Archive of Our Own

Herta hated going to parties. Especially ones where an abundance of people attended. All in one room, dancing together, where snobbish suitors tried every leverage under the sun to ask for her hand in marriage. Where women gossiped—spread malicious rumors faster than she could say “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious”—and bragged about whichever rich old dinosaur asked for her hand in marriage that week.

For being the daughters of some very well known and prominent families, some of them were rather poorly mannered. Of course, always indirectly would foul words dare tumble out of their rotten mouths. Never would they dare insult a person of power directly. It would be a stain on their family if they even attempted the act.

No, it always was indirect. Beating around the bush. 

How drab. 

If they had an insult, they should tell it to her face, was her belief. 

There was always one exception to her disdain for these types of social events. 

Masquerades. 

There was something so.. Unique. So Exciting about masking herself—concealing her identity—and lingering wherever she pleased to her heart's content. Of course, it wasn’t very difficult to recognize her, courtesy of her uniquely ash-colored hair, but it made it much easier to avoid fossils asking for marriage and noble women digging for interesting information out of her under the guise of friendly conversation. 

When the masquerade gala organized by the royal family finally rolled around, Herta finally had the opportunity to do her own digging. 

She could watch people, listen to conversations without a word, and find out which next exciting thing could potentially take her interest next. 

The majority of conversations were idiosyncratic. Uninteresting. Absolutely boring. On occasion outright making Herta question the sort of education some families were subjecting their heirs to. 

But sometimes, a nugget of information would leak through, and her attention would be captured. Wholly captured. 

Other times, someone would catch her eye. Perhaps a new name, typically the result of some level of adultery by their father. Someone who would simply.. appear. 

Or, it would be a potential ally. Well, not an ally, but someone she considered keeping around for a short while whilst she learned everything about them. Perhaps everything about their family. 

It made her look incredibly self-serving. She was aware. She was also aware of her reputation within high society. She had heard the words that many had said about her. 

Reclusive, unsociable, odd. Insanely smart as well, but what was she if not a humble woman? 

In a kingdom that valued knowledge, she knew she stood out. No need to hear it from others. 

That’s how she found herself alone, standing next to an open glass doorway leading to the balcony, gingerly sipping her drink as her eyes glanced over various people around the room. 

She could easily recognize a few faces. Up on a higher floor only accessible by double staircases with two also masked guards stationed as watch, was the king and his two sons. His eldest, Prince Nous, and his youngest, Prince Lycurgus. 

She found it difficult to withhold a slight huff of a laugh at seeing the guards stationed around. Despite not being allowed to take part in the activities, they still were allowed masks to conceal their own identities. 

She could see her own parents mingling with others. Composed, but still lighthearted in their own way. She saw her mother laugh at something that a lady that Herta could not recognize had said.  

She could also see Duke Primitive standing to the side. Not that he was unpopular but.. He was odd in his own right. If she was considered reclusive, then the Duke was practically a hermit. The only time he was spotted outside of his own home was when his audience was required in an event organized by the Royal Family. 

“...and then I practically guffawed at what he said. What a charming man he is!” a woman with light brown hair laughed as she walked by. Her mask was yellow with purple accents, matching the equally yellow with purple fabrics that she wore on her dress. 

Herta wrinkled her nose at the sight. That color combination was not flattering. 

“Oh, you’re so devious you. He hails from the kingdom overseen by Lord Nanook. It would be dangerous to get involved with someone raised by such barbaric destructive tendencies,” another woman responded. Her dress was much more eye-catching. A shade of a beautiful royal blue, with a black mask to accompany her freckled face. It had blue feathers along the rim. How elegant. 

So focused on romance, these women. It gets tiring. Where do we stand if our peoples’ sights fall from erudition? They’re acting more like the subjects of Queen Idrila rather than King Zandar at this rate.

Disinterested in their conversation, Herta turned away. Her eyes scanned over the room once more. 

I’m feeling more ennui than entertainment right now. Perhaps I should find a reason to feel ill so can get out of here.  

Then, a woman caught her eye. 

Oh? 

The first thing that snagged her gaze was the turquoise-colored mask on her face. From the top of the mask, adorned in ornate gold filigree, to the delicate arch where it lay on her nose. 

Hm. 

