"Your aunt is going to be staying with us for a while." Mommy says tiredly after the funeral, when the three of you are back home. "She needs… she needs our support right now."

Aunt Selena spends her first day back in the house staring out the window, watching the snow fall with a dead expression in her eyes. She's there the day after that, and the one after that, and the one after that.

You honestly think there's more life in a corpse than in her right now.

She speaks even less now and you give up trying to say anything to her other than "good morning Aunt Selena," and "good night Aunt Selena." Mommy and Daddy don't fare much better. It's honestly like talking to a wall, a wall that occasionally grunts.

You kind of wish that she were a wall instead; walls at least don't those eyes of hers that stare at nothing in particular, for hours on end.

You hate how everyone seems to tread on tiptoes in the house now. You hate how sad Mommy looks when she tries to talk to your aunt and your aunt just turns her. You hate how tired your father looks and how his smiles are all forced now. You hate Aunt Selena's stupid friend for dying and making your family feel like this.

But most of all, you hate Aunt Selena for all that she's done, for bringing this overbearing sadness with her into your life.

You just want it all gone.


Time passes and winter's bite slowly turns into the soft brush of spring. You begin to wear your hair in pigtails, if only to differentiate from your aunt's hairstyle, who has let her hair grow long and free. You don't even like pigtails; you want your hair to look exactly like Mommy's. But your hair is stubborn and the longer it grows, the more you realize that it's starting to look less like hers and more like your aunt's. It also doesn't help that you two share the same hair color. Which is a bit odd since she and Mommy are sisters and Mommy's hair is red like warm fire but her hair is as white as fresh snow, like yours and Daddy's. In any case, pigtails it is.

You show it to Mommy first and she looks oddly disoriented for a second before she remembers to smile and say it looks cute. Your father chuckles, his first genuine chuckle in months and ruffles your hair. A blast from the past, he calls it.

Your aunt stops staring out the window long enough to glare daggers at your father.


Summer seems to revitalize your aunt to a somewhat disturbing degree. She moves out of the small cottage without warning and starts building a small shack a few steps away. A sudden change seems to overcome her; she moves with frenzied energy, like a woman possessed, and the shack springs up practically overnight.

Your parents don't seem to view this as a positive change. If anything, they're more worried.

"It's good that she's getting out more but…" Mommy shrugs, a little helplessly, up to her elbows in soap suds as she scrubs at a dinner plate. "I've never seen her so... grimly determined."

You hand her another dinner plate offer up your opinion. "Maybe Aunt Selena just wants it to be done before it gets cold again."

But Mommy just shakes her head. "No, I don't think that's quite it…" she sighs and puts down the dish. "She doesn't want any help that we offer. It's as if she's trying to distract herself from thinking too much about…"

Mom pauses and you wait for her to continue. But all she does is sigh. "What do you think she's thinking about, Severa?"

It's such an odd question and you mentally stumble a bit, feeling put on the spot. How on Ylisse would you know what goes on in your aunt's head?

"Um, sad things… I guess?" You shrug. "I dunno. I'm not her."

Your mother turns sharply and regards you with a surprised look that makes you want to squirm, and for a second, you wonder if you said something wrong. But then the surprise melts away and she chuckles, a bit wistfully, and shakes her head. "You're right. I should've known better."

She tweaks you on the nose and you wrinkle it distastefully as soap bubbles float upwards. "You're your own, little Severa."

You don't understand why she sounds so sad when she says it.


Your aunt finishes the shack just in time, right as the trees begin to turn yellow and orange and just before she can freeze to death. You can't help but feel a little disappointed.

It's not all bad though. Now that's she's done with her new home, she spends more and more time in the woods, hunting for game with an old, rickety looking bow that has seen better days. She glares fiercely when father offers to replace it and hugs it close to her chest.

The main point is, you see her less and less these days and by association, so do your parents. Which is good because things slowly start going back to the way they were. But not quite. Aunt Selena always seems to loom in the background, like some unwanted spectre that refuses to disappear.

