Disclaimer: I do not own Trinity Blood or its characters (alas), otherwise, why would I be doing fanfic?
The premise for this series is the time capsule. You put away some stuff intentionally or otherwise with very special meaning to you (e.g first baby tooth, graduation photo, Granny's handmade teddy). Then a decade or so later, you come across them again and reminiscence about the past. This will be a series of viewpoints into various relationships in the series.
I'm starting with the Empire's Methuselahs.
Butterfly in Amber
Mirka Fortuna, Duchess of Moldova, heaved her purchases into her room. Nothing like a spot of retail therapy to relax her nerves after all the high drama of the recent months. The Byzantium high street was chock-full of high ends stores that catered to the tastes of the nobility. Of course, a high-ranking noblewoman like her could easily summon the dressmakers to her rooms with a snap of her fingers, but she enjoyed the chance to observe the other shoppers and citizens of the city. In addition, her mansion would have to be rebuilt from the ground up after it was razed by that fire. For now, she took up temporary residence in a guest suite in the palace, courtesy of the Empress.
A practical woman, she did not waste time on fretting about Ion once she received a letter from him. Knowing he was in the company of Her Majesty's brother was sufficient guarantee of his safety. Abel Nightroad would never let anything harm a friend. The plans for her new mansion and the rebuilding of the family mausoleum were drawn up and she was looking forward to when they would be ready. It would take some months for the pink marble to be shipped in for the mausoleum. Thankfully, the granite sarcophagi favoured in the Empire ensured the easy recovery of the remains of the Fortuna ancestors.
The mansion was another matter. Her gardens had survived but she would have to re-furnish the mansion once it's ready… The blast and ensuing fire ensured the complete destruction of many… A twinge of regret washed over her. The cleanup was still in progress. Occasionally, the servants would bring in some item that had survived, sooty pewter tea-set, a slightly charred photo album… The tea-set was an heirloom and the photo album contained the photos of her long-dead daughter. Yes, there was some comfort in those small items, even as she chided herself for being silly. They were only material stuff. Her mother and daughter would always be in her memories as long as she lived.
Mirka turned her attention to hanging up her new dresses. The cream silk one was a match with the pearl-studded sandals… Maybe she should have bought the turquoise shawl instead of the pale blue one… With a smile, she started humming a little melody, only to be interrupted by a soft tapping on the door.
"Excuse me, Your Grace. The workers found this in the rubble," a young Imperial guardsman bowed courteously and presented her with a sooty, misshapen lump the size of a clenched fist. "It is amber, isn't it?" he added as she took it from him. Mirka nodded, wiped it with her handkerchief and held it up to the lamplight. "Yes, it is."
It was an exceptionally clear piece, almost with the clarity of coloured glass under the soot. She saw the butterfly, proud wings outstretched as if in flight in the golden liquid. "You may return to your post." The guardsman bowed and took his leave, leaving her with the amber lump. She sat down by the dresser and started to polish it, her new dresses, accessories and shoes forgotten for now...
Three centuries ago, the Academy hallway bustled with life as various young nobles filed out from their lessons like they did since the earliest days of the Empire. "The Duke's outta kill us. Do you believe he's put us down for foot drills until fall?" "Did you hear? The Countess of Kandahar's retiring to get married, so who's the new Court Protocol teacher?" "I hear it's…" "You dare give my fiancée a rose?!" A scuffle broke out as two young men are engaged in a fistfight. "Break it up!" A dark-skinned youth barked over the din. The fighters continued.
"You heard the hall monitor! BREAK IT UP!" A shrill voice sliced through the din like a knife. A deathly hush fell over the hallway. The fighters stopped fighting, got to their feet and muttered a hasty apology to the monitor and a blond-haired girl. They then scurried away like frightened mice. No one crosses a Fortuna woman and lives, so the stories went.
"My heartfelt thanks, Lady Fortuna," Suleyman thanked his classmate with a courtly flourish, only to have it waved aside.
"Well? Has your father agreed to let us borrow his books for our history project?" Mirka asked. She was practical with little time to waste on sentimentality. All the Fortunas were pragmatists. A few more years of education were still needed to work on her refinement. Mirka wore a modest, unadorned dress, her hair pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. The effect made her look a lot older than her fifteen years. Suleyman nodded resignedly.
"Shouldn't there be a chaperon? My aunt's away and…" Suleyman blushed furiously. Protocol dictated interactions between a young unmarried man and woman must be in the presence of an older female.
"Trust me, Suleyman. I don't need a chaperon for a history report." If you do anything out of line, I will turn you inside-out. Suleyman gulped nervously.
The Fortuna mansion was spartanly furnished and utilitarian in those days. Her grandmother and mother's philosophy to life was 'Keep it simple.' Mirka's first visit to her classmate's villa was like a visit to a cave of wonders. Suleyman's father collected curios and antiques from all ages and places. For a while, she was astounded by the fine tapestries, ivory cravings and Chinese vases. Suleyman proudly showed off his family's vast collection before they adjourned to the study. It was in his father's study that she first encountered the fossilized golden resin. Her gaze was drawn to it the minute she completed her report. It sat on the writing table, glinting in the lamplight, the butterfly frozen as if ready to embark on flight.
"It's so pretty," she peered at the butterfly, admiring its delicate iridescent violet-blue wings through the golden haze. "Well, you can keep it," Suleyman said offhandedly. He was too busy poring over a book to notice it was his father's prized amber he has just given away. When he did, he went pale.
"Are you sure it's alright? It's so beautiful. It must be very special…." Her sharp eyes noted the change in his demeanour. "It's alright!" Suleyman squeaked.
"Are you ill? You look very pale."
"I'm fine. There, I've done my part of the report. You should go home, before it gets too late…" he hurriedly replaced the book he was reading.
"Sure. See you tomorrow at the Academy." Mirka took her leave. The amber made its way to the Fortuna mansion, where it stayed for the next three hundred years.
Suleyman did not show up at the Academy for lessons the next day or the rest of the week. Mirka would only find out much later how Suleyman had been soundly whipped and grounded by his father. He lied and told his father he had dropped the butterfly-amber into the fireplace. Amber burns when heated. It was a miracle it had survived the inferno at her mansion intact.
Three hundred years later, Mirka smiled fondly at the memory. She looked out of her windows into the Imperial gardens, where colourful butterflies fluttered in the breeze. She gently placed the amber on the writing table of the guest-suite. The wings of the butterfly shimmered as if ready to fly proudly from its amber prison.
"Suleyman, you always were a fool," she whispered softly.
Author's Notes:
I let Mirka and Suleyman be classmates. Yes, Mirka is a bit scary in her younger days. Maybe she is still scary now. I got inspired by the manga's depiction of a young Suleyman's encounter with a flower-seller (you know who) at the beach.
Amber is fossilized prehistoric tree sap and is found over northern Europe and as far east as the Urals. Famous sources of amber include the Baltic, Russia and the Ukraine. It seems very apt to use this substance as a time capsule. Occasionally insects are trapped in the sap and fossilized in this manner, turning it into a record of prehistoric life like the one from Jurassic Park. Of course, a specimen like Mirka's will be very valuable, as butterfly fossils are extremely rare.
In Eastern culture, the butterfly is representative of the soul.