Her skin was milky white, and her hair was dark brown. From where she stood across the ballroom, she could only barely make out hints of turquoise hidden in streaks of her hair. 

…and her dress..

Off-white, gold trimming and turquoise silk were the first thoughts that came to mind. The long, flowy fabric of the skirts’ dress flowing from her waist downward. 

Subconsciously Herta already found herself drawn closer and closer to the unnamed woman. She couldn’t recognize her face under the mask. 

The mysterious—beautiful, Herta quickly realized—woman was caught in conversation with a young lord. Who Herta recognized to be an earl, whose name she couldn’t be bothered to remember. 

His mask was blue, matching his equally blue suit. His bow, tucked under his crispy white collar, was unflatteringly yellow. 

Whoever dressed him needs to be fired at such a poor choice of color choice. 

Another sip, another inconspicuous stare at their interaction. 

Whether complete and utter stolidity, disinterest—perhaps a combination of both—the lady adorned in elegant turquoise hardly reacted to a word that was exiting his mouth. 

He seemed to be making gestures with his hands, earnest mannerisms accentuating whatever he was saying. A lip curled upward as if he were close to a winning line. 

Herta’s lip, on the other hand, curled downward. 

With few barely measured strides, Herta stepped closer. She made it a point to make it seem as if she were simply walking in their general direction, with the thought of walking directly towards them being a mere suggestion rather than a reality. 

“Lady Herta, If I may have a word—” an unfamiliar but equally grating voice rose through the fray of voices. 

Herta didn’t respond. She hardly noticed. Too focused on reaching her goal to pay attention to her surroundings. 

Then, she walked by them. 

From the corner of her eye that wasn’t blocked by the black and purple mask on her face, she could see the impassive woman spare her a small glance. Her—interestingly also turquoise eyes—turning to glance at her under the mask. Then she looked away once more. 

“I am telling you, I have the power your father desires if you accept the merging of our families through allowing me your hand in marriage, Lady…” then his voice was swallowed by the cacophony of voices filling the room. 

Without a second thought Herta turned around. She didn’t spare a consideration for if it were truly her business. She hardly thought. 

The man’s voice became audible once more as she stepped closer. Slowly, much more measured this time. Hoping they wouldn’t notice her just yet. 

“I have the riches, I have the land. I am well sought after in high society. I assure you I would be the best you for—” 

“I am not interested,” the turquoise-clad woman interrupted. Her voice betrayed no emotion. Totally impartial, and void of anything remotely interested in the conversation. 

“But Lady—” he began. 

“My, you are a rather insistent chap, aren’t you?” Herta interrupted. Fitting into the conversation seamlessly, flawlessly, as if there was never a moment in time where she hadn’t been involved. 

She could feel those cold turquoise eyes regarding her for the second time that night. 

Pleased with herself that she gained this mysterious woman’s attention once more, Herta continued. 

“I don’t recall it being remotely gentlemanly to insist upon badgering a woman who has no desire to give you half the attention you seem to be vying for.” 

“I apologize, but I was not aware you were a part of this conversation Miss…?” the man trailed off, clearly expecting for her to give her name. 

“My name doesn’t matter. Lord Pellunin, isn’t it? It would be a shame if the woman you are already betrothed to were to learn you are attempting to marry someone else right under her nose, wouldn’t it?” 

He immediately bristled at that; “I—I well..” 

“Lost for words?” 

“We aren’t married yet. Last I recall, I am not restricted to only one—” 

Herta crossed her arms and scoffed, “Would King Zandar take kindly to one of his own nobles making a fool of himself within the confines of his own home?” 

“You—!” 

“Off with you. Don’t make me repeat myself,” Herta dismissed, turning away to face the still silent woman beside her. 

The man made a noise—something between a weak attempt at retaliation and utter humiliated indignance—before ultimately deciding to simply walk away, muttering something under his breath. 

Violet met turquoise. Still obscured by the masks on their faces, unrecognizable unless they really looked. Herta was disinterested in the specifics, and she was sure that the woman before her wasn’t any different. 

“Where’s my thank you for handling that fool?” she asked in faux indignation. 

“I had it handled.” 

“Handled?” Herta echoed. 

“Yes.” 

“I could tell. Especially from the way you convinced him to leave you alone.” 

