Hello! To those gracious readers who are following my headcanon saga, this entry follows the last one published, "Sofia." It introduces the third (or fourth) Bryant child, whom we meet in "The Other Side of the Hourglass," and explains her origins. So... Enjoy!

Despite himself, every so often he glanced up across the room to where she was sitting on the sofa, sorting through a stack of paperwork in her lap. Things in the office seemed even quieter now that there was someone else there than they were when he was alone. That wasn't surprising, though. She was quieter than normal. Everything was these days. He was just glad she was there; with the children back to school, Raine would have been at the house by herself – and that was not something he wanted, not something she needed. Not right now.

It had been several weeks since the burial, but it was still raw for all of them. Regal had been glad when she had asked if there was anything she could do for the company. He knew it was a way to keep herself busy, and that was important, but it was also nice to have her there with him every day. Yes, he could keep an eye on her, but it also meant he didn't have to be by himself either.

Concentration, however, seemed to be failing her today. Nine times out of ten when he looked at her, she was either staring blankly at the floor or looking out the window. Finally, he set down his pen and regarded her gently.

"Raine," he prodded after a moment of watching her close her eyes and draw a few deep breaths. She opened them and blinked once before looking toward him. The question, "Are you all right," was never asked. It almost seemed insulting, somehow. Of course she wasn't; none of them were really. "All right" would take a while, and it was an upward climb, but climbing they were. Day by day, as Chava frequently reminded him.

Regal eased to his feet and came around the desk toward her. He picked up the small stack beside her so he could take its place and touch her back. She sighed and rubbed her eyes with thumb and forefinger before setting aside the rest of the papers.

"Would you like to talk?" he offered, maybe a little hopefully.

Characteristically, Raine shook her head. Still, he rubbed her back and touched a kiss to the side of her head, and she didn't fight against it. Nor did she pull away when he took her hand, though she straightened up to stretch her back and neck.

"It's almost lunchtime. Why don't we take a break?" He studied her face from the side. She was getting better at taking care of herself, but sometimes she did still need some coaxing. That, above all else right now, was his job: making sure his family had everything they needed.

It was...all he really could do. For them, and for him. Atop his own grief, it was a juggling act to support his wife and other children—but in the face of everything he couldn't change despite his most desperate wishes, this was something he could.

"There are things to do," she argued, but it was weary and lacklustre.

It was his turn to shake his head. "Nothing in this room matters, and Raine, you are not here right now." Sometimes, like now, she just looked lifeless, like a doll. She did have her slightly better days, but this was clearly not one of them. She hadn't even cried since that horrific day, and part of him, as a man who had shed his share of tears in private over the past weeks, had to wonder if that was really healthy. After all, she did have a nasty habit of withdrawing, and that wasn't a path down which he wanted to watch her go.

She turned her face away and rubbed at the back of her neck restlessly. "I need to be," she asserted, though it was probably more to convince herself than him.

He wove his fingers through hers. "But you're not, and that's all right." Raine kept looking to the side, her eyes half-lidded and tired, and he eased his free arm around her to draw her a little closer. He had gotten her to smile once since it happened, but that was with the help of Chava and Micah, and judging by the weight in her gaze, he wasn't going to get one today. If he got anything, he would be glad for it. He hated the emptiness—but he was happy she was letting him hold her. Her scent was a silent comfort for him still.

"Do you remember—"

The sound of the elevator approaching interrupted him, and he glanced toward it. Raine untangled their fingers and retrieved her stack of papers. At once, the thin mask dropped into place, and she busied herself. She still wasn't getting anything done, though. That much he could tell as he sighed and rose to his feet to receive whatever visitor they had.

Out stepped George, his aged vice president, and he nodded in greeting. There was a hint of unease on the other man's face, though, and it appeared as if that unease worsened when he saw Raine there on the couch. That was nothing new; a lot of people weren't quite sure how to approach either of them these days. But still, there was something else there besides some routine company business.

"Master Regal," George hailed with a slight, stiff bow. "I'm afraid we have a rather...peculiar situation."

Regal glanced toward Raine, who had looked up, too, and then back at George. "Peculiar?" he echoed. "What is it?"

"Ah..." The old man looked over his shoulder, back toward the elevator. "It is a somewhat delicate matter, sir. If we could speak in private?"

