part of the family first."

Lumine jerks back, almost dropping the stack of papers in her arms. She rubs her ear, face flushed, glaring at the young master as he leans back in his chair, looking decidedly too smug for his own good.

"You have no idea what you’re talking about," Lumine accuses.

"Don’t I?"

The only way to become part of the family as an outsider, especially as a grown woman… Who isn’t aware? In lieu of an answer—she refuses to denigrate herself with a reply to his childish antics—she thrusts the pile of papers at him. The young master takes it from her, unperturbed by her ire, and swaps in place of papers a smooth block of stone.

Lumine turns it over in her hands. It’s not stone, like she’d first assumed. The ivory runs smooth under her fingertip as she touches the carved lines running at the bottom of the block. An Inazuman seal. The official symbol of the Raiden family. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Stamp." The young master taps at the finished pile of documents on the desk, then reaches into the drawer of his desk to withdraw a small box. He opens it to reveal a bright, vermilion red: seal paste.

"Again, not an aide!" Lumine does as he asks anyways, wiggling the seal in the paste before slamming it at the corner of the page, right underneath his signature.

The young master glances at her, then returns to his own pile of papers. "I’ll double your pay today."

At the sudden opportunity to raise her wages, Lumine lessens the pressure of her hand as she continues stamping.

"It’s not about the money," she insists. It is, but he doesn’t need to know. It’s also about the principle of things, she amends in her heart. It really is!

"You say one thing, but do another."

He reaches his hand out and holds her wrist as she presses down the seal. He must have noticed her gentling her hand, and the sly smile on his face makes Lumine want to stamp his forehead with the seal instead.

"Instead of the silver, I’m going to steal your seal," Lumine says. "Then I’ll go to the bank and withdraw everything from the Raiden coffers."

"Then I’ll chase you until I get everything back." He pauses. "Though if you want to be pursued so badly, you should just say so."

"You’re impossible!"

: : :

At the end of her third month of working at the Raiden Estate, she hears it.

The summer night had come with a sudden onset of thunderstorm. The young master let her leave early, muttering curses under his breath about the weather. The rain battered at her windows, lashing and howling and begging to be let in. She had looked out the window, searching for the sway of that golden braid in the distance, wondering if Aether was under this same storm, and found nothing. As she’s settling into bed and staring at the ceiling, there comes a quiet, low vibration. Lumine turns to her side, eyes wide. It’s not long until she hears it again, that slow, drawn-out sound.

Is it the wind outside? Or has someone injured themselves?

Shoving on her slippers, Lumine lights the chamberstick and tiptoes to her door. She peeks her head out her door. A hushed moan pools in the air, and if one wasn’t listening with intent, parsing it from the groaning of the storm outside, it would have gone entirely unnoticed. Silently slipping through the hallways, Lumine presses her ear to the wall and tracks the source of the noise. Left, right, right, slow steps to hide the sound of slippers on stairs. The sound is increasing in volume now, muddy yet there, and she freezes when she arrives at the entrance to the East Wing.

Yes, she’s sure of it now. It is weeping that Lumine hears. A woman’s voice, low in its whispered misery, and if Lumine strains her ears, she can almost make out the words that slither through the air, crackling through the rhythmic beating of the rain outside, Sister… Gone… Where…

Thunder slams and booms against the bricks of the manor, and Lumine claps a hand over her mouth to hide a gasp, whipping around to hide around the corner. With a shaky hand, she pinches the wick of the candle to extinguish the flames. Her knees have gone weak, and it’s only the wall behind her back holding her up as her mind races through a maze of thoughts. The candlelight was too weak to illuminate the long stretch of hallway, but Lumine could have sworn… There had been someone at the other end of the hall. A thick, heavy braid of purple hair draped over a lilac violet kimono that pooled over the carpeted floor, the pale fabric almost bone-white in contrast with the darkness as though she’d been cloaked in the clouds of sunset dusk. Master Raiden? No, it could not have been her; the image did not match. The woman there had been an ethereal figure, Lumine could almost believe her to be an apparition, summoned by this storm. And she had been walking toward Lumine, slow, unhurried, soundless…

Lumine peeks around the corner. Nothing. Though she couldn’t tell if it’s because of the lack of candlelight in this suffocating darkness, only the barest of moonlight leaking through the curtains to guide her way. The air is damp and dusty with disuse. Her own home had smelled like this, the day she tore through the rooms looking for Aether. The unsettling scent of abandonment, clogging her nose, choking her throat. That cry is back, louder and louder with the rising beat of her heart. Sister, it groans in its wretched misery, you have forsaken me…

She reaches the end of the hall and spins around, surrounded by doors. Which one of them is hiding this woman? Who is crying? She tries for the handles, but they remain locked.

A hand thrusts through the darkness and lands right at her shoulder, nails digging into her skin through her nightgown. Lumine whips around, sucking in a panicked gasp that lodges in her mouth, help unsaid by the press of a palm to her lips. Pink hair and purple eyes flash past her vision, a single finger at Yae Miko’s mouth. A warning to be quiet.

Lumine’s eyes dart to the doors around her. They surround her like the prison bars in a panopticon, whirling around her like an all encompassing illusion and who truly is the prisoner? She looks at Yae Miko, too many questions to know which one to ask.

Yae Miko shakes her head. Go back.

Helpless against the housekeeper’s insistence, Lumine picks up her chamberstick, her hands clammy with the sweat of fear, and stumbles her way back to her bedroom. The storm doesn’t let up until morning, and by the time Lumine closes her eyes, the crying has already ceased, blown out by the extinguishing daylight.

: : :

Lumine wakes up late. Yoimiya hadn’t woken her up on account of Yae Miko’s orders, and Lumine wonders just how much of a pulse Yae Miko has over this household. Lumine takes her breakfast in her room, and Yoimiya chatters to Lumine about how much she’d missed this morning. Apparently, Master Raiden is back. The young master hasn’t called for her, likely because of his mother’s return. Instead, the head and heir of the household partook in their morning meals together in a tomb-like silence, or so the attendant told everyone.

When Lumine mentions the strange crying noise in the night, Yoimiya tilts her head in an artless innocence. "Are you sure it wasn’t just the rain? The downpour was quite heavy, after all." And the worst is realizing Yoimiya truly had no idea. The servants’ quarters... are on the opposite side of the manor from the East Wing. Lumine’s bedchambers are in the guest rooms, caught between west and and east. No wonder Yoimiya hadn’t ever heard it. Lumine flattens her lips and says no more, remembering the look in Yae Miko’s eyes.

By the time Yoimiya carries off with the breakfast tray, Yae Miko has already let herself into Lumine’s bedchamber.

"I saw her," Lumine says. "The ghost. She looked like Master Raiden."

"It was not her," Yae Miko says. "This I can promise you."

"Then…" Lumine whispers, "The dead?"

"Think nothing of it," Yae Miko says, "and speak not of it. This house has its own unspoken evils that lurk in the night."

Lumine shivers at the cold gleam in Yae Miko’s eyes, that daggered smile. Whether she is giving Lumine a warning or a hint remains to be seen.

On the matter of ghosts, Lumine is ambivalent. She will believe them when she sees them, and she has never seen one before. Had, she corrects, because if Yae Miko is to be believed… That figure in the dark, walking the halls with its pale violet kimono like a funeral garb… And that voice, calling out for a sister… A haunting. It must be a haunting.

.

.

.

v.

With Master Raiden’s return, Yae Miko becomes even more saccharine in the interim, cooing this and that while she continue to place sugary treat after treat into Master Raiden’s mouth at every occasion. Master Raiden doesn’t bat an eye, opening her mouth without a care for her image, and it had been almost comical, seeing such a stern-looking woman with her cheeks full while chewing on sticky dango.

If it wasn’t clear what kind of relationship the two had, it’s definitely clear now.

And while Master Raiden is being coddled by Yae Miko, Lumine faces her own little shadow. Little, but he isn’t so little while he’s got his head in her lap, playing with the string of the ribbon tied around her collar while he pelts her with questions about her life, her family, her unfortunate circumstances—the same circumstances that led to them both in this position.

Mother and son avoid each other like the plague, leaving Lumine to deal with the attention-seeking son. The shift of his head against her thighs tickle. She’d debated on asking him about the haunting she’d seen the day prior, then thought better of it. The last time she’d opened her mouth without thinking hadn’t gone well, and this time won’t be any different.

"You’re heavy," she says, eyes on her book but retaining none of the words. She’d reread the same passage over and over, twelve in all, and comprehension still escaped her at every turn.

"Liar. Tell me about your family."

"My house is ruined, my parents are dead, and my brother ran away. Are you trying to rub it in?"

"Your brother… Do you hate him?"

"Love and hate… Maybe both?" Lumine muses. She absentmindedly bats his hand away when he’s about to pull the string of her ribbon loose, and he goes back to plucking at the end of her sleeve. "I can’t hate him for leaving if I do not love him; yet because I love him, I hate him. Does that make sense?"

Running away without saying anything to her except a letter tucked away in her drawer, three words total: I’m sorry, sister. Coward, Lumine thinks spitefully. But braver than her, having the courage to run away from his responsibilities without a shred of guilt. Though the least he could do is send word of his safety, how he’s been these past few years. Instead, all Lumine can rely on is a twin’s intuition, that instinct inside her insisting that he’s not dead. And even though he’d left her in shambles, she still looks for him every time it rains.

"It isn’t a contradiction," the young master says. "Not if you need one for the other."

Yes, he would understand, wouldn’t he? No one would stretch their hands out to cry and catch the falling stars if they hated the constellations.

"So why are you here?" The young master drags her hand, the one without the book, to his head. That eager, hopeful face is so unfair. Those pretty eyes. Lumine sighs as she gives in, setting down her book to give him her full attention. She runs her fingers through the silky strands of his hair, musing at the colour. Indigo dark, but they shimmer under the lights.

How should she answer him? The truth, that she wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for for the fact that no-one else is around to put food on the table; she had not wanted to let Dainsleif go his own way, she had Paimon’s stomach to consider, and Aether had left long ago.

She dodges the question. "What do you mean?"

"Why here? Why not elsewhere?"

"Debt," Lumine says. It’s partly the truth. "What else could it be? Mouths to feed."

"Yes, that… manservant of yours." He’s frowning again.

"And Paimon," Lumine reminds.

"Who is that girl to you?"

"My charge," Lumine says. "Like you."

"Don’t compare us. We’re not the same."

"You’re not," Lumine agrees. "For one, you have the worse temper. And a prettier face."

The conflicted look on his face makes her want to laugh. Caught between outrage and pacification, he settles on asking his next question, "And who is he?"

"Dainsleif?" Dainsleif is… a reminder of her past. A relic of her youth. The one who stayed by her side when everyone else left. "A companion."

The young master suddenly jerks under her touch. He’s up a next second, crawling over her lap to ask, hands at her shoulders, "Do you love him?"

What’s it to you? Lumine rolls her eyes. Petty jealousy, possessive like a child who doesn’t know how to share the pretty new doll. The fingers at her shoulders press into her skin, tight enough to hurt, definitely enough to bruise.

"Yes," Lumine says, and when he looks like he’s about to work himself up in a tizzy again, she pries him off her by the wrist and says, "like a friend."

"Liar," he hisses.

"If you want to think that way, it’s up to you," Lumine says. It’s easier this way, letting others assume as they want rather than correcting the misconception. People believed what they wanted to believe, and Lumine has a sneaking suspicion that whatever she says to the young master about Dainsleif will be twisted by his own imaginations.

"…I feel feverish," the young master says, laying his head on her shoulder. There’s a sharp edge to his voice, past the obvious whining.

Lumine frowns. She puts a hand to his forehead. He did seem warm, but… "You seem fine to me."

He flushes. "Well, I’m not! The illness is coming back!"

The rest of the afternoon consisted of her trying to coax him to take his medicine while he complained about this and that. His manners certain have improved, because he’s no longer terrorizing the rest of the staff—no, instead, now he spends all his time whining to Lumine instead, until she becomes so sick of his wheedling that she gives into his demands, her lap being used as his personal pillow included.