You ask the question that's been burning in your mind the next time you and daddy go out into the forest again. Outings like this have become more and more scarce the older you've gotten and you're a bit resentful that you have to ask here of all places. But here is best, outside in the world, where it's just the two of you and you have each other's undivided attention and honest opinion.

"When is Aunt Selena going back home?"

Daddy looks up from the mushroom he is examining. "Hm?"What d'ya mean, kiddo? She's not in the house anymore."

"I meant, when is she going back to her home?"

Daddy looks confused for a second before understanding crosses his face. "You mean… when is she leaving?"

"Yeah."

Daddy looks back at the mushroom. You can tell he is stalling by the way his shoulders hunch over. "Why do you wanna know?" he asks after a brief pause.

"Just wondering," you say, with what is hopefully a reasonable amount of indifference and casualness.

He hums. You're not sure if he bought it. "I don't know," he says after a pause. "Your aunt needs time to herself to sort out all the stuff in her head. You understand?"

"Oh." You can't help but feel disappointed with his answer. You know it basically means 'indefinitely.'

He looks at you again and this time, there is a hint of something inscrutable on his face. "Do you… not like your aunt?"

You hesitate. Daddy has always understood you in that quirky way of his, so you decide to at least give him the gentler criticism you have of Aunt Selena.

"She's… weird."

He hums again and nods a bit. "Maybe she is a little bit," he concedes, before his expression turns sly. "She is related to you after all."

You huff indignantly, accustomed to his weird sense of humor. "I'm not weird!"

"Nya ha! Sure you aren't, kiddo!"

"Daaaad!"


You make it a point to avoid your aunt's shack whenever your best friend Noire visits. Whenever she asks about it, you just wave her off and make a comment about your "crazy aunt." She learns to stop asking after you embellish your crazy aunt into your "crazy aunt, who doesn't wash her hair, has toenails longer than a crows and I'm pretty sure she keeps a rabid cat as a pet."

(It's a terrible lie. Your aunt is stunningly beautiful in a haunted sort of way and it annoys you because all your other friends point it out to you, as if you're blind. Owain even has the gall to say you look more like her than your Mom and you nearly deck him in response.)

(Yes, all your other friends have met your crazy aunt, or at least, seen her from a distance since she never bothers to introduce herself to company. Only Noire has been left in the dark and you want it to remain that way. You don't care what the other's think but Noire is…

Noire is Noire and she's your best friend. And you don't want her to think that you're weird because your aunt is weird.)

Still, it doesn't stop her from turning to stare forlornly at the shack each time she passes it.

"I still want to meet the rest of your family one day."

"You will," you say, lying through your teeth as you drag her away.


The sketchbook that Noire gave you for your seventh birthday has long since been filled up with various doodles, but that doesn't stop you from pestering Mom into buying you a new one and sketching everything you see. Anything that catches your eye, you draw to show to Noire whenever she comes over. The pages start to fill up with scenes from your everyday life. You even drew your aunt once but you ended up tearing it out after a few aborted tries.

(Something about her eyes makes you feel too uncomfortable to put them onto paper)

Noire is ten times the artist you'll ever be, thanks to her dad, but you like to think that you've gotten a bit better each time you try. Noire seems to agree, because she always has something sweet to gush over in each picture you show her.

By total accident, Noire finds the portrait you did of her from memory in the back of your sketch book and you nearly die from embarrassment because one, she wasn't supposed to see that, ever, you just drew it on a random whim and two… well, gawds, it's just plain embarrassing, alright?!

But Noire doesn't seem to think so, if her silence is any indication. For a second, you fear you've offended her somehow or crossed some line you're not meant to cross. But then she ducks her head and you can tell from the way she does it that she's pleased and a bit touched. Her praise, delivered in a softer voice than the usual effusiveness, makes it all the more sincere.

And when she smiles, that same shy smile that you tried to capture in your own drawing of her, you make a silent vow to keep drawing, only so that you can see that same smile again and capture it perfectly.