A frown settled on his brow, and he felt a little twinge of tired irritation himself; as far as he was concerned, anything to do with the Lezareno could be discussed in front of his wife, and he was in no mood to tap dance around matters. But with the second glance his colleague sent toward the woman watching them in silence, he kneaded his forehead and bit back a sigh. "Very well."

Surprisingly, though Raine got to her feet in preparation to leave herself, which made him feel worse, George gestured his president toward the elevator instead of her. She raised an eyebrow, an expression mirrored by her husband, but she slowly sat back down while the two men stepped out of the room together.

"What is this about, George?" the weary duke asked once the elevator started carrying them, oddly, down toward the lobby. "You know that Raine is privy to anything I am."

"Yes, sir. But given the nature of the situation, I wanted to spare Lady Raine the unfortunate matter. I would have done so for you, but alas, I was not entirely certain how you would wish to proceed... I do hope you'll forgive me."

Nothing about this vague explanation of sorts made him feel any better. In fact, it rather irritated him more. "George, for the goddess' sake, what are you even talking about?" he just managed not to snap.

"Well... We have an unexpected guest, and all she appears to have is a name and a blanket."

A...blanket? Now he was very lost, and starting to lose what patience he could muster for the outside world. But before he could ask, yet again, what it was about, his heart gave a leap at a sound that sent a chill straight through him: the crying of a very young infant.

When the elevator stopped at the lobby, there was a small gathering of staff, mostly women, huddled near the front desk. The one in the center, the receptionist, was cradling a small, squirmy, wailing bundle, and he could just make out the fine, dark hair from behind the rough blanket. The sight, the sound, had his pounding heart lodged right in his throat, and despite rational thought, anger spiked.

A baby? Here, now? Was this someone's sick joke?

"Where did she come from?" he all but growled, though there was a wavering note in his voice. He was suddenly very glad Raine wasn't privy to this. Every time they passed a young child, every time they heard a baby cry, she flinched. To have this sprung on her... It was bad enough that he had to face it, and entirely unprepared at that. Who the hell thought bringing an infant here, of all places, was in any way acceptable? Someone was in a great deal of trouble.

"We don't know, Master Regal," replied George, still sounding both hesitant and apologetic. "She was found alone, tucked under a seat on the tram, fast asleep. The attendant brought her here after failing to locate any possible parent. This was with her."

The older man crossed toward the desk while Regal couldn't bear even to look that direction. He actually had to turn his back to the infant and try against all hope to tune out the sound that seemed to echo in his head more than the room. When George came back over, he held out a piece of paper, and Regal half-snatched it out of very frayed nerves. "What is this?" he asked no one in particular, but he began to read for the answer to his own question. As he did, his expression changed and drew more with every word of the very sparse note.

I send this child away, not knowing where she will end up, hoping it will be somewhere better. I can't care for her, but by the grace of the goddess Martel, I pray that someone will find her and give her the home she deserves. Please, take care of her.

Her name, all that I can give her, is Rosalie.

"Rosalie," he murmured aloud. Though he could still hear his own heartbeat loud in his ears, Regal let his frowning gaze lift back toward the child. She was...abandoned. Like she was nothing at all, this innocent child was set adrift in a world of strangers on the off chance that she might end up somewhere safe. What sort of person was capable of doing that?

...Besides Raine's own mother, he realized with a visible cringe.

Regal glanced back down at the note briefly. The baby girl was still crying, but at this point he was stalled. He couldn't begin to fathom giving up one's child; he would have given anything and everything to have Sofia back. And now he was responsible for deciding the fate of a stranger's daughter when he had no say in that of his own. He pressed the heel of his free hand to his forehead and closed his eyes tightly.

"And there was absolutely no one around?" he asked, his voice rough. Not, one part of his brain scoffed, that it really mattered; anyone who would do something like this did not deserve something so precious.

"No, sir. According to the operator, she was entirely alone."

Alone.

He dragged his hand down over his face and drew a deep breath. All right. As unpleasant a duty as it was, they couldn't just keep the infant in the lobby like a mascot. She needed caring for. Luckily, she had ended up somewhere safe. He just had to make sure wherever she went next would raise her well. He couldn't be a grieving, angry father. Right now, he had to be the president and make a decision.

The thought of sending this little girl to an orphanage was absolutely repulsive. She wasn't an orphan by traditional standards, and this, he couldn't help but feel, was worse. To lose one's parents to death was one thing, but to be given up by them... He turned again and finally set his eyes on the baby being rocked and bounced to no avail by the patient receptionist.