The other woman exhaled. It was quiet. Near imperceptible. Especially with the noise of nobles mingling around them, but not entirely impossible to hear. 

Not impossible, especially, for those who wanted to hear. 

…and Herta desired with all of her might to listen. 

“I can smell your arrogance from where I’m standing.” 

“That would be my perfume, darling. ‘Lily rain’. We’re standing close enough for you to smell. Lovely, isn’t it?” 

A tease. Enough to irritate. She anticipated the furrow of an eyebrow, or perhaps a lip quirking downwards in a frown. But instead,

“No we are not,” the masked woman leaned in and inhaled. She stood there for a moment, then exhaled. A gentle huff of warm air against her neck. Herta swallowed slightly. She could feel her neck warming up. “An exquisite perfume. Where did you get it?”

Herta swallowed again. Confusion? Indignation? Irritation? She wasn’t sure how to react to her blatant disregard for personal space. 

“I..” she trailed off, but then quickly recomposed herself. “My family has a perfumer. She’s quite competent at her trade.” 

“Name?” 

“Lingsha. A peasant hailing from the kingdom of King Lan, yes, but she creates fragrances like none other.” 

“Lingsha.. Alright.” 

Herta did not speak. She only stared. It was rude to stare, she knew. But she was far too interested in this stoic woman to bother with things like manners. 

If Ruan Mei noticed her blatant staring, she did not acknowledge it. Her stolid gaze wandered from their conversation towards the middle of the room where many were waltzing to the rhythmic hymn of the orchestra playing. People-watching. 

An idea sparked in her mind. It wasn’t something she typically would never be amicable to do. Ever. The idea of forcing herself to socialize.. Hmph.. shudder. 

However.. Some gnawing part of her wanted to learn as much as she could about this mysterious woman before the evening came to a close.

Some part of her wanted to obsess over this new interest. Even if it was for a short while. 

That is exactly why she decided to extend her hand towards the masked beauty. An invitation. 

“May I have this dance?”

Inevitably those wandering turquoise eyes looked back at her. Still—no reaction. Even under the mask she could see an expression nothing more than complete and utter aloofness. Apathy. 

What an exciting thing to uncover. 

 (For better immersion, I recommend you play “Masquerade: Waltz” by Aram Khachturian)

One hand on each other’s waist, another on the other’s shoulders. 

As the song previously being played came to a close, the orchestra played a new song. An incredible piece called ‘Masquerade: Waltz’, as Herta quickly came to realize. Strong in both emotions that it invoked, and stronger in the instruments being used. 

The two women swayed in sync. They left no room for error with each step of their heels upon that fine wooden floor. It wasn’t just a dance—it was a statement. Two strangers who found themselves in the same room at the same time. Two strangers who moved together as if they were one.

They met by pure happenstance, yet it simply felt.. Right. 

Natural. 

Her hand on the other’s waist—holding onto the fine fabric—felt the warmth of the woman in front of her. Felt how alive she was. How real. 

No skin contact was made. Yet… the moment felt.. Unique. 

They stared at each other under the masks. Looking. Herta pried every detail of that beautiful face hidden underneath. She had a hunch that she wasn’t the only one. 

“Tell me,” Herta began. Her words were slow. Methodical. If they weren’t careful, it would dare to be swallowed by the noise around them. The climactic sound of an orchestra. The violin danced. The flutes sung. “What a fine flower like you could possibly be named?”

“Mm. The purpose of a masquerade is to hide our identities is it not?”

“Touché.” 

“Besides,” she spoke up again, “I have a feeling you would have either refused to give your own name or given me an alias. Would you have not?”

“Hm.. you’re strangely on point for someone who has no clue who I am.” 

“You’re not the only one with some wit,” she remarked. Was that a tease? 

“It seems I’m not the only one with a sense of humor,” Herta shot back. “Ha. Ha.” 

They continued to hold each other, moving together in sync flawlessly. Did not speak another word for a long few minutes. 

All around them there was a cacophony of noises. The quiet murmurings of other attendees, the symphony of beautiful music, the pronounced sound of steps all around them. Yet to Herta it felt as if she were in her own little world. The only person who dared to occupy the space within was the woman in her hands. 

Step forward, step back. Step to the right, step to the left. Repeat. 