Life goes on. Time passes. You get older. Suddenly you're ten, then eleven, twelve. You're Daddy's only a little taller than you now and Mom comments that with the way you're growing, you'll be taller than her too.

It's around two weeks before you turn thirteen that, out of sheer boredom, you pick up one of your mother's old wooden training swords she has lying around in storage and begin swinging it around.

After an hour or two, you find out you actually enjoy swinging it around, so much so that when your parent's come back home, you ask them to teach you how to use it properly.

The two exchange inscrutable glances before agreeing.

Unfortunately for you, your progress is rather slow. Mom tries her best and she shows you a few basic moves but she admits that her expertise lies with lances and she doesn't want to mislead you with misinformation.

Daddy knows not to not hold the pointy end of the blade and that's pretty much the extent of his knowledge regarding swordplay.

Which is why you find yourself walking towards your aunt's shack, after Mom suggests that you ask her instead. According to her, your Aunt Selena is "exceedingly talented with a blade."

Honestly, you'd rather chew on nails then have to interact with Aunt Selena. She's become even more withdrawn since the few years she's lived next door and you can't say with a hundred percent certainty if she's turned into some sort of ghost by now. But, if you're mother's words are anything to go by, then Aunt Selena is probably your best bet to learning the sword. So you swallow your discomfort and a bit of your pride to go ask her to teach you.

You think she's just as surprised and uncertain as you are when she agrees.

Aunt Selena's first lesson is to teach you endurance, which in her own words, boils down to "try and hit me."

Your first attempt involves a headlong charge followed by a lusty battle cry that you mimic from one of Daddy's tall tales about brave heroes he used to tell you when you were younger.

Aunt Selena doesn't even blink. You do and when you open your eyes again, you find yourself sprawled out on the ground a few feet away, wondering just how in the world you ended up there.

Aunt Selena simply sheathes her wooden practice sword and fixes you with a bored expression. "Again."

You pick yourself up and blink the stars out of your vision. You glare back at her and you swear that the ghost of a smirk appears on her face before it settles back to expressionless.

Your second attempt doesn't go much better and neither do the third, fourth, fifth… You begin to lose count how many times you've been sent sprawling and frustration begins to seep in. You hate to admit it, but Aunt Selena is fast and strong and frightfully good. You might as well be trying to hit air with all you've accomplished so far. Air that hits back with the force of a brick wall.

But you hate being told you can't do something so you get back on your feet each time, a little more wobbly than the last, and try again and again and again…

At least you've learned to stop letting out battle cries now. It makes you feel stupid each time you do it now and you're pretty sure it gives you away.

After an excruciating amount of time passes, your aunt finally says, "Stop."

You come skidding to a halt mid charge, breathing wildly with your pulse all over the place. Your aunt, on the other hand, looks as fresh as when you began.

"We're done for today."

You blink. Slowly, you lower your sword. "That's it?"

"For today."

"B-but, I didn't learn anything!" you say, unable to stop the peevish note enters your tone. But you're too sore and annoyed to correct yourself because dammit, you came here to learn how to use a sword, not to be your aunt's glorified punching bag.

She shrugs noncommittally, unmoved by your indignation. "Then feel free to not show up tomorrow if that's how you feel," she says, turning around to head back inside her shack, leaving you to stare dumbly at the empty space.

Your frustration peaks and you kick angrily at the stack of logs she has set up nearby. You're sorely tempted to follow her advice. All you have to show for today's lesson are black and blue bruises and a sore rump. And now a sore foot as well after that kick. Dammit.

But…

You scowl and pick up your discarded training sword. You also don't want to look like some spoiled brat in front of your aunt and by the gods, your just itching to prove her wrong and to land one good hit on her.

So, when the next day comes, you hobble on back to her shack, where she is waiting with her arms crossed. Clearly, she's just as thrilled as you are that you've turned up for another beating. But as you come closer, you see a brief flash of what looks to be grudging respect in her eyes before it's gone.

"Should've known you'd be back," she grumbles, before sighing and scratching the back of her head, as if wondering what to do now.