There was the church. Undoubtedly they would take her in, but what sort of life would that be? Zelos' own sister had been kept in an abbey, and she had done everything she could to escape it. Maybe he could contact the former Chosen anyway, with his connections in Meltokio—or perhaps his Sylvaranti counterpart. Colette would jump at the chance to help, he knew. What he wanted was to find a family for her, someone with as much love as he had for his own children who would take her in. But whether or not that were possible...he wasn't sure. Not to mention how long it would take to get a letter to Sylvarant; what would they do with her in the meantime?

She needed a place to stay.

"...George." Regal handed his right hand the note once more, wanting to be rid of the accursed, selfish plea. Never had he respected Raine's mixed feelings about her mother's diary more. "Find a volunteer to keep the child over the next few days. I'll have to write several letters to try to find a permanent placement—as soon as I have penned them, I want them sent out as quickly as possible."

"Yes, sir."

The other matter was more sensitive. He didn't want Raine to be exposed to this, and that meant getting the crying baby off of company property before his wife could see, or hear, her. He turned toward the receptionist and the group of admirers around her. "...Everyone please return to work. This will be handled momentarily. Lillia, until—"

The sound of the approaching tram, usually simple background noise, actually startled him. Naturally, it would have had to keep running, but the prospect of yet another guest to the already crowded lobby had his shoulders tight. He glanced toward it, but the passenger who stepped out surprised him.

"Chava," he blinked.

His eldest daughter stepped off the tram with a smile, her hair pulled back in a braid and the bag she took to school still hanging from her shoulder. She waved at him in greeting, but as she came forward to slip under his arm affectionately, her attention went to the baby, and she tilted her head. What's going on? The slight unease was apparent in blue eyes, the silent question of, Mom?, peeking out.

Regal held her close, feeling a little relief despite the situation. Every day was made brighter by this little thing. Fourteen years old, but still his little girl. He shook his head, though, tired and trying not to show it. Complicated, he returned. He paused and looked down into her gentle frown. She didn't repeat the question, but he could see she was still curious and concerned. Just as he could see through Raine's masks at this point, it seemed his daughter had inherited his insightfulness as well as his hair color. He sighed quietly.

She was abandoned. Even the signs felt disgusting to him. He saw a start go through Chava's shoulders, and she blinked wide eyes back toward the infant with a distracted gesture of dismay while the rest of the gathering dispersed back to their normal duties—though he could hear the murmurs still passed among them.

What's going to happen to her?

"We are going to find somewhere safe for her to go. Don't worry."

Chava slipped away from him and drifted toward the receptionist and the child she held. Regal couldn't bring himself to follow, but he did watch despite himself and the twisting of his insides. Especially when his daughter reached out and tugged the blanket aside to peep at the little face. Was that what she would have looked like meeting Sofia? He had to wonder, as hard as he tried not to.

After a moment, she turned to look over her shoulder with a pained expression. Daddy... She's a half-elf.

A half-elf? His brow raised, then furrowed, and with a nearly audible crash, he felt his stomach drop. Are you sure? he asked, and she nodded gently. Regal pressed a hand to his face again. An abandoned half-elven baby. It really was just like Raine and Genis, but aside from that twist of the knife, there was another reality here.

It would have been hard enough to find placement for a human child. For a half-elf, in either country...

"Goddess Martel," he muttered. He drew another deep breath and squared his shoulders. The plan would remain the same. It had to. It was just... A half-elf. Of course she was.

Forcing down the pain, and again glad Raine was nowhere near any of it, he addressed his staff again. "...Lillia. Until we can find a temporary home, please take the child to the clinic. Have her examined by a physician, and ask them to keep her there until further notice."

"Yes, sir," she returned quietly, shifting the baby against her shoulder while the relentless crying and fussing continued. He couldn't wait to get away from it; it made the hair on the back of his neck bristle.

"Thank you. Chava."

Chava twisted again, keeping one hand to the baby. The image was still a difficult one, and he forced his eyes to remain on her face. Your mother is upstairs. I am going to retrieve her, and then we will pick up your brother and go for lunch. Yes?

There was a pause, and he watched her pass her gaze between the baby and him, but she finally signed a small, almost distracted, Okay. He felt ill watching his daughter's expression, that soft, sweet, sad look. The sooner they were out of here, delighting in distraction where he could remind himself of what they still had, as opposed to what they had lost, so much the better.