: : :

Master Raiden leaves in the night, staying only for half a week before she’s gone. During the time while she had been residing in the manor, Lumine had heard the most ridiculous excuses from the young master’s lips about why Lumine needs to tend to him, from the onset of a fever that never manifested to a Sumerian book that he swears he doesn’t know how to read—even though she’s sure she’s seen him pore through documents with that same Sumerian script.

Lumine took it in stride, assuming his unabashed need for attention was because of his mother’s presence. But even after Master Raiden’s departure, he’s still the same as he was before, bothering her about this and that. Finally, she slams a book shut in his study and says, "Let’s go to the gardens."

The young master eyes her warily. "I don’t want to."

"Well, I do," she declares.

"…"

"It won’t kill you," she insists. "Though if you don’t want to join me, that’s fine." It’ll give her a chance to get away from him and be left alone to her own thoughts. On the manor, its mysteries, its secrets and its ghosts.

The young master sets down his pen. "I’ll go," he says. "The work can wait."

Between the choice of following her or his abhorrence for sunlight, he’d chosen her—and Lumine shouldn’t be feeling as pleased as she does, but it comes anyway, that fluttering beat in her chest. She clears her throat, "Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page."

"More like you’ve dragged me there."

"And you’ll let yourself be pulled, right?"

The gaze that falls upon her is dark and heavy, reminiscent of the way he’d always watch her eat. "Stop fishing for compliments," the young master says. "You already know."

: : :

Mid-summer, the cicadas have come out. The cherry blossoms have packed their bags and the season of hydrangeas have arrived to grace the landscape with their burst of blues and purples. The young master ducks under her parasol as they step out the house. He’s dressed properly for once, not in mere shirtsleeves and trousers—likely out of necessity than desire, because despite the temperate weather, his face is pale enough that Lumine feels like one strong summer breeze will knock him right over.

He’s clinging to her again as they make their way around the gardens. The landscape is fragrant with the scent of peonies, but despite everything, he’s still frowning.

"What’s there to see," he says.

"The sun," Lumine says. "A rare sight for you, I know."

He squints. "It’s… bright."

"Do you dislike it so much?"

"…It’s hot," he says. "But not unbearable. Tilt the parasol a little more this way."

Amused, Lumine grants his request. It’s not lost on her that she’s taken over the role of the attendant to the lady, but it isn’t so bad, to bask in the gentle sunlight and careful summer wind with someone by her side.

"There’s a little plot of land on the far side of this estate," Lumine says. The young master looks at her strangely. "Surrounded by bricks. Do you have any idea of what’s inside?"

His face turns sullen. "Do you want to see?"

It’s a good day, and she doesn’t want to hurt him. Lumine says gently, "Not right now. In the future, perhaps, if the door finds itself unlocked of its own volition."

He looks away. "Then take me around these gardens you want to see so much, and ask me something else."

Drop the topic, so Lumine does. "Tell me about your family."

He scoffs. "You’re bold, aren’t you? Right after I told you to drop it."

"I’m not asking about the garden," Lumine says. "I’m asking about you."

"What can I say that you don’t know already?" the young master muses. They pass by that familiar pond, now cleared of sakura petals. The duck on its water is now followed by three—no, four—tiny little ducklings. "I hate my mother and she hates me."

"Do you truly believe she hates you?"

"If not hate, then a thin tolerance."

"Thin," Lumine repeats.

"Anything to make sure an heir remains," the young master says.

"Is there no one else in the family?" Lumine says, mind wandering back to the cry she’d heard. Sister… Someone had been calling out for their sister. "A sister, maybe?"

He freezes, glances at her with narrowed eyes. "Why do you ask? Seen something you’re not supposed to?"

Lumine smiles mildly. "I have a brother," she says, "so I thought I’d ask. It’s not as though you can tell."

"In the genealogy, there is only the two of us who are currently alive. As for siblings… My mother once had a sister. She died of illness." He sounds bored. "It was very tragic, I assure you."

"What illness was it?"

"Don’t know, don’t care. Ask me something else."

He won’t speak anymore on the subject, it seems, and they’re nearing the end of the path that surround the pond. As they step through the gates to the rose garden, his arm looped through her elbow, Lumine clears her throat. "Sure. Why are you so afraid to go outside?"

"First of all, I’m not afraid," the young master says.

"Mhm. Right."

"And second of all, there’s no point. The sun will burn my skin." Hence why he’s decked out in coat and gloves today, squeezing himself under her too-small parasol. "And the next thing you know, I’ll be ill again by tomorrow’s sunrise."

"It’s good to get some sun," Lumine says. She leads them to the gazebo and pats the place next to her. He sits himself next to her obediently, though of course he couldn’t help but pluck at her sleeves again. Her gloves. "I wouldn’t be as healthy as I am right now, if I never went outside as a child."

"I bet you were the type to disregard all the warnings about manners to wrestle in the grass with your brother," he sniffs. Runs his thumb against her wrist, sliding it up her glove until she could feel it against her palm.

Three months, and he reads her so well. "What kind of child would I be if I didn’t?"

"The kind that ends up like me."

She pats his hand. "You’re not so bad."

He gives her a pointed look, and she amends, "Given enough time and attention."

Not bothering to dignify himself with an answer, the young master looks around them instead. The summer green is a different beast from soft spring buds, vibrant and insistent. "Of the flowers you’ve seen in these gardens, which do you favour most?"

"Hm. The sunflower, perhaps."

He eyes her. "Likely for its edible seeds, given your frugal mindset."

She taps the tip of his nose, and he wrinkles it in protest. "Flowers can be both pretty and delicious."

"That’s stupid," he says. "I refuse this answer. Sunflowers are for the food gardens in the back, not bouquets. Tell me another."

Lumine hides a smile as she says, "Ask me again in three months. I’ll let you know before I leave."

"Three months…" He looks distracted by the reminder. He opens his mouth, as though to protest, then closes it. The expression worn on the young master’s face is sour, as though he’d swallowing back bile. "And you won’t leave before then?"

"I won’t."

They walk around the gardens like that, arm looped in arm, under the slanted shadow of the tilted parasol, a companionable silence settling between them. A rare, pleasant moment. He glances at her often, questions in his eyes and lips that open to speak them into existence, only to stop at the last minute. Afraid to disturb the peace.

For her part, Lumine pretends not to see—for the sake of his dignity and for the self-preservation of her own conscience.

The next day, Lumine wakes up to a bouquet of sunflowers at her bedchamber. And left underneath the flowers, a rusted old key. No note has been left, but she knows anyways. Three months, Lumine thinks as she rearranges the sunflowers on the table. Will it be enough? Could it ever be?

: : :

When Lumine twists the key inside the lock of that old, wooden door, it opens easily. Brushing the hanging ivy away, Lumine walks into the brick walls into an entirely different world. Unlike the gardens so carefully maintained outside, this place has been left to nature’s own whims.

It must have been beautiful once, given the way the hanging branches of the leafless tree twists so beautifully over the knee-high grass. Lumine runs a hand over the dark wood, and takes a deep breath. It smells like summer, if summer was a rotted fruit of a fairy tale, locked away behind bricks and forgotten by time.

The garden is small, but its secrets are many; the tree is dead, but it has not been uprooted. It’s been left to languish instead, lost history. A flowerless garden, watched over by a ghost of a tree. In this secret garden, there is little else. The air is warm with the whisper of the breeze that trickles past the open door; it’s been a long while since the wind has been able to kiss these stalks of grass, and it does so eagerly now, greetings made in crackling rustles that reminisce of better days.

How did it end? Whose hands built these bricks and whose hands locked these doors? The mother or the son? Both?

By the time Lumine exits that garden, it is already the afternoon, tipping close to supper time judging by the height of the sun in the sky. And when’s she finds her way back to the porch of the manor, she stops. For the first time in what must be years, the curtains in the young master’s are drawn open. In the window, he’s staring down at her, watching her as though expecting her to flee.

When she returns to him, he says, "You’re still here."

"My contract is for six months," Lumine says. "Don’t be so eager to be rid of me."

"I said nothing of the sort."

He remains silent when they have dinner together, watches her with a quiet hunger that remains even after the main course has served and eaten.

Lumine takes a delicate bite of her wagashi. "You won’t ask anything?"

"Is there anything worth knowing?" he says dryly.

"You could just tell me, you know," Lumine says. "These secrets."

In contrast to the sweet confectionery she’s nibbling on, his laugh is bitter to the core. Like rotted sunflowers whose seeds have been eaten away by mold. He is the medicine that’s been left out for too long, made even more acerb by the cold. The young master pushes his plate of wagashi toward her. "Where’s the fun in that."

: : :

One weeks passes, then two, and soon enough they are at the tail end of the summer season. Autumn tears in like a hurricane, crashing through the leaves until they yellow and orange and brown from its cold winds. Progress stalls for weeks as Lumine busies herself with helping the young master at his work, his life, and he barely shouts now except to coldly threaten his guests for staring at her too much—perhaps more strides can be made in this field, but as long as he’s treating the manor staff well (relatively speaking), Lumine sees no reason to stop him.

Master Raiden makes her once-a-month visit in the middle of autumn, and it’s that very night that Lumine hears the weeping again. It seeps through her door, threads around her bed, and entices Lumine to slip on her shoes again to investigate, Yae Miko’s warning be damned.

The trek to the East Wing is easier than before. There is no thunderstorm to beaten down the roof, and the gas lamps have been left on by a careless servant who’d forgotten to turn them off, a thin, yellow light that paints the faintest of shadows with every step. It comes familiar to Lumine now, the path there; she’d taken so many trips back to the East Wing, trying every door only to find them all locked.

The cry comes louder now as she nears the end of the wall. A low, tortured sound, the slow sibilance of Sister that’s haunted Lumine’s dream since that first night. Master Raiden’s sister, Lumine thinks with a bite of her lips. Were there really ghosts on this godly earth?

Surrounded by doors again, Lumine almost expects to run into Yae Miko ago. However, as the weeping continues into the night, there is no hair or shadow of the housekeeper. Lumine presses her ear to each of the doors, trying to locate the source, and there, the last one to the left, that’s where it was coming from. It comes through clearer now, the ghost’s weeping, Why have you forsaken me, sister? Was I so worthless, to be have been discarded so easily?

Holding in her breath, Lumine touches a gentle hand to the brass doorknob. It’s unlocked. When she turns it, slow and careful now, the door creaks open with a quiet groan. The light trickles past Lumine’s shoulder, dust dancing in the sliver. What she finds makes her go white: two Master Raidens, mirror images of each other.

Twins?

One dressed in a lilac kimono, the other in dark violet. The one in the darker fabric is weeping into the lap of the other, head lowered as though in absolution. Violet hair gather on the floor in dual braids that mix together in a pool of black hair. The one in lilac, the colour pale enough to be mistaken for funeral robes in the light—the one that Lumine had seen that day, she is sure now—is holding the wailing twin in her embrace. Lumine presses her face against that crack in the door. With their backs against the door, the lilac blends into black, making it hard to distinguish truly what colour the fabric is, so stifling the dark. She says no words, only letting her twin cry on and on against her shoulders. Her entire posture is as stiff as a doll, and she only looks out toward the open window opposite the door. Neither of them have noticed the tiny splinter of light, and the crying does not cease.

Lumine shuts the door with a trembling hand. No sound as the door closes. In this private moment between the woman who should have been dead and her living twin, Lumine is the trespasser. The eavesdropper. She backs away from the door. Nausea rises; she is going to be sick.

Yet, she does not leave. Instead, she hides around the corner, and it is only with the dawn that the crying stops, just like how it had been that first night. Lumine hides herself behind one of the curtains that drape all the way to the floor to hide her feet, and flattens herself against the window as the footsteps approach then pass her location. When she peeks out the curtain, she sees the sway of that familiar braid in that dark violet kimono as one of the twins walk down the hall; it must be Master Raiden. This crying voice… Lumine hadn’t know Master Raiden could produce such vulnerable noises, let alone sound so thoroughly wrecked. Splintered into pieces, then glued together—only to be broken yet again.