Herta adjusted her hand on the other woman’s waist ever so slightly, her hand dragging along the fabric an inch. She knew that the brunette noticed, from the way her gaze momentarily flicked downwards, yet she did not comment. 

“At least give me an alias to refer to you for the evening,” Herta remarked. 

“Mei.”

“Mei..” she repeated. It slid off her tongue comfortably. As if she were meant to say it. It fit magnificently. 

“Okay, Mei. You can call me Madam.”

“I am not calling you that.”

“Hmph. Boring. Fine, call me Herta.”

“Like the heir of the Licht family?”

“Yes! She’s simply so magnificent.. I couldn’t resist using her name for the evening. Isn’t it such a wonderful name?”

“Hm. I suppose.” There was an undertone to that half-agreement. A hidden message. One that Herta could not decipher. Perhaps she hails from a family who opposes the House of Licht. I can’t say there’s a shortage of those. 

Step forward, step back. Step to the left, step to the right. 

Herta’s hand let go of ‘Mei’s’ shoulder, and ‘Mei’s’ hand similarly let go of hers. Their opposite hands moved upwards into the air. Their fingers in a slow, gentle movement, interlaced. They continued to sway. 

Step forward, step back. Step to the left, step to the right. 

Their eyes never left one another. 

All around other duos danced in a similar manner. Couples smiled. The audience watched contentedly. From the corner of her eye she could see the King and his sons still overseeing up on their high ground. 

Calculatingly. Coldly.

She paid little heed, and returned her attention to the woman before her. 

Herta leaned forward just a little, tilting her face to the side to speak into ‘Mei’s’ ear, “I wonder which house you hail from to have inherited such a beautiful face.” 

‘Mei’ hardly reacted. She reacted so little, in fact, that she almost missed the slightest quiver of her lip. Almost. 

Unsurprisingly, nothing ever got past Herta. 

How triumphant she felt to get a reaction from such an emotionless woman with such little. 

Perhaps the ice can melt if the heat grows too strong. 

Step forward, step back. Step to the left, step to the right.

“Perhaps,” she leaned closer to ‘Mei’s’ ear and slid her fingers from the other woman’s, “We should step outside for a moment.”

(End masquerade scene. For better immersion, play “It’s Over, Isn’t It? - Instrumental” from the show Steven Universe) 

The cool night air immediately blew against Herta’s face the second that she stepped out onto the balcony. ‘Mei’ followed behind her. They had slipped away when both of them were entirely sure nobody was looking so as to not arouse suspicion. 

Not like they were plotting anything. Just.. precautions should always be taken. 

The outside air felt cold compared to the inside of the ballroom, where countless mingling bodies allowed for a cozy atmosphere considering the discomfort of so many people in one room. 

It didn’t help that her dress did not cover her shoulders. It only added to the chill, if anything. 

A side glance at ‘Mei’—was she cold as well? Her dress also hung off the shoulders. 

If she was cold, she didn’t show it. 

They stood side by side on the solitary balcony. Closely. Yet not close enough for their shoulders or elbows to touch. Far enough to be respectful. Close enough to know that this first meeting was anything but normal. 

The music inside was not inaudible. Rather it was muffled. She could hear the individual notes, could admire the sounds well enough, but could not recognize the shifts in tones. It was too muffled to admire the little details. Where the true beauty of music lay. 

“Why are you so insistent in bothering me?” ‘Mei’ finally spoke up. Herta smiled. Her eyes closed beneath the mask, and she leaned forward onto her elbow, which was perched on the ledge overlooking the courtyard below. Thankfully, those below did not even bother looking up. It wasn’t private for a place to talk, but it still felt oddly secluded. 

“I don’t know. Usually I don’t care enough to even glance in another person’s direction. Yet you caught my eye, and now I can’t bring myself to look away.”

“Is that why you went out of your way to chase away that earl?”

“Exactly.” 

‘Mei’ let out an acknowledging hum. “You don’t even know who I am. What if we secretly hail from two families that are enemies?”

“Then that’s a problem for when I inherit my Houses’ power. Perhaps then we’ll be grown. We might hate each other, and we might not recognize each other from this evening spent together. But that does not matter. Not right now.” 

“You have a specific way of speaking. It is.. Irksome. As if you know you are never wrong. You never doubt yourself,” ‘Mei’ murmured. 