And then you realize that it had been a test. A test to see if you'd actually pick yourself up again even after all the times you went down. A test your aunt didn't think you'd actually pass.

The word hypocrite rings briefly in your head.

You stand a bit taller, ignoring the protests from your back. You've beaten Aunt Selena at her own game; you've earned the right to be a bit smug.

Aunt Selena sighs again. "Always been too stubborn for your own good."

"It runs in the family," you say before you can stop yourself.

The ghostly smirk appears and disappears and she snorts softly. "That it does." She flexes her fingers and then draws her wooden sword.

"Alright, Lesson One: How to Actually Hold Your Sword."


The little bit of grudging respect is all you're going to get and the next few months you're reminded just why you disliked your aunt so much in the first place.

It's not because she doesn't go easy on you. You're actually okay with that. You love your parents, but gawds, do they handle you with kid gloves whenever you practice with them. Which is frustrating when all you want to do is get better.

With Aunt Selena, there's no coddling, no pampering, just straight up one-sided beat downs. Which make you sore to high heaven but it also makes you feel like you're learning. Also, it's fun to see how frustrated your aunt looks each time you pick yourself up off the ground, as if she's expecting you to just stay there. By now, you've learned to thrive on beating her expectations.

She's also not a bad teacher. Sure, a lot of her examples more or less involve her saying, "copy what I do and don't get hit," and you learn the hard way that you will get hit the first couple (hundred) times. But you're a quick study and after a while you see there's a method to your aunt's madness and soon you find yourself learning just how to wield the sword. You have a long way to go before you reach your aunt's level (you have to grudgingly admit it's because she's really good) but you're encouraged by the small signs of progress in your own form. So no, it's not because of her teaching method in which you dislike her by.

It's how whenever the two of you are training, she never seems to actually shut up.

It's a little baffling how your normally reticent aunt becomes so talkative during these sparring sessions. And it's never nice things. Actually, a lot of the times it's "Ooh, I was almost scared" when your swipe misses or "Are you daft?" when you make a mistake or a favorite of hers to say whenever "Gawds, you're boring me."

You admit, you may have been a little spoiled by Mom and Dad who are nothing but encouraging in there patient sort of way when they instruct you, which is to exact opposite of how Aunt Selena teaches you. You know she's just trying to rile you up, to make you angry enough to make a mistake. It's annoying, it's petty and it's slightly discouraging but you'll never admit that to her and you vow to hold your head up high and never give in to her taunts.

Though it'd be easier if she'd stop using the one phrase you absolutely hate.

"I'd give up and surrender if I were you!"

"If I were you, I wouldn't be caught dead with such sloppy footwork!"

"Pff, that move again? I wouldn't even with it bother if I were you!"

"If I were you!"

"If I were you!"

"If I were you!"

But you're not, you think resentfully. You're not. You're not. You're not.

You don't like how many times you have to repeat it in your head before you finally feel comfortable.


Aunt Selena has a small charm on a necklace that she keeps tucked underneath her shirt. Back when she was still living with you and your parents, she used to rub the thing incessantly as she stared out the window. It drove you a little crazy because every time she saw you looking at it, she'd hide it back in her shirt before you could get a good look at it.

Even now, you can tell she still has it; whenever you two take a break from your training (or glorified beatings) she'll sometimes get a faraway look in her eyes and rub the space above her heart, over and over again. You know better than to speak when she gets like this so you remain quiet until she brings herself out of whatever funk she's in.

Today, you managed to get your first ever good look of it by total accident. Once a month, Mom usually tries to get Aunt Selena to come over for dinner, a family event that your aunt loathes with a passion if her sullen silence during them is any indication. You're not overly fond of them either but if it's one thing your Mom is, it's persistent.

Your aunt must've known beforehand that'd your mother would send you to invite her to dinner because nobody answers when you knock the door to her little shack.

You huff and stomp your feet, trying to keep warm as the snow falls around you. You knock again, harder this time and when nothing happens, you try the knob. To your surprise, it's unlocked and you push it open.