Not knowing what it is that’s possessing her to do it, only that she could not understand, Lumine waits until Master Raiden has disappeared from view before she darts for that door. Who was this mysterious twin. A ghost? A doll? Or is she a human, trapped here only for Master Raiden’s absolution? Has she disappeared with daylight, as befit a ghost? Or will she be seated there still in that same posture, slumped over while her face is directed toward the window?

And when she opens the door this time, she finds her. The woman stands in front of a mirror, the very thing that should be forbidden in this manor. Draped in the lilac, she thrusts a hand into her scalp and rips off the braided wig. The hair hidden underneath is short, shorn at the neck, and that colour is oh so familiar from when the owner had laid in her lap, begging for her attention like a stray cat starved for food.

In the darkness, Lumine had not noticed the mirror placed right in front of the window—and in the waterfall of daylight now, their eyes meet in that mirror.

Lumine can scarcely breathe. "Young Master?"

His reaction is immediate, his body whipping around to face her. "You—"

She takes a step back from the vehemence in his voice, and he advances on her.

"You weren’t supposed to see,” he says under his breath. His face is ashen, bloodless like how hers must have been that night when he’d smashed that mirror. The wig is in his hands, clenched so tight between his fingers that his knuckles turn white. And beneath his nails will surely be rivets of blood, because no matter how he likes to think of himself, he is a living, breathing human. Lumine wishes he wouldn’t have the habit of hurting himself. “You weren’t supposed to see!”

And suddenly, everything slots together. The self-deprecating way he’d spat out as he snarled at her, Power? What power? You don’ know anything. The feverish babbling of a child longing for a mother, the replaceable things in his life, like your mother, especially her, stupid girl.

"I saw," Lumine say, and it’s her who’s advancing on him now. She reaches for him, and he stumbles away, back pressed against the mirror as he tries to hold himself upright in that lilac kimono. A stalk of lavender, about to snap. "I saw you, but it wasn’t you, Young Master."

The mirror layered against the window layered against the sealed garden, leafless branches and gnarled trunk peeking out from ivy-infested brick walls. And in front of Lumine, her nameless young master. Bloodless, ashen skin. Trembling fiercely. A second away from shattering at her feet.

.

.

.

vi.

The young master’s hold on her arm is fierce, a chokehold around her wrist he drags her away from the East Wing. He refuses to look at her, and refuses to answer her questions.

This time, the young master smashes no mirrors. Instead, he had rasped, "Turn around," and then ripped the kimono from himself. At the glimpse of bare chest, Lumine turned around with a yelp, slapping her hands over her eyes. Clothes rustled behind her, quiet and sullen sounds. Even in the silence, his rage was palpable; only when anger wormed deep beneath his skin did he become so quiet, and he had no patience for her.

After he finished changing, he had taken her by the arm and now here they are, Lumine almost tripping on her own feet behind him as she tries to follow the arrhythmic stutter of his quickened steps.

The sun is out, and the young master hisses between his teeth when he steps out of the mansion. The cast of sunlight makes him no softer; in fact, he looks even more sharp now, a tense vibration to the edge of him as Lumine is pulled around to his liking. The green blurs around her as they traverse the winding stone paths, east to west, west to east, the directions becoming lost to Lumine as she tries to catch a glimpse of his face, but he turns away from her as though quietly ashamed.

When they arrive at the familiar brick walls of the closed-in garden, he finally comes to a stop. She almost smashes into his back from the sudden pause, rubbing her nose as he reaches into his pocket. The key that he pulls out resembles the ones he’d gifted to her—small and rusted. Jammed into the lock without a shred of mercy, the door almost blown off its hinges as the young mater slams his foot against the wood panels and kicks it open.

The young master turns to her.

"You saw," he says. "Everything between that woman and I."

"I did."

"Pathetic," he spits. The word echoes around them, and months ago, its meaning would have been lost to Lumine. Before, she would have thought they were directed at her. Now, however, she reads the tendrils of thread in those harsh syllables, how it wraps around his own neck. His very own execution, spoken into existence.

"No," Lumine says. "I thought nothing of the sort."

What she had felt had been curiosity. Fear—not for herself, but the fragility of him, how he looked a breath away from breaking. An odd pity too, the ribbon tied around a mismatched bundle of tangled emotions.

"I lied to you," the young master says.

"So it seems."

The young master trails a bare hand against the gnarled bark of the dry, black wood. He sat himself over the protruding roots of the tree, back slumped against the trunk, one arm carelessly held up by a propped up leg.

Lumine steps close to him. In this position, she towers over him. The edge of her shadows intrude over him, a cover for the daylight. The young master looks up at her, eyes flashing with a muted fury. Easy to read, hard to understand.

She sits down in front of him. The tall, thick thickets of grass behind her sway gently, stalks knocking over each other in their clumsy dance to the breeze.

"I lied to you," the young master says. His voice is muted, voice faraway. An incorporeal ghost brushed away by daylight’s hand. Fading, translucent. "My aunt is not my aunt, and my mother is not my mother."

"Tell me more," Lumine says.

He closes his eyes. "Where do I even start…"

"This place, perhaps," she says gently.

The young master sweeps his gaze over the walls enclosing them from the rest of the wold. "This garden had been Makoto’s favourite place," the young master says. "Not that I would know. It’s only what I’ve been told—scolded over and over again by the fox whenever I’d been brave enough to ask about this place as a child, Now why would you keep asking, young master? The dead tell no tales, after all, so there was no use in consorting with them. Makoto and Ei, twin mirrors to one another; take away one, and there is nothing left to reflect in the other. It’s funny. The fox seemed to hate Makoto as much as that woman loves her."

He pauses. Swallows, throat bobbing as though trying to repress a new wave of nausea. He doesn’t want to speak, is unwilling to bare himself naked to her—but forces himself anyways, because she is the one asking.

Lumine grabs his hand. He’s shaking again, and his skin is clammy. "Don’t force yourself."

"No," he says. "I want to. You… have been clever enough to survive in this place. This is only what you deserve."

He treats it like a war, Lumine thinks, and his surrender tastes like ashes in her mouth.

"The day I was born, the one who brought me into this world died," the young master says. "I was pulled out of her bloody womb and her cooling corpse. The world itself seemed against my survival, the fox was stubborn. Tore me out of Makoto herself and snipped that cord between her teeth. Suppose I have her to thank for my continued existence, as fragile and worthless as it is."

"Yet you hate her."

"Would you not feel the same? If you wake up every day realizing that the world would have been better off without you. If you’d felt like a murderer every time your mother cast her eyes upon you.”

“You don’t know that.”

"You lack understanding. After Makoto’s death, her twin—my aunt in blood, my mother in name—became catatonic. She isolated herself and I was raised away from her. She became my mother legally on paper, an adoption after her sister’s birth. All arranged by the fox and the lawyers, because how could she do anything in that state? I saw her only in the quiet dead of the night when I became mischievous and brave enough to chance a peek into her chambers in the East Wing. I had been an obedient child—don’t look so surprised, I was a gentle child—and timid enough to jump at any shadow. However, I had braved my own cowardly nature and snuck to the place I’d been forbidden from approaching. When I opened the door, she had looked gaunt… Skin coating skeleton, barely alive. She’d been kept nourished by the fox, who wheedled and begged and cried for her to eat, drink, live. Threw a fuss over Mother every day, loud enough for the entire manor to hear. Day and night, night and day, continuously wailing and shrieking as though she were mourning at a funeral. If you thought my tantrums were bad…" The young master laughs breathlessly, but there is no heart in it at all. No malice, no humour. Just a weary, defeated air. " …you should have been here for the fox’s. A child learns from the best.

"In any case, even when I stood in front of her, she hadn’t responded. She’d only looked into the empty air, a blank look on her face. Her eyes hadn’t even deigned me important enough to look."

"She lost herself in grief,” Lumine says. “She was in mourning."

"And so was I!" he snarls. His grip on her hand tightens, nails digging into Lumine’s palms. Lumine bites her tongue to tampen the urge to wince. "Every day, I was made aware of the fact that I should not have survived, that I was the one who killed not one, but two!"

"I never said she was right for it," Lumine says softly. She could understand, but she could not excuse it. "I am sorry, though. I said something thoughtless."

The young master flinches as though taken to the whip. "No," he says. "You only said the truth. I knew it myself too, that Mother would never see me as I was. The living legacy to her sister, but I was only air to her. A murderer. Then one day, I was wandering around the East Wings again, and while rifling through the storage rooms there—looking for memorabilia, perhaps, seeking out Makoto’s belongings like hidden treasures that I could worship at the altar—and I found a chest with a kimono. I did not know what instinct overtook me." He looked to Lumine desperately, pleading for her understand like a god’s dispensation. "I was curious and I was a child," he says hoarsely. "I knew nothing. So I clumsily draped myself in the same clothes of the dead woman who had been fortunate enough to be so beloved as a twin sister, yet unfortunate enough to be the one who birthed me. I wore her kimono like the skinned carcass of a beast. Mother heard noises and for the first time in a long time, moved her body of her own volition in her delusions of a living Makoto. And she came into that room, she saw me, and she fell to her knees and crawled toward me for forgiveness. Makoto, she said. Sister. Even then, she had not seen me for me. But still.

"I loved it. I hated it. I revelled in it, because I wanted it. My mother, kneeling at my feet and begging for an absolution only I could give, so similar in visage were I and Makoto. So that was where our little act begun, in the accusing glare of daylight as my legal mother sought forgiveness from the ghost I resembled. As though she could have done anything to prevent her sister’s death, the foolish woman!"

The young master heaves for breath as his voice rises higher and higher. It breaks off on the last word, like a branch snapped off at the tips. Lumine thins her lips, but waits for him to continue.

"That is how it started and ended," he rasps, "and why we are where we are now. Makoto, that poor, poor woman. Fortunate to be Ei’s sister, unfortunate enough to have created me. Used by me, even in her death. I have stripped everything from her, her sister, her life. Even in the afterlife, I am using her."

The haunting of the East Wing. A spirit that could not be put to rest. It’s not so different from Lumine’s imaginations, only in this case, the ghost is created from the undying longings of two. One crying out for a lost sister, the other for a mother’s love. They held each other in their own injuries, licking at each other’s wounds yet refusing to acknowledge who it is that was doing the hurting. Ei hurt herself and she hurt her nephew-son too. And the young master… took it, because it was the only way he could touch someone who he saw as his mother.

"You had no other choice," Lumine says. "It was the…" She swallows, a lump in her throat. "…the only way to be seen."

"It was not the only way," the young master scoffs. "Do not pity me, nor excuse my behaviour. I know my own sins—but kept committing them anyways, because it was the easiest method. If I was not such a horrid person, I would have stopped it that night. I would not have gone back for that kimono; I would have laid Makoto to rest, but I did not. I would have burned the clothes and left this garden sealed, but I found the key and I kept the clothes and I visited this place in the dead of night to look for Makoto’s ghost while I wore her clothes over me like a funeral shroud. All because from that day on, Mother did not ignore me.

"She came out of her room. Acted with perfunctory, did her duties as she should have as the head of this damned family, but acted nevertheless where she would have laid as a living dead before. She spoke to me when questioned, even if she did not seek me out herself. It was a fragile peace broker by her all-encompassing regrets and my manic need for control. She began to look after the house again, her body again, and when she became well enough to live as herself once more, she left. Returned only when she wanted—when she needed me, when she missed her sister desperately enough to pretend she could catch a glimpse of her through me. And it should have stayed that way, but I was selfish. I began acting out. I turned into… this."

He sweeps his hand over himself, presenting himself with a cold disdain.

Lumine moves herself closer to him. She lays a hand over his cheek, letting her palm settle over his cheek. Lashes dusted by sunlight flutter, in joy, in anger, a whole gamut of emotions that conjoin into a lonely monster of a boy. "What changed?" she says softly.

"The loneliness. The silence. The denial of self."