Turning on heel while one part of his brain hoped he didn't look as much like he was fleeing as he felt he was, Regal headed back for the elevator. At least he had the ride back to the office to school his own expression, calm his racing heart, and try to silence the cries still echoing in his mind. By the time he reached the correct floor, mercifully enough, it had mostly worked. He had to raise a mask of his own.

After one last breath, he turned again and stepped off the lift, back into the quiet of his office. Despite his work to ground himself, a pang went through his chest to see her there behind the desk, staring out the windows. She was miles away. They all needed to get out.

When she heard him coming toward her, the top layer of fog cleared from her eyes with a blink, and she looked over her shoulder. "You're back," she observed detachedly. She turned around and sat down on the edge of the desk. "Is everything all right?"

"Fine. There was a situation, but it's being resolved as we speak."

"A 'situation'?"

"Nothing to worry about," he assured her. Regal lowered himself down beside her and tucked a bit of hair back from her face. "Now. Chava is in the lobby, and I think we've both had enough for now." He certainly had. "Can I convince you to come to lunch with us?"

Raine glanced at the forgotten papers on the desk and the few she had left over on the sofa and rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes and the bridge of her nose. Wearily, she nodded. But as he rose to his feet and tugged her up, too, he snapped his head toward the elevator across the room. The crying was back, and it was getting louder. Closer. When it reached them, and he watched the passenger step into the room, carrying that bundle, incredulity and a sort of betrayal took over his face.

It was Chava standing there, bouncing and rocking the child. It wasn't often he felt angry toward his normally obedient and well-mannered little girl—but seeing here there, knowing how it affected him, how it would affect her mother, the one person he had hoped to hide this from, his eyes flashed.

"Chava," he warned lowly. Regal glanced toward Raine, who had frozen beside him, every muscle in her body so tight they might just snap, and he just managed to bite back the curse. But their daughter just hesitated there by the doors briefly before, taking a deep breath of her own, she began crossing the room slowly, steadily. She looked a little worried, but there was also a determination. She had purpose, and he wasn't sure he liked it.

He intercepted her halfway, subconsciously getting between her and Raine. "What has gotten into you?" he demanded sharply. It was a voice he used for Micah when the boy had been especially troublesome. But it was for Micah, not her. He couldn't quite believe what his eyes were seeing.

Chava looked up at him earnestly, but both arms were occupied with supporting the squirming burden. She couldn't sign, but her eyes were as intense as he imagined his were.

"Go back. Downstairs."

To his further dismayed surprise, she shook her head. Even when she got herself into trouble, it wasn't out of defiance. Not like this. And when she stepped around him, he was too blindsided to stop her until it was too late and she had reached her mother. Before either parent knew what was happening, Chava handed the baby into Raine's arms. The woman just blinked, more lifeless now than even before, but her husband was, for the first time in this adolescent's short life, furious with her.

What the hell was she thinking with a stunt like that?

"Chava!" he commanded, an intimidating presence to be sure, and he was rewarded when he saw the jolt through her shoulders. But when she turned around and came back toward him, there was still a sweet determination in her eyes. She didn't regret what she had done. It was absolutely baffling.

"When I tell you to do something, you will do it. Take the child back downstairs at once."

Again, she shook her head, but this time she wasn't holding anything. Daddy, she's all alone, she told him.

"I am well aware of that, and it has no bearing on your actions."

But that's exactly why I did it. She has no one else—a baby without a family, and a family... Her gestures shrank a little, but they were clear as she signed, who lost a baby.

Regal released a rush of air even while his back tightened at the words. That...was what this was about? She couldn't be serious. He rubbed at his face and jumped a little when he felt her tug on his sleeve to get his attention again.

We have the space, we have the means. We have the love. Her eyes were big and imploring as she looked up at him. She needs us, Daddy, and I think...we need her, too.

"Chava," he retorted with a shake of his own head. He reached out and took her naive, misguided chin before switching to signing himself. I know it's painful, but you can't just replace—

Not replace, she interrupted adamantly. Chava cast her gaze downward as she continued. Sofi is my sister, and she can't be replaced. I will miss her forever, and she'll always be part of our family. But this little baby needs somebody to love her, and even though she'll never be Sofi, never take the place of Sofi, because nothing and no one can, we have so much to offer her. We can take care of her, and she can...help us heal, too.