“That’s just a part of the charm, don’t you think?” Herta smiled. A big, bright toothy smile. Aeons—she couldn’t even begin to remember the last time she smiled so widely. So genuinely. 

“Mmh.. perhaps.” 

Herta shifted closer to ‘Mei’. Their arms were touching. But their shoulders were not. Not yet. 

“Your voice is comforting. Alluring in a positive way. I feel like.. like I could listen to you speak for hours and never grow tired.”

‘Mei’ did not respond. 

“Tell me about yourself.” 

Blue eyes stared at her. “Why?”

“If we never recognize each other again after this evening, I think it’s reasonable to want to know a little about the woman under the mask, don’t you think? I think there would be little reason for which it could cause harm.” 

‘Mei’ leaned forward on the railing, “I suppose that is reasonable, but,” she looked at Herta. “Only if you agree to tell me about yourself as well.” 

“You’re lucky I’m so interested in you, or else I would scoff at your meager attempt at bargaining. Very well.” 

‘Mei’ did not respond to her backhanded compliment. If she took any offense whatsoever she did not show it at all. 

Herta saw her shift where she was standing. Then, “I hail from a family that places great importance on the sciences. Specifically biological sciences. From my great great great grandfather, to my own father, and now to me, the fascination for Biology in its entirety has been passed down as if it were a genetic trait.” 

Herta continued to listen, cheek still resting in her palm. 

“I enjoy embroidery, opera, and tasting desserts. Though admittedly.. Most of my time is spent conducting research. My father says it is unbecoming of a young lady of my status to spend all my time in the library instead of socializing with other women my age. But.. I find there to be no worse way to spend my time.” 

“I agree wholeheartedly.” 

“Contrary to what I just said, I do have two friends. They hail from the faraway lands presided by King Qlipoth. I do not see them often, but we keep in touch through letters.” 

“Those people? All I know is they like building walls and holing themselves in their own kingdom. It’s difficult to make connections with them.” 

“For the most part, yes. I simply had the fortune of making a trip to their lands myself. That’s when I met them.” 

“Oh? What are their names?” 

“You might recognize them if you’re well versed in politics. A Marchioness, Lady Bronya, head of the Rand household, and a baroness, Lady Seele Vollerei.” 

Herta tilted her head. “How did you come to meet them?”

“We went on a voyage together. I needed specimens, they needed someone who was well versed in unfamiliar wildlife. Through this voyage we connected more closely as friends rather than mere acquaintances.” 

“Fascinating.” 

“Now tell me about yourself,” ‘Mei’ prodded. 

Herta smiled, “dying to get to know me, aren’t you?”

“Am I allowed to disagree?”

“No.” 

“Okay.”

“Well,” Herta sat up straighter, no longer leaning her cheek on her own hand. Instead using both elbows as leverage against the ledge and leaning forward. “Similar to you, my family values knowledge. Science, Mathematics, Language, and History. Though we’ve always tended to excel in mathematics. Our House is already in multiple history books for coming up with many important equations.” 

‘Mei’ hummed in acknowledgement. Something about that piercing gaze looking at her—there was no comparison. Herta felt as if she were picking her apart. Piece by piece. Still, she continued. 

“I like being alone. I like watching people. I like being smart. I’m always right, so I know I’m smart. I like being beautiful. I also love, love, love looking fashionable. If there isn’t beauty to match my brains I will have considered myself a complete and utter failure. One simply cannot go without the other in my eyes!”

She shifted her weight to her opposite leg. “I also have two friends, if you could call them that. Screwllum, not of noble origin, yet still a brilliant man who I consider worth my time. He challenges me in ways intellectually that not many can. Then there’s Young Lord Stephen Lloyd, heir to the House of Lloyd. 

He’s annoyingly timid, but a smart kid. He doesn’t have much to say. Well, he doesn’t have anything to say, but he keeps up with my intelligence rather well. I can tell he will grow up to be an incredible genius. 

I have a lot of pending ‘projects’, though I tend to lose interest rather quickly. No one singular thing captures my attention for very long.”

“Am I considered ‘one of your projects’?” ‘Mei’ finally asked. 

“You could say that,” Herta agreed. 

They shifted closer. Shoulders barely brushing against each other. 