Perhaps Lumine should have found it revolting. Ei should have known better, and the young master should not have enabled her. To parade and sell yourself out as your dead birth mother, it is an act against the divine and the dead. Yet Lumine could almost see it, a child tugging on the sleeves of his mother—the only one he has ever known—asking innocently for a hug. A child, staring wide-eyed at his mother kneeling at his feet, body folded and spine bent, forehead to the ground. How he would then embraced her as she wept, starved enough for touch to let it happen even though the name she calls out is not his.

"You see her as your mother," Lumine says. "You long for her as a child would for a mother."

The rage in his eyes tells everything. Lumine had spoken the truth, and it enraged him to acknowledge it.

"I have never had anyone else," the young master says. "She is the one who has been left alive to be clung to. For me, I’ve only ever sought out her—and she denies my existence and dresses me up as a ghost instead. A mimicry of dead woman, instead of her heir. Her son."

"It is wrong of her."

"I know."

"No," Lumine says. "You know, but you don’t feel it. You want it and excuse it, because you love her and you have no way of getting it other than playing a role you know she will love."

"I don’t love her."

"Then what do you call this?"

"Power. Acknowledgement. What I am owed, but am refused, and therefore must reach out and grasp for myself."

Lumine sighs. "What a mess," she says.

"Then what about you?" His eyes gleam. "Why do you insist on staying here to untangle this mess? And don’t say it’s because of anything as inane as money, because you and I both know it’s not that."

Pale under the sunlight, he has bled himself out for her. Lumine worries her lips between her teeth, resists the urge to bite down until she tastes blood. "Curiosity," she says, "and conscientiousness. A determination to set things right."

"You want to fix me." When Lumine opens her mouth to deny it, he interrupts her. "No, do not deny it. I did not say I minded. Whether you see me as your little repair project or as a challenge to your own sense of self-righteousness, it doesn’t matter."

"You make it sound so selfish," Lumine says weakly. "As if I’m doing this for my own satisfaction."

"Is it not?"

"…I’m not sure." Only that she sees him and she aches and she wishes she could take him in her arms. Let him have what he wants—what she can’t give.

"I dislike being pitied," the young master says, a haughty raise to his high-pitched voice. "But if it’s from you, I’ll allow it."

"It’s not pity."

"Then what is it?"

"…Fondness? Affection?"

"Fleeting. Nothing definite," he scoffs. The young master suddenly takes her by the wrist and, ignoring her surprised cry, drags her over to him. Caught by surprise, she sprawls over him, a cloud of fabrics draping over his legs, face flushing with embarrassment and outrage. His hands settle on her waist, ignoring her desperate squirming as she tries to extradite herself from his lap. She can’t even use her strength to escape from him, for fear of hurting his delicate frame. Too fragile for a heavy hand, who knows whether she’ll break a bone or several if she flings him away too roughly.

"Now, see here," she says indignantly, "what do you mean by this, Young Master? Because this is not according to proper decorum at all."

"Forget decorum," the young master says. He sets a hand to her jaw, forces her to look into his eyes. Lays his forehead to hers. "Here," he says. "I’ve cut myself open and offered every part of the truth hidden inside me to you, just like you wanted. Are you satisfied? Will you flee?"

"Young Master…"

"No," he says. "That’s not my name. My name—"

And Lumine, she does something cruel and entirely unlike herself. She stops him. Finger to his lips.

"I did not ask," Lumine says softly. I cannot bear it, this attachment. Do not give me this power over you, do not make me obligated.

His eyes flash. She’s wounded him, sliced into the soft, exposed belly of his vulnerability.

"…If I tell you my name, I can bind you here. Isn’t that right?" he says. "Much too kind for your own good."

"Don’t be cruel, Young Master," Lumine says.

He laughs, self-deprecating enough that she knows he understood. Do not force me to stay, do not hold me back from leaving when the time comes. "Fine. As you wish," he says.

The young master holds her close to him, and Lumine allows it, a mercy in spite of her callous cruelty. She rests her head on his shoulder, one hand curled in a fist over his heart. It beats in fast flutters. Alive, alive, she must find her brother, and he must be alive, Lumine is sure, and so she cannot stay longer than intended with the young master, affection or not. Even if the light of day makes her want to close her eyes, rest a little longer in this haunted garden with its dead, twisted roots of rotten memories.

"You see, now? You were wrong," the young master whispers. "I’ve never had any power. Not over this house, not over this family—and, most definite of all, not over you."

: : :

When Lumine knocks at the door to Master Raiden’s study, it is Yae Miko who slips out the door. She winks at Lumine before sashaying down the hall, and the ensuing response that comes through the door is curt and immediate.

"Come in."

Lumine opens the door. She stands at the doorway, watching as Master Raiden keeps her head bowed, brushstrokes tight as she keeps her wrist steady. Black ink curls over the page, thick and bold.

"What is it, Miss Viatrix?"

"I know what happened last night," Lumine says.

Master Raiden looks up from her desk. She sets aside the calligraphy brush with an eloquent hand. "May I ask for clarification?"

"I saw you in that room, with your son. You held onto him and cried like a child," Lumine says, and mother-son duo are both so alike in the way they freeze. Eyes wide, mask fallen, vulnerable beneath the armour. Abashed and ashamed. One word, and they’ll fall apart like porcelain dolls smashed to the ground. Beautiful fragility.

"You know," Ei repeats. "I believe that you are clever, Miss Viatrix, and yet here you are. A bold one, to speak the truth so loudly."

"No less than you, to desecrate your sister’s memories in such a crude way."

The accusation comes sharp and quick, leaving Ei no chance to parry. Lumine watches carefully as Ei bows her head, eyes closed briefly.

"I have a twin too," Lumine says. "I lost him. I’m still looking for him—but he’s irreplaceable to me. I’ll search this whole world for traces of him, but I won’t let him cloud my vision of others. Certainly not in such an encompassing way—and to my own family, no less."

"I will admit my guilt," Ei murmurs. "So what is it that you want, after knowing? Money? Power? You would not come to me unless there is something you want."

"Nothing for myself. You know I’m much too pragmatic to say anything—I have no wish for your ire," Lumine says. "Just a question. And a suggestion."

"I will hear them both."

"Why? Why continue this play?"

"Why… The hardest question of all. A reason to live, perhaps?"

"Not a good enough one," Lumine says. "You’re no child. You should have known better."

"You are right." Ei meets Lumine’s hardened gaze head-on. "Then I do not know. Absolution?"

"A false one."

"Also true. I have no good answer for you except that it is my wrong, may I one day be struck down for it. Whether it be by the heavens or my own son."

"He wouldn’t want that."

"You know him well, but not enough. My son," Ei says, "does he know that you’re here?"

"…No."

"You love him," Ei surmises. "Does he love you in the same way?"

Lumine takes it all in. The bitter, fragrant ink. The quiet flicker of candlelight. The grief and the longing and the sin of loving too much to let go. My name is… She exhales. Then she dips her head into a bow and says, "Do not seek him out in such a way again, Master Raiden. If not for him, then for your honoured sister. Good night."

: : :

"It was unnecessary," the young master says the next day over breakfast. Buttering her toast again, even though both her and the attendant’s hands are free. "Going to Mother like that."

Of course he would have known. Lumine eyes him cautiously, does he know what Ei asked her, and he says, "Don’t worry. I didn’t eavesdrop, if that’s why you’re acting so weary."

"The East Wing… Don’t go there again," Lumine says. "Live as yourself, young master. In all your wild and spoiled ways."

"You say that as if I haven’t been already doing that," he says carelessly. Sets down her toast on a plate before pushing it toward her as though it is hunted prey, a cat presenting its catch.

"Yes," Lumine says, "but you’ve also been wearing someone else’s skin in the night. Don’t hurt yourself like that, Young Master."

"Do I seem like the type to enjoy hurting myself?"

"For someone else’s sake, maybe," Lumine says.

The young master says nothing except, "I’ve locked away the kimono. I won’t touch it again."

"Good." She takes a bite of her toast and tries not to make a face at how… well-buttered, it is. Frugal is not in the young master’s vocabulary. Around a mouthful of bread, she asks, "Have you ever considered renovating that garden? Brick walls aside, it’s a cozy little place. Seems like it would be a nice hideaway for when you’d like to leave behind the rest of the world."

A delicate question, phrased so crudely. It wouldn’t do to just come out and say, Let’s leave the past behind. But it seems like he understands her intent, because he says, "Is that your wish?"

"Only if it’s yours."

"If you become a part of this family," he says, "you’ll be able to do anything you want here. Rip out the entire hall in the East Wing, uproot every tree in the gardens. Whatever you want, you’ll have."

Lumine squints at him, but he only looks at her with that innocent look on his face. As though he hadn’t just proposing that she wed him in holy matrimony right then and there—Lumine doubts that he’ll let her into his clan in any other manner. She takes a long while to formulate her response. "I’m only here to make money. I’m not interested in taking charge and making these decisions."

"Money, money," he mocks. "It’s only about money for you, isn’t it?"

"Money makes the world go round."

The young master looks away with a scowl. He waves for the attendant and says brusquely, "Find the cheque book in my study—"

"—That won’t be necessary," Lumine says with a roll of her eyes. "I won’t take it."

"Not even a blank one?"

Enticing, but.

"I won’t take it." Lumine finishes her toast and wipes her fingers on the napkins. "You want to win me over? There are better ways."

The young master leans forward, as though this is a negotiation table. He taps his finger on the wood, poring over her words. "Like what?"

"Hm." Lumine hums as she thinks on it. "Let me draw open the curtains in your bedroom and the study in the morning."

"A menial task."

"Not for me."

"…As you like."

: : :

The clock keeps ticking. Lumine whiles the days of the months away in lazy routine, soaking up the autumnal sun before winter fogs the skies. The young master doesn’t even flinch now when she barges into his room to fling open the curtains. Even he grumbles about the heat and the light and the risk for sunburn, the armchair she prefers to nap on is always seated right next to the window.

She feels spoiled. She fears she’s been tamed. Imaging going back to her dingy little house and not having the luxury of such plush cushions. She contemplates this frightening change in attitude, thoughts progressly becoming more hazy as she begins to doze off. As the young master is handling more paperwork, there comes a knock at the door.

The men who enter are tall and burly. Suntanned, knuckles rough. Sailors, judging by the cut of their clothes. When they enter, Lumine gets kicked out.

"Out," the young master says. "There’s matters I have to see to."

"Fine, fine," Lumine grumbles. She’s used to it, having to remove herself from his study whenever there are guests. Though she’s curious about these bunch—they’re not the usual rabble of noblemen and well-dressed financiers that insist on crowding his doorsteps.

"You’ve your own functions to attend to," the young master says just as she’s got one foot out the door.

"Huh?" is all Lumine has time to say before Yoimiya jumps in and whisks her away. Dress picking, jewelry browsing, ring fitting. The parlour maid drags Lumine here to there, this is the room where the dressmaker waits, this is where the jewelry saleswoman waits, this is where the blacksmith waits to measure your ring size—

"Wait a moment," Lumine says. "What do I need that for?"

"I’m not sure either. Your engagement ring, perhaps?"

"My what?"

Yoimiya tilts her head. "You don’t have to pretend to keep it a secret," she says. "Everyone already knows about you and the young master. Though I will say"—Yoimiya flashes a sunny smile, and Lumine’s heart just about lurches to a stop, a cold chill running down her spine—"you shouldn’t forget about the rest of us once you’re onto better things in life."

It’s not said in malice, only just, but Lumine can’t help but frown anyways. She thinks about it: the storm, the chase in the rain for her other half. How ironic it is that she’s told off Master Raiden for being too cemented in the past when she herself is also the same.

"We’re not…" She gestures, desperate for Yoimiya’s understanding. "…like that," she finishes lamely.

Yoimiya tilts her head. "But Itto said he saw you holding hands in the gardens recently. He said the young master was positively drooping over you like wall ivy."

Itto! Lumine sighs. "His hand was cold," she says.