"Aunt Selena?" You stick your head in and take a cursory glance around. There's a plain table in the middle, a bed in the corner and a cupboard. The rickety old bow you see your aunt use hangs on the wall, the quiver leaning underneath it. The one solitary window shines a weak beam of light onto the whole scene.

Hesitantly, you stick the rest of your body through the door, careful not to track too much snow into her space. "Aunt Selena?" you ask again, though you don't know why you bother. It's not like there's anywhere she could hide in here. There are no signs of dust or disrepair, yet at the same time, it hardly looks like someone is actually living in it. It's actually kind of depressing.

Something on the table catches your eye. Curious, you move closer to examine it.

Up close, the charm isn't anything spectacular. The purple and green coloring has a dull, worn out look and the corners have been rubbed down to small, grey nubs. You're vaguely disappointed. You were hoping for something a little more impressive or grandiose. It looks pretty unremarkable not that you see it firsthand.

And yet, something about it puts you off and you decide not to touch it. Actually, now that you look at it again, it has a sort of sinister air about it, as if it was used multiple times to invoke something dark and angry.

But what really catches your attention is the small, white feather attached to it.

Your breath catches in your throat once you realize what it is. It's a fay's feather. An actual fay feather. It's as purely white as the snow outside, save for the hint of green near the edge. There are no birds in the woods that have coloring like this, save for the one that you managed to catch a glimpse of during one trip. Daddy had told you to be very quiet and then pointed at the top of some trees. You barely caught a glimpse of it before it flew away, gone in a flash.

Daddy had called it Naga's fay, more phantom than actual bird. It's an apt name. Even now, you're not sure if what you saw was actually the bird or the trick of the light.

It boggles your mind that Aunt Selena managed to see a fay, let alone get one of its feathers. Out of a sense of curiosity and wonderment, you carefully detach the feather from the charm to examine it closer. Up close, it's even prettier than you first thought, but you also note that this particular feather has seen better days. It's definitely an old one; tufts are missing from it and the stalk feels so very brittle, so fragile in your hands, as if a whisper could snap it in half.

"What are you doing here?"

The door slams behind you and you jump in surprise, reflexively clenching your hand.

You hear a brittle snapping sound in your fist.

Your heart stops. Oh no. No, no, no, no.

"Well?" You can hear Aunt Selena coming up behind you and your heart drops to your stomach. Slowly, you turn around.

Aunt Selena's eyes slide down from your face to your hands and she stops brushing the snow off her cloak. When she sees what's there, you hear her breath catch in her throat. All color drains from her face.

You begin to babble. "I-I didn't mean to!" you say, shaking like a leaf in the wind. "T-the door was open a-and I thought you w-were…!"

She ignores you. Slowly, she reaches out to take the pieces, her hands shaking as she inches closer. Your own babbling peters out the close she gets. When her hand brushes yours, you try not to shiver. She's colder than ice.

Aunt Selena lets out a shuddering sigh that resonates from somewhere deep inside her. "What…What have you…?"

"I…" What can you say? What is there to say? Nothing, NOTHING will make this better. You know. Somewhere deep inside, you just know, that you've hurt your Aunt beyond any physical or mental pain imaginable.

"I'm… I'm sorry."

Aunt Selena lets out another deep sigh, so deep that it sounds more like a pained moan. The pieces are taken from your hands. You let your own arms fall to the side, limp and useless.

"Aunt Selena," you try again, voice small. "I didn't mean to- I'm…"

"Get out." Her voice is barely louder than a whisper. She refuses to meet your eyes.

"I'm- I'm sorr-"

"OUT!" She screams and you jump, heart leaping to your throat. "OUT, DAMN IT!"

She flings the pieces to the ground and grabs her head with both hands as if physically restraining herself from wringing you. You don't need to be told twice and scramble as quickly as you can to the door.

The last thing you see before the door shuts is your aunt falling to her knees. She hunches over the pieces and tries to cradle them in her hand. The sob she emits is wretched and so pained, as if she had just watched her best friend die right before her eyes.