“So you’ll move on quickly?” she questioned. 

A lot of questions for a woman who cares so little and shows even less. 

“Well.. no,” Herta admitted. “You’re…”

She tensed her shoulders and looked away, confidence waning for the first time in her life. Only barely. Enough to notice. Enough for someone to feel proud for breaking her walls down like a stack of straw, but not enough to stay. 

Looking back at ‘Mei’, “You’re different.” 

“Different? 

“I don’t do people. I do machines. I do numbers. I don’t go to people. People come to me.” 

She leaned closer to ‘Mei’. ‘Mei’ leaned closer to her. Herta could feel her soft breath against her face, mere inches away. 

“But since I saw you across that ballroom I.. gained an interest. I can’t allow such a vivid exception to slip out of my fingers just like that.”

Their faces tilted out of pure instinct. 

“Especially such a beautiful face like yours.”

“Fool,” ‘Mei’ murmured, “You don’t even know what all of my face looks like.” 

Their lips met momentarily. Barely a touch. A ghost of the real thing. 

Then, Herta flinched. She pulled away without a second thought. 

“You’re.. You’re right. I shouldn’t—we shouldn’t trust so blindly. Not when I know you by an alias.” 

‘Mei’ remained silent for a second. Herta could practically feel her cold piercing gaze in her back. 

“Aren’t you also using an alias?” 

“No.” 

“What?”

Herta tsk’d out of frustration. Seriously, being made to do all the effort could get tiring!
Her nimble fingers reached up, up, up, and behind her head, finding the straps connected to the mask on her face. The same straps that kept the mask on. Then, she undid them. Each knot, one by one. Until finally, her mask came loose. 

“You actually are Herta?” ‘Mei’ asked. The faintest hints of surprise seeping into her tone. “Herta. Herta Licht. Heir to the House of Licht. Daughter of Pankratz and Odelia Licht.” 

“How many times are you going to repeat my surname?” Herta snapped. 

‘Mei’s’ lips curled upwards in a blatant smile. She’s enjoying teasing me!

“How unoriginal of an alias. I would have thought that The Herta Licht of all people would be more creative,” she teased. 

Herta turned around immediately, anger and frustration boiling under her skin—you little—!

Then she stopped. ‘Mei’s’ face was tilted down, her own fingers working to undo the strings holding up the mask on her face.

Seconds passed. Then—

Ruan Mei. The Ruan Mei. Daughter of Ruan Zhíyí and Ruan Lihua. Heir to the family power. 

I just kissed Ruan Mei of the Ruan household. 

“Ruan. Mei.” Herta fumbled over her words. “You’re Ruan Mei.” 

“You are Herta Licht.” 

“Don’t repeat my own name to me!” Herta snapped again. She ran her fingers through her bangs and began pacing, “I just danced, spent the evening, and kissed the only heir to the Ruan Household. I just kissed a Ruan. The same family that is infamous for hating mine.” 

“Why are you pacing?”

“Do you not understand what just happened?”

“Yes.” 

“So why aren’t you reacting?!” 

“It is our parents’ and grandparents’ feud. Not ours. Why waste our energy on ceaseless anger when we didn’t even know each other beforehand?” 

“It isn’t just a feud. It is pure political suicide if this gets out!” 

“Didn’t you just say you had no issue if we happened to be from opposing families? Didn’t you also just tell me you aren’t concerned with what high society thinks about you?’

“I didn’t think it would actually be true, and I didn’t think you would be from enemy family number-one! Plus I still would prefer having my name be in a semi-positive connotation! If this gets out both our houses will be dragged through the mud!” 

Ruan Mei stepped closer. Closer and closer until she was mere inches from Herta. Though Herta knew they were similar heights—if not the same—-she seemed to be wearing heels that gave her just a slight height advantage compared to Herta.

She had not noticed this fact before, but now it felt like an utterly humiliating fact to realize.

“Then perhaps,” Ruan Mei leaned forward, raising her hand towards Herta. 

Herta closed her eyes, anticipating her next move, only for it to never come. 

Hesitantly she opened her eyes once more, only to see Ruan Mei’s still-stoic-but-laced-with-warm-amusement gaze meeting hers, seeing her hand hovering just inches away from her face. 

“Perhaps…?” Herta echoed. 