"Sure." Yoimiya doesn’t look convinced, and Lumine doesn’t have the energy to dissuade her. She’ll understand eventually, once the days of her employment are up. So Lumine suffers through the activities that the young master has planned out for her, knowing that her refusal would just set him off, and now that she thinks on it a little more, hasn’t it been her who’s been giving in more these days? As though she’s the one who needs to be coaxed?

Glittering gold fan and fancy jewels. Fittings for a dress that she’ll never have the chance to wear, its decadent layers the evidence of a socialite’s careless spendings. Which is fine, she tells herself, because he likely has access to an obscene amount of money, and it’s just a drop in the bucket—yet, why is she so reticent?

"No," Lumine says suddenly. "I don’t want them."

The young master looks up from his documents. The dying sunlight from the study’s window slants over him, painting him into a sunset of orange and violet. "Hm?"

"The dresses, the jewelry," Lumine says. "Call the orders off, Young Master."

"Why—"

"I don’t want them," she says. "I’ll be displeased if I receive them."

Trading material objects for affection. It’s so like him.

The young master scowls. He rings the bell anyways. His expression is fierce, as though he’d like to fling the bell at the attendant that arrives, but Lumine clicks her tongue and he only grumbles as he calls for the orders made this afternoon to be retracted.

"What do you want, then?" the young master demands afterward. He’s crawled into her lap again, seated himself right against her like she’s a chair and holding her shoulders. A familiar posture, and even more familiar edge underneath his voice. A second away from acting out. "You don’t want this, you don’t want that—you said there are better ways to win you over. What are they?"

"Find out," Lumine says. "How do you see me, Young Master? As someone who will be won over by pretty, shiny baubles? The things I care about… They’re simpler than you think."

"You’re giving me a challenge," the young master says. His eyes narrow. "Fine. I accept."

: : :

The daily bouquets of flowers at her doorsteps, she accepts. Sunflowers, roses, even lavenders—where had he found them in autumn, she doesn’t know. Almost nearing winter now, too. The greenhouse nearby, perhaps? Whatever the case, she dries the lavender and uses them to make scented sachets, one for you and one for me. They both smell like lavender for days, and this pleases her as much as it pleases him.

The offer of his dessert, she accepts too. Sometimes, he’ll even accept a bite if it’s from her spoon, if she makes her voice sweet enough to pair with the pudding. When she mentioned she’d like to taste the pastries of a nearby bakery, he’d arranged for an entire carriage of their goods to be carried over. She’d teased him, You could have just taken me out, and he’d looked at her, eyes wide, You’d let me?

If you ask nicely enough. Though of course they both knew he’s unlikely to leave the manor anyways, but it’s the thought that counts.

Threads too, silk white handkerchiefs for her embroidery. He’d groused over the fact that she’d been using them to craft a gift for someone else—your manservant, of all people!—and had huffed and puffed and was only appeased when she presented him with his own. Wisteria patterned, clan crest and all. Purple threads that had reminded her of his eyes, his hair.

She’s being pampered, and she’s being cruel. She’s getting used to his undivided attention and she’ll miss it when she leaves.

Then one chilly autumn day, the young master calls her to him. He slides open the drawer, and out comes a hand mirror. Gilded in filigree, it’s a delicate silver that shines in the light. He places it in her hand personally, even despite the flinch of his face when he catches a flash of violet at the edge of the silvery depths. Grip a little too tight as he hands it to her.

"Why this?" Lumine muses.

"Because…" He’s flushed now, cheeks a pale pink. "…I don’t want you to only remember shattered mirrors when you think of me."

Lumine smiles as she holds up the mirror. Her reflection flashes back, a smile on its face that’s foreign in its honesty. "Or is it to tell me that I’m pretty, and that I deserve a mirror to know it?" she says in jest.

"Your looks are average," he scoffs. His eyes dart away from her, and there’s still that persistent flush to his face as though he’s about to become feverish again. And of course he just has to go on to insist, "I’ve seen better."

Lumine rolls her eyes. "Close your eyes," she says, and he does. She maneuvers her way around him until she’s standing behind him, and then places the hand mirror in front of his face. The serene reflection face makes her wistful. That sleeping expression, how he’d slept so peacefully when she’d been caring for him during his illness.

"You’re right," Lumine says. "There are better looking people than me out there. Like this one man I know. Pretty to a fault."

"Who?" he says sharply. Every line of his body drawn tense.

Lumine hides a smile. If she drags this one any longer, he’ll be questioning her for name, address, occupation, and then who knows what’ll happen when his anger is unleashed on whatever imaginary man he believes she’s talking about.

"Open your eyes and you’ll see."

"Oh." The young master settles down, tension released at her admission. He cracks open an eye, but his gaze doesn’t rest on himself; it immediately flickers to her face that’s settled next to his in the mirror.

"Pretty to a fault. Am I correct in my assessment?" Lumine teases. His eyes don’t leave her face, as if trying to mitigate to pain of seeing himself by focusing on her instead.

"You have a good eye," he says reluctantly, and Lumine laughs because of course, vain as always and for all the wrong reasons. If he loves how he looks, it’s not because he loves himself. It’s because he’s fallen in love with all those portraits lining the halls, walking down that ancestral path of purple hair, purple eyes, prideful legacy. Ei’s stern look in that painting hung above the great hall… he must have seen it so many times a child. Must have stared up at her, entranced.

"You’re beautiful," Lumine says, "not because of anyone else, but because you are yourself. To me, you are more than this house."

"When you’re the one saying it," he says softly, "I can almost stand to believe it."

: : :

Late fall, the trees have shed their leaves like shrugging off bits of dust. The leaves paint the landscape into a swirl of red and orange. Bits of frost have begun to set in, white icy precipitate hanging onto the tips of yellowed grass. The young master has guests over once again, a fleet captain by the the name of Beidou. A boisterous woman who had shook Lumine’s hand with enthusiasm, palm rough and grin infectious. She smelled like the sea, seaweed and brine salt. The young master had scowled and directed Lumine out, after that, so she d herself to the gardens, hoping for a peaceful walk.

Lumine stumbles upon a swarm of workers near the edge of the estate. Saimon Katsumi is directing people here and there, next to Makoto’s garden. People busy themselves with hauling materials, and Lumine catches a glimpse of a wooden door carried in their midst. Bricks topple like crumbling ruins, red dust kicked up from the impact.

"What’s happening here, Mr. Saimon?" she asks. "It looks so busy."

The old gardener calls out another order, careful with that! When he’s satisfied, he turns to Lumine.

"Why, the most peculiar request from the young master. He said he wanted a new tree. Right here, in this dead old place, can you believe it," Saimon Katsumi says with a snort. "And when I’d told Master Raiden about his demands, she had shaken her head before saying, 'At his will.' So here we are now, chipping away at these bricks. A lot of work for this old man, but never say it can’t be done under Saimon Katsumi’s command. Been a long time since I’ve had the pleasure of seeing what’s inside."

"Not since Lady Makoto passed?" Lumine says.

Saimon Katsumi glances at her with a strange look. "That’s right," he says. "You’re a clever lady, you know that? Prying all these secrets out of unwilling mouths."

"I’ve only asked nicely," Lumine says with a secretive smile. "And how’s the work going then?"

"It’ll take a few weeks for everything to settle down," the gardener says. "But we’re in luck. Late fall’s a good time to plant down sakura trees. There’ll be time for it to root before spring comes. By her lordship’s grace, we might even get it to bloom this spring."

"Spring…"

"Aye, but you won’t be here for that, will you? Eri’s heard from the housekeeper."

"I’m not sure," Lumine says. "My contract is temporary."

"Up for renewal, though. Madam Yae’s sure to want to keep you around. It’ll do everyone some good if you stay," he says. He pounds his back with a fist and stretches himself. "Especially the young master. Been a long while since I’ve seen him so mild-tempered. Even said 'please' when he approached this old man, can you believe that? Haven’t seen that look in his eyes since he was a child." Lumine shifts, and he must have caught onto her discomfort, because he then shakes his head and says kindly, "But these are just an old man’s musings. Nothing important. If there’s something else out there for you, don’t let it stop you from doing what you have to do, you hear?"

What you have to do, he said, and later when Lumine is returning to the porch of the manor, her gaze flickers to that room whose curtains she’d opened today. The young master is standing there yet again. Eyes on her. Had he been looking this whole time? Keeping a watchful eye out, waiting for her return. When she lets herself into the young master’s study, he says from the couch, "How was your walk?"

"Good," she says.

They both look at each other. Waiting for the other to speak.

The young master clears his throat. He avoids her eyes, gaze narrowed in pinpoint to a spot right above her left shoulder. "Do you like cherry blossoms?"

"I do."

"We have an entire yard of them. And after this winter, come this spring, they will bloom."

"Yes," Lumine says. "If good fortune allows."

"Will you be here to see them?"

"I can’t," Lumine says. "I’ll be gone before that."

"Why?"

"Because there’s something I have to do. My brother is out there, and he’s waiting for me."

Light and shadows play across his face. He looks frustrated. "What if he isn’t waiting at all? What if he’s living well without you? You’d debase yourself so easily for a man who doesn’t want to be found."

"Regardless," Lumine says. "He’s my brother."

"Then what about me?"

"You’re my master. You pay my salary," Lumine says wryly. "You were the one who said it, remember?"

"You know it’s not the truth. If I was, I’d have seen you packing and gone a long time ago. Tell me, even seeing me like this, you’ll go? What should I do? Beg on my knees? Crawl for you? I’ll do it, if that’s what you want. Who do I need to be?"

He looks about to do it. A fist clenched over the red silk of the couch, ready to throw himself to the ground if she dips her head in assent.

"At the end of all this… Maybe I’ll leave," Lumine says. He flinches. "Or maybe I’ll stay forever. It’s not about who you are, young master. You are yourself, just as I am me."

"And if everything goes back to the way it was," he snaps, "will you still leave?"

Lumine smiles. She sits down next to him and takes his hand. Opens his fist until the fingers are splayed out. Angry red crescents dot his palm, and Lumine gently touches them. "Really? You’d see all my hard work, undone just like that? You’ll break my heart, Young Master."

Suddenly, he grabs onto her. Slides his fingers between hers, fingers interlaced so tightly his knuckles turn white. She winces, but lets him do as he wishes.

"You should know then, young master," Lumine admits. “I am at your mercy.”

"But you don’t want my mercy!"

Lumine could say nothing to that. He holds onto her, and the tight squeeze has his blood pulsing against her, an insistent beat.

"Knowing what I know now," he says bitterly, "I should have never let you set foot in this house."

.

.

.

vii.

Five days before the end of her contract, on a early Sunday morning, Lumine is sitting in her bedchambers, counting the mora coins. They had rained from her pouch like fat, heavy raindrops. She splits two thirds aside for the debt. Two thirds of the remaining for Paimon and Dainsleif. The rest, a ninth of the total, set aside for her own use.

On her vanity are a stack of letters, bundled up nicely with a yellow silk ribbon. Messages from Dainsleif and Paimon, collected over the months. A new letter from Dainsleif too, one which she will peruse later once she’s sorted through her funds. Lumine puts all the split portions of coins into their respective pouches and holds them up to test their weight. They’re heavy, a sensation that she hasn’t felt after her parents’ death.

Suddenly, a knock at her door. Lumine opens the door and is greeted by the Yae Miko’s cloyingly sweet smile. "Darling," she says, "Ei wants to see you."

A summon from the master. Who can refuse? So Lumine goes.

And what Master Raiden says has Lumine blanking out. Her body, shaking without her permission, and is this what it felt, to have the sky crash down on you? A severe, pressured hand, punched right through a paper-thin body.

Your brother, she had said, a pinched look to her face. I know where he is.

.

.

.

viii.

The morning does not begin as it usually does. There is no screech of hooks on railing as the curtain are drawn open, and there is no cheerful greeting, Time to get up now, Young Master! Upon which he will groan and sling a hand over his eyes, annoyed by her incessant enthusiasm yet strangely craving it too. Like a hateful pastry whose sugary taste one could not stand yet could not stop having. Greedy for sustenance.