Regal pinched the bridge of his nose. Thus far, Raine had been very conspicuously silent, and he needed to do something to get her out of this situation. However, when he turned toward her and opened his mouth, he was stayed by what he saw. Any words died on his lips, and for a moment, all he could do was watch.

The first thing of note was that despite the fact that the child had been crying since the moment he'd first laid eyes on her, the room was actually silent. Somewhere, sometime, the baby had quieted in these new arms. But more than that, he stared at the woman holding her.

There she stood, cradling the child close to her face—while tears fell onto the rough blanket. Far from the distant and dreary, nearly inanimate visage, Raine was crying. It was quiet, but her shoulders shuddered and shook with sobs. And ordinarily, he would have snatched away the infant and ushered her and his daughter straight out the door, but he was...caught.

For weeks, she had drifted through life, sometimes more lively than others but still never quite seeming alive. Like she was trying to heal by locking herself away out of necessity. Yet there, holding this orphaned little girl like both their lives depended on it, it seemed life had suddenly been breathed back into her body. It was harsh, but it was present and real, unlike the mask of composure she had been carefully building even on her best days. That was why he simply stared. That was why he let her cry for the first time since they had lost Sofia and didn't move a muscle for a long moment.

Regal glancced back toward Chava, who was watching with tears in her own eyes, but also a little smile behind the thumbnail she was biting habitually. He couldn't deny his vision blurred, too, as he felt the weight of the moment.

"Ch..." He cleared his throat softly. "Chava. Go downstairs, please."

She blinked at him, and she looked disappointed. She started to come forward to take the baby, but he held out one hand to stop her. Another blink, this time followed by a return of her smile. She retreated with a nod to the elevator and sent just one more quick glance their way before vanishing. Once she was gone, he turned back to his wife. She had sunk down onto the desk again, and he came toward her slowly.

"Where?" she managed to ask, though she didn't even look away from the baby's face, and her voice shivered and shook with tears that continued to fall despite one hand's attempts to catch them.

"We aren't sure," he replied softly. Now she did lift her gaze, but only long enough for him to shake his head. Then he came to her side and sat beside her, looking, for the first time himself, directly at the infant. He even reached out, hesitantly, to draw the blanket back a little with one finger. "She was...abandoned."

"Abandoned?" The incredulity in her voice was familiar. It still simmered in his gut.

"Yes. She had a note with her, but she is alone."

The child looked quite content in Raine's arms, squirming just a little and yawning wide. As much as it hurt, it was also a beautiful sight, this precious little thing. Was his daughter right? They did have a place for her, true enough. And she, unlike anything else he had seen or tried, had managed to break through Raine's force field with a single touch. Didn't that mean something? He wanted their family to feel whole again, despite knowing there would always be loss. Could that wholeness come in such a small package?

Small package, but an enormous impact already

"Chava...believes we should take the child in," he broached at last. His hand had found its normal spot against the slope of her back, and he rubbed it gently, absently. "And I...think, perhaps...we should consider it."

Despite how he had refuted Chava's arguments at first, she had points, and he had already seen the effect of this infant on Raine. It felt strange to say it aloud, and he watched carefully for her reaction, but Chava's words stuck with him. She needs us, and we need her.

Raine turned her head to look at him, then back to baby. "She's a half-elf," she observed after a sniffle.

"Yes, and that would make trying to place her elsewhere difficult. But we...could...take care of her. If you would like. This is your decision as well. But judging by your reaction..." Regal reached out to tuck hair back from her face. "I think it's worth giving thought. Sofia," he continued, noting the wince as he said the name aloud for the first time in a long time, "can never be replaced." He brushed at his own eyes and took a deep breath. "But this little girl needs a home as well. And we..." He didn't finish the sentence, couldn't finish the sentence. He just sighed softly and brought her head close to his while he looked down at the sleepy bundle.

"...No."

He blinked and pulled back a bit to look at her. Raine was staring at the baby, the occasional tear still wetting the blanket. His brow creased, but she surprised him by continuing.

"No. Sofia can't be replaced, won't be replaced. Part of us died that day, too."

"Raine—"

"But." Raine brushed away a tear that had fallen on little Rosalie's cheek. "I want to give this child...the chance that Genis and I never had. I want her to have a home. And...a family."