“Perhaps we should keep this from getting out, then, shouldn’t we?” the other woman finally moved her hand to move a stray strand of hair out of Herta’s face. 

“How do you expect to do that?” 

“Simple. Starting with,” Ruan Mei straightened up from where she was borderline leaning over Herta, who was leaning against the wall behind her. “Not being seen together.” 

She turned around and grabbed her mask that she had previously hung against the railing. She raised it to her face and tied the knot behind her head once more. 

She turned back towards Herta, those cold blue eyes returning once more. But now this time—she could see the gold hidden in that brilliant gaze. 

“I bid you farewell for the evening, Lady Herta. May fate cross our paths under more fortunate circumstances next time.” 

Then she walked towards the glass door leading into a hallway adjacent to the grand ballroom where music was still playing. Where the sound of laughter and snobby high-society was mingling. 

She glanced back momentarily, disconnected gaze slipping back into place, but without another word simply left. The door shutting behind her. 

Herta turned back towards the ledge, looking at the night sky. At the stars littering it like glitter, at the full moon. 

Then she looked down. At the city, lights faintly illuminating the hustle and bustle of the streets. 

Even further down, was the royal courtyard. Partygoers chatted and socialized below. She couldn’t recognize anyone. Not with the masks. 

That mask is what lets her hide, isn’t it? 

I saw a glimpse of her. The real her. Not Lady Ruan Mei. Not a noble. Not my enemy. But her. Willing to stay with me, even if she didn’t know me.

I know our interest was mutual. 

She thought back to what Ruan Mei had said; “May fate cross our paths under more fortunate circumstances.” 

Hm. 

The sun brightly illuminated the streets before her. Her assistants had begged—pleaded—that she take a carriage. That she shouldn’t dirty her delicate shoes while walking across town. How insulting. 

Was walking a peasant’s task nowadays? 

She walked across the bridge overlooking the bridge, already thinking about where her next destination would be. Screwllum’s home, likely. She wanted to see what that odd man was tinkering with this time. It was always something new. 

Many people looked at her with funny looks. Some even whispered. 

Lady Licht? What is she doing here? Don’t all those rich nobles look down on walking anywhere these days? Don’t want to dirty those expensive shoes, now do they?

She heard their snickers. Heard their questions. Paid little heed. She was smarter than all of them. She didn’t think worrying about a few whispers on the street was worth her time. 

Her gaze inevitably wandered to look at the river below, then towards the riverbank. The trees lining up the area encircled a grassy area. Blossom trees. Beautiful, littering flowers constantly, showering the area with blossoms. 

But in the middle sat.. Ruan.. Mei? 

Was she seeing things correctly?

Herta paused in her steps. She completely turned her body to walk towards the stony ledge of the bridge to get a closer look. 

“Well I’ll be..” she murmured under her breath. 

It was indeed the woman who had been plaguing her mind for a long time. Sat in the middle of a grassy area, attention occupied by the embroidery in her hands.

By the aeons she simply looked—breathtaking. 

Even that was an understatement. 

It was as if every detail of the world around her was specifically catered to compliment her beauty. The way the wind blew, swaying her hair. Not enough for it to obstruct her vision. Just enough to move. To blow in the wind like a picturesque portrait. 

Heck, Herta had half a mind to pull the nearest painter from where they were just to paint the scene she was staring at. She wanted to immortalize the pure beauty of it all. 

Beauty under the gaze of nature.. 

Without barely a second thought to spare, Herta immediately changed her trajectory of where she was originally planning to go by retracing her steps and walking off the bridge. Now that she was walking towards the brick wall that signaled the riverbank below, she realized that there was no accessible way of getting down aside from jumping down. 

She momentarily considered outright wrinkling her nose at the thought, simply leaving without a word to Ruan Mei and going on with her life as if she had never noticed the woman who had blown a hole into her mind for weeks. 

But, no. That stone-faced woman was far more important than dirtying one pair of shoes with mud. Hm. The irony. 

Once she reached the wall, her fingers gently traced the brick below, eyes scanning the clearing below for the one beauty that stood out from the rest. 

She spotted her. Immediately. 

She could get used to always being able to spot her, even in the most crowded of places, she decided. 