No, the day does not begin like that. Instead, there is only silence. He peeks open an eye in the darkness. It is Monday, so there is no reason for her to be missing from his side. He rings out the bell, and it is not his governess-companion-maid who comes, but rather the last person he would like to see. Second-last, if he considers it a bit longer.

The fox peers down at him, pink strands of her hair falling over him like a rain of petals. Disgusted, he pushes himself up and works his jaw in an effort to contain his rage. She would not like it. She likes him docile and peaceful, and she likes it best when he tries his best to get along with the people in this manor—irritating fox included.

"Expecting someone else?" the fox says. Even her voice is grating on his nerves.

"Where is she?" he croaks out.

The fox smirks. "Gone."

: : :

He’d hated her on sight, on principle. Hated the idea of her, the sight of her, the symbolism of her—that he had never grown up at all, still a child under his mother’s thumb. Who did this woman think she was, to barge into his life like unwanted sunlight, splashing her light onto him as she pleased? To hold onto his hand so tightly, to care for him so tenderly? Who gave her the right to try and understand him? Pry him apart like a puzzle box, scoop out his innards. So he’d kicked and screamed and made such a big fuss that he was sick of his voice himself, but she just would not leave.

But then she’d come in with her hair still wet, and when she leaned in close, there was that flower scent emanating from her skin, still warm. He’d panicked. Pushed her away, splashed her with medicine again. Even though he meant every other horrible thing, he didn’t mean that one. And still, she smiled. Didn’t make a fuss. It infuriated him. Why did she keep smiling? Why did she insist on making herself known? Who did she think she was, this stupid, silly girl without a concrete thought in her head, to say that he had so much power in this mansion that stripped his identity from himself?

Help me learn. Help me understand.

He should have kicked her out, after that. Should have kicked up such a big fuss that Mother had no other way except to fire her and send her packing. Yet, he didn’t. Because of his weakness, she slithered through the cracks of his door and sank her teeth into him, the venom of poisonous kindness, the gentle warmth of her hand when she’d touched his forehead. And look where that left him now. Cracked wide open, bleeding out.

Funny, that. How when he wanted her gone, she insisted on staying, but when he wanted her here, she insists on leaving. The opening of a mouth, ready to divulge any secret she asked, even his name, but she would hear everything except that one, I did not ask. The world is always telling him that his existence is unwanted, that he will never have what it is that he wants most, and it will always be like this.

There’s no point in asking. He’d planned it all out. He will not see her leave him so easily. He had worked day and night, poring over reports from the Shuumatsuban. The ships that carried her parents and their precious cargo, sunk in the bottom of the ocean by a sudden surge of tempest that overtook the ocean. The documents from the constables outlining the details of her brother’s disappearance. How they’d accosted her after she ran through the streets like a madman, barefoot in only a nightgown, screaming his name underneath a raging storm.

But after, there had been no lines to chase. Not even the Shuumatsuban could track down the final traces of her brother, corpse or not.

Then he’d encountered it: the final clue.

It had been a stroke of luck, more than anything else. The Raidens had been forced to relocated from Inazuma to Celestia due to the terms of their annexation, but the ties that bound the family to Inauzma were always there. He’d arranged for shipments of resources from mainland to Inazuma, but it had been pilfered by pirates along the way. No human lives lost, but the financial loss had been serious enough that he had wanted to investigate personally. The sailors that survived the journey had whispered of a golden-haired captain with eyes that shone like the sun that struck them. A divine god, meting out justice amidst a summoned storm. Superstitious nonsense, but when he’d heard that phrase, eyes shining like the sun, he’d thought of her.

And it led him to gold. Her brother, gone rogue. The leader of a band of pirates, of all things. So he’d bargained with the captain of the Crux for information on where exactly her brother’s ship was docked right now, and he will dangle the reveal over her like a tantalizing treat. On her last day in this manor, he will say to her, I have some clues of where your brother is. I’m close to finding out. If you want to know, you should stay.

She’ll stay, then. She has to. She’ll make herself work for the information, tether herself to him like a lost child. And when he’s bound himself to her, enough that she won’t be unthread him from under her skin, then and only then will he take her to see her brother. She will look upon him like a saviour and she will love him.

All these plans, wrecked at his feet because of his mother. Ruining every good thing in his life, as she always does. She’d considered your behavioural issues solved and her duties complete. So she requested an early leave, the fox had said so smugly. I gave her a bonus and saw her on her way.

"You let her leave," and he is not about to weep at his mother’s feet. He is not.

"I only told her the information I had on hand," his mother says. Her eyes an eerie calm in the daylight of her study. "If she chose to leave, it was of her own volition."

"Information that you stole from me."

"The Shuumastuban do not answer only to you."

"Is this revenge," he says. "Is this revenge because I cast aside your sister’s image? Locked away that kimono and tore down her garden? Is it because you hate me for killing her again, say something!"

"My son—"

"Don’t call me that!" he hisses. He wants to—burn down the curtains, overturn the table, put his hands around his mother’s throat and watch the life drain from her eyes. "I’m not your son, and we both know it. You have never—never—treated me as one."

His mother—aunt—the most vile thing in his life, the dearest, the one who has eaten him from the inside out—closes her eyes, as though pained at his accusations. "Whether you are my son or not is not up to me."

"Of course," he mocks. "It’s all because of Makoto. Your dead sister who had clutched onto you in her dying breath and asked you to take me in as your own."

Ei grips the table. Harsh folds that wrinkle her gloves. "'You will be his mother,' she’d told me, 'and he will be your son.' I could not—will not—refuse my sister’s dying request."

"Her last breath, and all that came out of it was a curse descending upon your head like the drop of a guillotine." He laugh bitterly. "That was all it took. And even despite her wish, you have never wanted me. You have always hated me."

"I do not hate you," Ei says quietly.

"Do not lie to me!" His words flung like hot embers, but she doesn’t flinch. Her expression remains stone-cold, but her eyes gaze at him in a sickening familiarity, mirrored. "I took away your beloved sister, and you hate me for it."

"I loved her," Ei says, "so how could I not love you?"

"Not as myself," he says, broken. "Never as myself."

"No. It was wrong of me to force you to act as her," she says. She takes a deep breath. "You’re partially correct. Those first few years, I could not bear the sight of you. Every time I saw you, I heard Makoto’s voice. I felt her fragile body in my arms as she bled away. But later… I became so ashamed of myself for my absence that I could not go crawling back to you. You as a child, with your innocent, eager eyes. So like Makoto—and yet you could never be her, my son. I knew that, I knew better, and still I used you for my own ends. I distanced myself; you deserved someone better, I thought. But I failed to realize there had been no one else. No one left, except for me." She pushes herself up to her feet, staggering as though injured and then folds her body into a deep bow. Scraping herself before him, humiliating herself in a way that does not befit her, the glory of their clan, the most divine person he knew. His mother.

"When I begged forgiveness, it was not only from her," she whispers. She calls his name, but he remains unmoved. Disgusted by the syllables. "I am sorry, my nephew, my son. I have sought absolution and gained nothing for it. I have been a wretched excuse for a mother. This is not what Makoto would have wanted, and this is not what I want either."

"Then why," he begs. "Why did you tell her everything? She wasn’t supposed to know about her brother this soon. You’ve taken away my leverage. You’ve ruined everything."

"I know you, my son. You were planning to force her into staying, weren’t you? But if Miss Viatrix stays," Ei says, "it should be of her own desire. You deserve better than such falsehoods."

"But you knew!" Ink splattered everywhere, the inkwell thrown right at the wall in his anger. The ink drips down the dent, black as tar. "You knew I wanted her, you knew, and you still let her go like that?"

"I did."

Just as he’s about to hurl something else at her, there comes a voice at the door. "What Ei forgot to say to you, this silly girl, is that she is not lost to you."

His head whips up. The fox is at the door, pipe in hand. She takes a long drag, and exhales a ring of smoke that makes him want to gag. Her eyes are gleaming in satisfaction at seeing him in this pathetic, ruined state. "Do you want to know where she has gone, sweet boy?"

"Tell me," he says, ragged and not entirely put together the same way. She took his secrets and she fled in the night before her time was up. He had read her wrong, and now he will prowl and chase after her in hunt, howling like an abandoned animal because how could she dare. Put him back together only to smash him into pieces again. How could she dare.

: : :

The first time he’s left the manor by himself, it’s to find a woman who doesn’t want to be found. He’d laugh at how low he’s fallen, except there is no time to think, not when he’s so far from her, and he must find her so he can grovel at her feet, beg her to reach out and know him and love him. Not even the harsh bite of the cold winds that swoop over worn-over roads is enough to deter him. What was his life worth?

Worthless, when left to his own devices.

When the carriage thunders over the front steps of the Kamisato compound, the person that greets his frantic knocking at the door is no butler or maid, but Kamisato Ayaka herself. That stupid sister Ayato was always on about. The one who Lumine had fled to. The one who came before him, he thinks bitterly.

"Where is she," he says flatly.

Ayaka blinks as she takes in his frenzied look. "You’re here for Miss Lumine?"

First name basis. He bites his tongue, annoyed at how familiar the words come off of her tongue.

"Who else?" he says. He cranes his neck past Ayaka’s shoulder, trying to peek into the hallway behind the doors.

"Not here," Ayaka says. "She left just a while ago."

"To where?"

Ayaka says nothing. She only looks at him for a while.

He grits his teeth, resisting the urge to shake her. It would not be a good look for the heir to the Raidens to be seen tossing around the treasured lady of the Kamisatos.

"Would you like to come in for some tea?" she says politely. "You seem as though you could use it, my lord."

He draws himself up, Do I look like I need tea of all things, you stupid girl, but her eyes sharpen and her brows draw together. A blade, ready to be drawn. The girl hasn’t fallen so far from her brother.

"If you would like to have a conversation," she says firmly, "then you must come in for tea."

"…Fine," he spits out.

They fake at niceties for a while as Ayaka brings out the tea set. Or at least, Ayaka does. She keeps the conversation up even though all he says is short one-worded answers, Yes, No, Maybe. When the tea arrives, she pours him a cup, and herself one too.

Ayaka takes a sip of her tea. "How do you consider the recent state of affairs in the capital? Though I’m not sure if you’ve been keeping up to date, my lord, as you have remained bedridden for so long."

"Enough," he says. "You know this isn’t what I’m here for. What are you testing me for?"

Ayaka’s smile fades. She looks at him solemnly, and he sneers. Duplicitous, just like her brother.

"Miss Lumine came at my brother’s behest," she says. "It was a friendly visit; I enjoy her company. If I could, I would have her stay together with me for a while longer. She told me, however, that she had other matters to attend to."

"So?"

"I did not want her to leave," Ayaka says pointedly, "but I let her go anyways. Because it is her choice to leave, and I respected it. Miss Lumine values her autonomy. You must know that."

"Get to the point."

"You have followed after her like a hunting dog, my lord," she says. "You have the same look in your eyes. However, I do not know if that is what she wants, and I fear loosing you after her."

He gives a mean smile. Sharp around the edges, ready for first blood. "What she wants… You have no idea, do you? Unless she has spoken to you personally on the matter."

"No. But there is more than one way to communicate," Ayaka says as she sets down her teacup. "Words are not the only way."

They watch each other over the table, two generals at war. As annoying as Ayato was in negotiations, his sister is somehow worse.

"Do you love her, my lord?"

He brings the tea to his lips and drains it all in one go. Swallows, then slams the cup down.

"Do you?" he challenges.

Ayaka smiles and flicks open her fan, somehow pleased with his vague answer as though she’s already drawn the truth from him, and he decides, yes, the sister is definitely the worse of the Kamisato siblings. The both of them are annoyances, but only Ayaka can wear that terrible, knowing look and have him so edge at the same time—as if she’s already read him so thoroughly. Because she knows Lumine too. Because Lumine has been in this home before.

Then Ayaka says, "I have deceived you, my lord. Miss Lumine has not come here."

"What—?"

"Madam Yae asked me to redirect you. And at the end of the letter she’d sent, she said I should assess you myself on whether you should be lead falsely or not. I thought the proposal entertaining, so took her up on it."

The fox! He grits his teeth and says, "So? What’s your conclusion?"

Ayaka flicks her fan closed.

"…In my eyes, you are not right for her," Ayaka says. "But this too, is her choice. Go. She has returned home to her family. You will find her there."

: : :

It is a four hour journey by horse. He makes it in three. Countless mora is exchanged hands, dispensed here and there to grease the wheels, metaphorically speaking, tired horses swapped out for rested ones along stations. And when he steps out of the carriage into the biting pre-winter winds, what he sees shouldn’t surprise him, but it does anyways.

Decrepit, is the first word he would use to describe it. Small, is the second. He squints at the slanted roof. It looks about ready to topple. Is it even safe to live under these conditions? He’d feel better about living in a straw house.

Regardless, he’s here. And if he had his way, she won’t be living here for long. His face is flushed from the furious speed the carriage had taken to get here—they’d had to swap the horses half-way, given how fast he’d told the coachman to push them—and he smooths himself down as best as he could. And despite his wish to furiously pound on the door until the wood crashes down, he knocks politely.

It takes two, no three, heartbeats for there to be any response. A shuffle behind the door, a woman who asks a question and a man who responds. Lumine—and someone else with her. It sets his teeth on edge.

The door swings open, and it’s golden hair that greets him, but not the person he’d wanted to see. "Hello—"

The blond, masked man pauses.

"Oh," he says. His voice is deep and calm, despite the clear surprise. "You must be the young master of the Raidens. Are you here to see my lady?"

Who else would I be here for, do you have a brain, but this is Lumine’s beloved family. A status out of reach, too high to be touched. "Is she in?" he says, despite knowing already. He’d heard her, would know the pitch of her voice even through the door.

"Yes, but she’s pre-occupied at the moment." The manservant opens the door wider and gestures with an open hand. "Would you like to come in?"

The parlour room is small too. The hallways narrow. The cold air makes him shiver, the draft having snuck into the house likely due to its poor construction. And the tea that the manservant offers is hot yet bland—Dainsleif, he’s introduced himself.

"My lady will be with you shortly," Dainsleif says. "Though it may be a while, my lord. There are urgent matters my lady must see to first, before receiving guests."

"I’ll wait," he says. "As long as it takes."

: : :

It really shouldn’t surprise her. Dainsleif’s already informed her as much. Even so, when Lumine steps into the tiny little parlour room that’s only big enough to fit two, maybe three people, she still does a double take.

He really was here. Sitting so obediently in that uncomfortable wooden chair, a put out look on his face that softens at the edges when she says, "Hello there, Young Master."

"You’re finally done."

It’s already past sunset. He’d been waiting a long while, she knows. He’s already been told that he could always come back the next day, but the young master insisted, Dainsleif had told her.

"Paimon was having a fever," she says apologetically as she sits down on the only other chair in the room. The candlelight flickers weakly. It’s strange, seeing him here in her house. Like stepping over a divide that shouldn’t be crossed. "I didn’t want to leave her side until it subsided."

That, and because the little girl had whined and begged and cried until Lumine promised to stay beside her until she fell asleep. Dealing with Paimon definitely prepared her for dealing with the young master, both clingy and prone to acting spoiled.

"Is she okay?"

"It was a bit dangerous," Lumine admits. In his letter, Dainsleif had said that Paimon had been sick for a day already, fever so high despite the antipyretic the doctor had prescribed. Lumine had immediately rushed home, taking the nearest cabbie she could hail, and fretted over the child. Her forehead had been burning, and she’d been wiggling around as though about to go into a febrile seizure. It frightened Lumine to no ends. "But she’s fine now. Come the morrow, I expect her to be as exuberant as always." Lumine leans forward, and she says lowly, "But why are you here, Young Master?"

"Come to grovel," he says.

"Huh?"

The young master licks his lips, looking strangely nervous. "I… I know where your brother is."

Lumine can’t help it. Like mother, like son. She laughs until she’s holding her stomach, giggle erupting from her throat. Silly. This is so silly. Him looking at her as though she’s got the execution axe.

"No, listen to me," he says, frustrated. "This isn’t a joke—"

"I know already," Lumine says breathlessly. Her sides hurt. She cracks a smile. "You’d known, but hadn’t told me."

He rears back. "You… already know?"

"Off the coast of Liyue, right? Master Raiden told me as much."

"Damn her," he mutters, then says, "So if you already know, then you have to understand. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have done it. I should have told you as soon as I found out, but I didn’t want…"

"Me to leave?" Lumine prompts. "Likely, knowing your ways, you were planning some dastardly way to keep me anchored to you."

"…"

"You’re a very silly man," Lumine says. "You’ve come chasing me for that? You could have just waited to tell me."

The young master’s eyes are dark through his lashes. "I thought you’d left already."

"Of course not. There’s still a few days left in the contract. I even left a letter for you saying as much, just to make sure you didn’t do something foolish like chasing after me in this cold weather," Lumine says, confused. "Yae Miko should have handed it over to…"

Oh.

"The fox," he grits out. "I’ll skin her."

"Don’t be," Lumine says. "She’s only trying to help."

"Help? As if. All this is just for her own entertainment."

"If she hadn’t tricked you, then you wouldn’t be here," Lumine says. "And I would have never realized…"

She trails off, and the young master seems to have realized her guard has come down. Left herself too defenseless. She doesn’t even protest when he stands and approaches her. Kneels in front of her as she sat, eyes peering up. "Realized what?" he whispers.

"I’d been angry at you at first," she says softly. "When I first heard. How could you? You know how important my brother is to me."

He lays his head in her lap. "And now?"

"I’m not sure. I feel conflicted," Lumine confesses as she caresses his hair. The strands slips through her finger so easily. "The depths you must have went gone to find out… How could I hate you for your efforts? Even Master Raiden had been surprised that you were able to make the connection. My brother, a captain of a pirate ship. Our parents will be turning over in their graves, bless their souls."

"Will you seek out your brother now that you know where he is?" he asks. "If you choose to go, I’ll go with you. And I’m warning you now, even if you don’t want me to follow, I’ll still do it."

"You’d leave the manor for something as silly as a sibling reunion? The manor where you’ve stayed your entire life, avoiding the outside as though it would kill you," Lumine says. She shakes her head. Smiles. "Never mind. Seeing you here, I could believe it. But no, I won’t seek him out. Master Raiden had reached out to him, you see, and received a letter in return. She’d passed it onto me, and I’ve sent a reply back. It remains to be seen whether he’ll reply or not, but for me, that is enough."

"So you’ll stay on at the manor then?" he says eagerly.

"Who knows."

"You’re playing coy," he huffs.

"Who’s the one playing coy," Lumine chides. "Don’t think I don’t know about you paying off the debts of my house, either."

He groans. "Did Mother tell you that too?"

"Only in confirmation when I questioned her. Did you really think you could pull that over my eyes?"

"It was meant to be a gift," he says.

"Or another thing to hold over my head," Lumine says. He says nothing, but the silence is enough of an answer for Lumine. Contingency upon contingency, but all he had to do is tell him her name. If he had given her his name, she would have felt obligated to stay. If she had been entrusted as his secret keeper, she would have felt too much guilt to leave. Too attached. He could have taken advantage of her kindness, but he did not—because she had said, I did not ask. So he tried to weave a web in a web in a web, so many strings to tie around her, a blindfold around her eyes. All that effort, just to keep her with him.

Lumine strokes his hair with a tenderness that has him nuzzling into her hand, and it is too much, the swell of emotion that surges beneath her breast. Warm despite the chill of the house. Overwhelming.

"What am I to do with you," Lumine says in quiet despair. "What am I to do with all this?"

"Keep me," the young master murmurs. "Love me."

"Have I not already?" Lumine says. "You have forced my hand, young master. It feels like I am being put into a chokehold and thrown in a cage, and I fear that I will never be the same."

"Good," he says. "Now you understand how I felt."

.

.

.

xi.

Dear Sister,

I hope you are well. In truth, I do not know how to begin this letter. If you were here, you would surely scold me for the numerous pages sitting crumpled in the wastebasket beside me. Think of what you’d like to writer before you write it, you’d say with that familiar exasperated tone.

I will be brief, then, because your ire frightens me as it always had, and writing this letter has taken more courage than I have ever felt in my entire life. Every second I am putting pen to paper, I imagine your voice scolding me.

So here it is, then:

I am sorry, sister. I am sorry I let you go, and I am sorry I was too cowardly to stay in that house with the cold and the rain and the leaky roof. I am sorry I was not brave enough to bear the weight of our ruined house with you. You have been saddled with my incompetence as I threw away the family and chose to forget you for my own selfish ways.

Perhaps it will please you to learn that I have underwent my own hardships. Or perhaps it will not. I have been away from you for song long, I fear I have forgotten what it means to know you so deeply.

Even so, I am well. I have survived. I cannot come back right now, because you do not deserve to set eyes upon my current myself, but one day, I hope to come back to you. Until then, will you wait for me?

Yours,

Aether

P.S. I have sent a sum of money along with this letter, but I have been told that the debt is no longer an issue. Therefore, take it as a brother’s apology and spend it as you wish. Though I am sure you will be angered by this too, because we both know money is no real way to apologize. Still, it is the only way I can manage for now. I look forward to your reply—and the scolding contained.

P.P.S. I hope Dainsleif is well too.

: : :

Dear Brother,

You are right. I would have scolded you for wasting paper like that. And I would have liked to scold you in this letter too, to fiercely condemn you for your faults (and there are many!), yet just as you have hesitated in your own letter-writing, I too have anguished over what to put down. Enough that I have my own little mountain of crumpled papers. To scold you would be hypocritical, so I will not.

I missed you. I have always missed you. I have looked for you in every crowd, under every storm. To leave without not even a proper farewell, how cowardly of you! Yet I cannot say I do not understand. If you did not leave, perhaps I would have done so instead.

I am well too. I too, have survived. I have found a place where I belong, with the people that I love. Dainsleif is doing just fine, though he did have some troubles in the beginning when learning how to tend to a house (as small as it is). I have also taken a child under my wings—she is small and lovely and smiles so brightly, it makes my heart ache. She also eats enough for two grown men, so I have had my hands full trying to balance the books. There are others too, now, but I will not bore you with the long story. Some day, perhaps.

The sum you sent are well-received, though perhaps it will not surprise you to learn that your lavish sister has become somewhat of a dowdy spinstress in your absence. Though I am sure you are also no longer dressed in your silk tunics, just as I have foregone those horribly inconvenient dresses with their layers and layers of fabric.

I will not lie to you, Aether. You are a selfish man. You have left me grieving for so long. But I have picked myself up, and despite everything, I find that my love for you has not changed. I still love you. You say that I do not deserve to lay eyes on you (on account of your… more eccentric proclivities, I am sure, though I do not expect your admission to them), but that is not for you to decide.

Take the time you need, but do not forget me. When you are ready, my doors are open—as they always are, when it comes to you.

Yours,

Lumine.

P.S. On the matter of the debt, I must get back to you. It being no longer an issue… I did not know either. There seems to be have been some mischief abound.

: : :

The young master insisted on staying with her for the night, and after countless cajoling, Lumine allowed it. It had been difficult, finding enough space to spare for both him and the coachman, but they managed. The poor servant had almost been about to be banished to sleeping in the carriage, chilly as the wind is, before Lumine put an end to it.

Dainsleif had graciously given up his own bed, relegating himself willingly to the floor of the kitchen instead. Lumine had protested, but he’d insisted, something or other about how he was used to sleeping on the floor anyways, and Lumine sighed and gave in.

It doesn’t explain why, when Lumine awoke this this morning, she found herself being embraced by the young master. He’s clinging onto her like a burr caught on a shirt sleeve, and when Lumine wiggles in his hold, only murmurs before holding on even tighter. When had he snuck into her bed? And Why? She freezes, then relaxes. It is easier, choosing to accept this new reality than to fight against it.