With an irritated huff, she swung one leg over the ledge, then the other, and jumped down. The earth below her hardly reacted. Did not make a loud thump, did not budge. Even the grass seemed unbothered. As if it had been waiting—anticipating—her arrival. 

Then, she walked towards the one she had been searching for for a very long few weeks. 

“I didn’t know nobles liked jumping down to the riverbanks to sit and embroider. Must be a new trend in town, eh?” 

Ruan Mei hardly reacted. Typical. But she did put down the needle and string in her hand, and the embroidered piece in the other. Then she looked at Herta. Truly looked. 

No masks, no alias. No party. Just them, in the outside world. Two women—nobles—but more than that. Two people who understood each other, even if neither of them wanted to admit it. 

Ruan Mei stared for three long beats of silence. Then, “it must also be a new trend to sneak up on unsuspecting women in their alone time.” Her gaze fell to the items in her lap once more. 

Herta followed her gaze downwards for a moment, before flicking back to look at the side of Ruan Mei’s face once more. I won’t be having any of that!

Without another word, Herta simply walked over and sat down beside the other woman. 

Ruan Mei glanced at her, but did not acknowledge her presence. 

“Are you going to pretend I’m a ghost you’ve no idea exists?”

“Preferably.” 

“Why?”

Ruan Mei had been in the middle of attempting to resume her embroidery. Clearly she gave up, as she placed them down on the ground beside her. Finally giving Herta her full attention, with a soft and irritated sigh to accompany the action. 

“You make me face a reality that I had hoped to put off for a few more years until I took over the family.” 

“Oh? Too charmed by my beauty~?” 

“Yes.” 

Another quip had been at the tip of Herta’s tongue. Yet with that singular word, it died. She couldn’t form any more words.

Sure, she was used to flattery. Was used to praise. Was used to being told she was beautiful. Was used to being beautiful. 

Yet hearing it from Ruan Mei.. it felt different. 

Nicer. 

As if she had just heard a phrase she had never heard before. 

“I.. I see.” 

Ruan Mei tilted her head in confusion. Adorable. “Why did you falter?” 

“You caught me off guard.” 

“For admitting I wanted to forget you?”

“For admitting you think I’m beautiful!” 

“Ah,” Ruan Mei turned to the river before them. “Well it is true—” 

Herta raised a finger to the other woman’s lips. “Don’t.” 

Ruan Mei did not finish her sentence. 

Herta continued, “Don’t tell me I am beautiful. Don’t tell me I am worth looking at. Because you were the one that left that night. Don’t even dare to be honest with me, you.. You—” 

Ruan Mei cut her off with a kiss. 

Herta’s brain practically short-circuited. 

“I am sorry,” Mei began. “For leaving, I mean. I had.. Assuming that since I was the one causing you stress, it would be easier to simply leave. That way you wouldn’t have to worry about our families.” 

“Nevermind that! Had you even one more word of reason to spew at me, I would have changed my mind that instant!” 

Ruan Mei did not respond.

She looks like a defeated puppy. Now I feel bad. But—no! I can’t just fold because she looks cute! 

They sat there for two minutes. Herta knew it was two minutes because she was counting. 

Then Ruan Mei finally broke the silence. “Would you be amicable to hearing my words of reason right now then?” 

“No.”

“Oh. Alright.” 

She really is like a puppy.. Ah.. I can’t hold out my anger much longer. 

“Because..” Herta swallowed, “I already did it for you.”

“Hm?” she swore she saw Ruan Mei’s eyes light up. 

“You’ve been on my mind for weeks. In my usual fashion I would have already moved on to the next temporary thing to occupy by interests.. But not this time. No.” 

“Oh?”

“So I decided for you. I want to navigate this world with you or without you—but I would like it if you were there when I start.”

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter.” 

Ruan Mei smiled softly. She was confused, that much Herta could tell. No matter. She’d learn. 

“What do you think of relationships, Ruan Mei?” 

“Hmm..” the biologist pondered for a moment. “They are fundamental to the human psyche. As social beings we thrive on maintaining relationships. Familial, friendly, or romantic. But I have yet to experience the third.”

“I see.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I think I can conquer this world. Beauty and brains.” 

“You think?”

“Yes,” Herta grabbed Ruan Mei’s hands in her own. “..and all I want is for you to be the one I stand by while I do it. You and me.”