Scary, how it’s her who’s giving in nowadays.

Lumine does scold him plenty for it when he finally wakes up, but he only grunts. Words through one ear and out the other, not really sorry for his actions at all because he only drags her into bed again to close his eyes and catch a few more minutes of sleep. Lumine is at her wit’s end, truly.

Plates of food in hand, Dainsleif catches a glimpse of them in the hallway as they exit together like two guilty children, but says not a word. One more guilty so than the other, because the young master only yawns and shrugs, looking wholly unconcerned at this breach in decorum.

Paimon is enthusiastic throughout the entire breakfast, poking and prodding at the new stranger in their midst. The young master grunts, but doesn’t tell her off. Though he does say some very unkindly things that go right over Paimon’s innocent little head, All these years with your guardian, and you haven’t stolen away any of her intelligence points. Shall I congratulate you for it?

They return to the manor later. He sneaks himself in her lap again in the carriage ride home, slept curled against her while she’d sighed and let him use her as his personal pillow again. They separate once they arrive at the manor (as separate as it can be considered, what with him clinging onto her arm again). Lumine begs a moment of reprieve for a bath, and the young master grouses and complains, but slinks away like a chastised cat when she suggests they take one together instead.

It’s not until Lumine’s drying her hair that Yae Miko comes knocking. No pipe in hand, this time. Instead, there’s a thin stack of papers and a pen that Yae Miko promptly hands to her.

"I’ve done you the favour of drawing up a new contract," Yae Miko says, "what with the end of your current one coming up."

Lumine narrows her eyes as she flips through the pages. "I never said it was up for renewal."

Yae Miko says flippantly, "You didn’t have to say anything, darling. I already know. Skim it over right now and let me know if you have questions. You can sign later at your leisure—on the dotted lines, as before."

Lumine looks through the terms. Even better terms than before—generous enough that she’s not really sure if she’s an employee or a pet, to be honest. An allowance to be given even if she doesn’t do any work, as many days off as she’d like. She really is going to be kept here, isn’t she. "…To be terminated at any time, subject to a fine from the employee," Lumine reads, "of a single mora."

"Something for you to hold over him," Yae Miko says.

Tricky as always. Lumine sets the pen and papers aside. "You still have to explain to me," she demands. "Why did you hide my letter? You knew he would chase after me—you wanted it. Why?"

Yae Miko smirks. "Haven’t I been quite generous in my help?" she purrs. "The silly boy fell for it so easily. You’d left all your belonging behind, but he hadn’t even bothered to check your room. Left like a whirlwind for the Kamisatos. To believe me so easily, it must be the power of love."

"The Kamisatos?" Lumine says, confused. "Why there?"

"Out of consideration for you," Yae Miko dismisses. "You would have been busy tending to that little darling of yours—Paimon, was it?—and I wanted to slow him down. Ayaka has always been a good judge of character. If the boy couldn’t even make it past her, then there would have been no point to the exercise."

"An exercise," Lumine echoes. She pores over everything, the beginning, the middle, the end. The resolution to the saga. Her bedchambers, positioned at the perfect location for the weeping to slither its way through the halls and into her ears. The way Yae Miko had come to snatch her away that one night. The young master and the mirror, Yae Miko’s little prank—everything, to direct Lumine to the truth. The hallway with its gas lamps that should have been unlit that dark night, but were not. The doors in the East Wing locked that first night, even though the brass knob had turned so easily the second time. And the perfunctory way Master Raiden had spoken to Lumine about her brother, as though it pained her to let Lumine know the truth. Directed by someone.

It clicks in her, so absurd that Lumine has to say it aloud: "Was this your intent when you took me on? To let me uncover the secrets of this manor, and in this way, expose both Master Raiden and the young master so that they are forced to confront it?"

Yae Miko doesn’t deny it, nor does she confirm it. Instead, she grins a fox’s smile, eyes curved into pleased crescents. "You are a rather helpful individual," Yae Miko says. "Though I have to say, even I was surprised with how much the boy latched onto you."

"You and Master Raiden…"

"Poor Ei," Yae Miko says with a pout, a hand placed to her face as though in concern. "Forever stuck in the past, wandering about and trying to look for her sister. Forever trying to seek the boy’s forgiveness. It’s time, don’t you think, that we move past all this silly play? They should have a good talk—which they did, your leaving being the perfect catalyst for it, by the way."

"Perhaps the most horrifying person here in this manor is neither the young master nor his mother," Lumine says slowly, "but you."

"So you’ve realized."

"To what ends?"

"For a happy ending," Yae Miko says. "All’s well that ends well, right? You’re happy, the young master is happy, and Ei is happy. She’s on the path to making up with her son, the only thing she’s currently holding onto life. So yes, happy. As happy as she could be, given her temperament anyways."

"Only that? For her happiness?"

"Isn’t it the most important thing in the world? Everyone wants the people they love to be happy."

"Does Master Raiden know?"

"Does she need to?" Yae Miko says flippantly. "She trusts me, and that’s enough."

Lumine swallows. "I’d have thought that mother and son would be the most abnormal in this manor, but I do believe you are the worst of the bunch."

"It doesn’t matter. I can do anything for my darling’s happiness."

"To an insane degree."

"Of course. I am devoted to her," Yae Miko says breathlessly. Her pupils have dilated into a frightening black that swallows the purple of her eyes. "As far as I am concerned, there are no other gods before me."

"You’re a monster," Lumine says.

As quickly as it came, the lovesick expression on Yae Miko’s face vanishes. She smiles again, this time less frightening, back to the kindly if slightly mischievous housekeeper. "Foxes do love their scheming. The boy tried to warn you—you must not have listened well enough, my dear child. But again… All’s well that ends well, right?"

Lumine cannot refute Yae Miko’s words. Nor can she complain about the way that Yae Miko handled things. The results justified the means, and even if it didn’t, could Lumine truly say anything with the circumstances like this?

"Now then," Yae Miko says with a clap of her hand. "I’ll leave you alone to read the contract. Remember, it’s the dotted line. Everyone will be so happy to know you’re going to stay here."

Lumine sighs. Truly, the victor that came out on top is Yae Miko. "Understood," she says. At least Master Raiden seemed content enough to eat from Yae Miko’s hands, and who was Lumine to judge her for it when she’s the same? Eating saccharine treats from poisoned hands.

"Ei wants to have dinner with the boy. You’ll be tagging along of course," Yae Miko says as she slips away. "You will be there, won’t you?"

"…Of course."

"Great," Yae Miko croons. "I’ll see you then, dear child."

Lumine exhales. She blinks, staring at the empty doorway. A dinner with mother-son duo?

Well. That’s new.

.

.

.

x.

Come mid-spring, the garden unfurls into perfect blooms of violet and pink. Wisteria and sakura dot the scenery out the windows. In place of tending to the young master, Lumine has taken it upon herself to spring cleaning instead—much to the young master’s displeasure.

"You’re not a maid," he says.

"There’s nothing else to do," Lumine explains as she pats down her maid uniform. "I have to earn my keep, somehow. It makes me uncomfortable to be lazing around without anything to do like a kept woman, young master."

"You’re not a mistress," he says, scowling. "At worst, you’re a companion. And besides, if you’re that bored, you could stamp more documents—"

"No, thank you!" she says resolutely, and ducks out the door to his study before he could wheedle her out of her tasks. The morning is young, and there were many things to be done. And last time, he had her stamp enough documents to have her wrists hurt. Even worse was when he started explaining them to her. All those code words that flew out her brain as soon as she heard them. The next thing you know, he’d be putting them off on her instead, using that pleading expression which always made her want to give in—no, she was better off scrubbing floors.

There are some things that change, and other things that remain the same. Yae Miko is still the fox to the young master, and he still scowls every time he sees Master Raiden. But Master Raiden doesn’t leave the manor for so long now, and they have dinner together when she’s around, awkward silences be damned. There are still the occasional fevers and tantrums, and his bedroom still smells has that medicinal scent to it, but an astrologer proclaimed that he’ll live to a hundred and three despite the fevers and Lumine has gotten too used to the smell of medicine to even notice. Not unless she focuses. And usually, she’s too distracted by him to do so.

Aether writes regular letters, and so does Paimon and Dainsleif. Summer will see them both roomed in the Raiden manor instead as they sort out Paimon’s schooling options, and Lumine smiles when she thinks of it before returning to beating the dust from the curtains. Itto is shouting on another floor again, much to Shinobu’s consternation, and Yoimiya’s hollering is also loud enough to be heard as she yells for the housekeeper about where to put this and that.

It’s perfect. Despite the imperfections, Lumine thinks as she hums to herself, because it’s loved.

When late afternoon rolls around, Lumine sheds her maid outfit and changes into her casual strolling clothes. The young master has come prowling around her bedchambers again as though he knew exactly when she’d be done changing into her dress, and as always, insists on tying her ribbon and fixing her bonnet in place for her. Clothes that he’d bought for her, it should be noted, because he’d thrown out her entire wardrobe and proclaimed it too out of season before proceeding to replace everything—and it all matched with his own wardrobe, of course, which had Lumine’s eyes rolling when she found out. Instead of going to these lengths, he could have just said he wanted to match.

Once again, like so many afternoons before, they stroll around the gardens, his arm on hers. They sit down on the bench set by the tree. Makoto’s tree, it’s come to be known. And on this day, Lumine thinks about it. Makoto’s garden, now unsealed. The cherry blossom tree planted in late fall, come to blossom in spring. Their hands, intertwined. The hidden ring in his desk drawer. Flecks of gold in the violet jewel, the colours of their eyes.

She’ll let him keep this secret, Lumine decides. She’ll have every secret of his today, except that—he’ll eventually confess, and she’ll say yes as though she never knew, if only to make him happy.

"I just remembered," the young master says suddenly. "I forgot to ask you about your favourite flower."

"It’s been more than three months since we’ve had that conversation," Lumine recalls. Either way, if he asks, she’ll answer. "It’s never too late," she prompts. "Would you like to know?"

"You promised. So tell me: of all the flowers in these gardens, what do you favour the most?"

"Hm." Lumine squints as she peers into the distance, trying to count the number of ducks in the pond. "Have you ever heard of the datura?"

The young master snorts. "You have dangerous proclivities."

"Dangerous," Lumine says," yet beautiful. There’s one particular species that blooms only during the summer night, whose seeds are encapsulated in tiny, delicate spines that act as warning toward predators."

"Poisonous weed," he says. "And you haven’t been paying attention. There’s nothing of the sort in these gardens. We have peonies and hydrangeas and roses, but no, you don’t want them, you want poisonous flowers that bloom in the night whose seeds are covered in thorns…"

Right about to launch into another tirade, but when Lumine nudges him and gives him a meaningful gaze, he flushes. A delicate pink unfurls across the bridge of his nose. "You… I… What are you even saying, as though I’m… Thorns and all?"

"Thorns and all," Lumine confirms.

"You are, above all else, a foolish woman."

"I am."

He places his hand in hers. "I suppose I’m the more foolish, for having fallen into your hand so easily."

"In battles like these, there’s no shame in losing."

"So what are you demanding, conqueror?"

"A name," Lumine says loftily.

His lashes droop. "The last piece in the puzzle."

"Trust me."

"You know I do."

He comes close to her then, and whispers the answer into her ears. His breath is warm and the syllables are soft, like glorious sun setting over castle walls. Light, Lumine thinks, and pulls him in close.

"Kunimitsu," she says, twining their eyes together. “Kuni.”

The startle in his eyes makes her smile. Kunimitsu, Kunimitsu, the light of a country that is now far away, but close enough in the people around you. Whether it was Makoto or Ei that named him, he is loved either way.

"Don’t wear it out," he says.

Lumine smiles. He’s not used to it, and Lumine is determined to change it. She repeats his name again, and he flushes even more pink. Despite it, he holds her hand, gentle. And when she kisses his eyelid, his lashes flutter.

"I’ve decided: I want to stay," Lumine says. "And I won’t change my mind."