Notes: I just love making characters who wouldn't normally interact, well, interact — and I also love giving attention to side and minor characters no one care about, so that's how it happened. I wrote this on a whim and have no idea when I'll be able to update it though, so don't expect anything from me.

This will take place literally anywhere among the main game, Requiem and Reincarnation, so beware of spoilers!

I used the 'Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings' on AO3 just by precaution, but I don't think there will be much to warn about, really. And if there is, I'll put a content warning on top of the chapter anyway.

Takes place during Door 8, after Yukimasa told his story and Michel went to speak with Maria.

Content Warnings: Very brief mentions of child prostitution, child abuse and suicidal ideation.

Maria sat next to him and started talking, as promised. Despite being her usual assertive, confident self, she seemed a bit reluctant to discuss about her past — not because she was especially distrustful of Michel (although she still seemed pretty skeptical about everything he had told her), but because it just was her nature, he guessed. Given she was a young woman who grew up alone in a poor, dangerous district, it was only to be expected.

"I'm not actually born in this country, y'know?" She said suddenly.

"You're not?" Michel asked, but he was not all that surprised. After all, Maria had been an Italian woman in the third door, so although a lot of things had changed in this era, it wasn't odd that she wasn't French.

"Yeah. I don't really remember much about my hometown, though. I left when I was like, five or six maybe. My family… I think they must've been merchants or something, and they were travelling here for business. But they got into an accident and died. I had no one else, so I went into an orphanage here. I was a newly-orphaned foreign kid who barely spoke the language at all, so it was pretty rough at first…" She smirked. "But that's when I met Pauline. She was a foreigner too, so although we didn't come from the same country, I think maybe we felt some sort of kinship and that's why we ended up clinging to each other…"

Michel tried to picture the two little girls in his mind; a mischievous six-year-old Maria and a tiny Pauline awkwardly following her around, none of them truly speaking the other's languages but still trying to understand and play together… This mental image made him smile gently.

"Then you know the rest. Got fed up with the orphanage, ran away, ended up here and started working at the brothel… but anyway, you wanted to hear about Morgana, right? Bet you don't care much about some ol' whore's childhood, haha."

She laughed light-heartedly — as if she was talking about someone else, a character in a story, and not about her own difficult past. Michel winced instinctively, and hoped it didn't show too much on his face. Maria had already briefly told them earlier about the abuse she experienced at the orphanage and that she became a prostitute when she was still just a young child. This life seemed so detached and so far away from the one he had lived that he struggled to imagine what it must've been like.

"There were… no other options for you at the time?" He asked softly, tentatively. "Maybe you could've gone to another orphanage, or…"

Maria narrowed her eyes with an annoyed expression, and Michel understood immediately he had said something insensitive.

"Which options?" She snapped back. "No way on earth I would've gone to another orphanage, I was done with that shit. It was the brothel or starving on the fucking street, so the choice was quickly made. Not everyone can be a noble rolling in dough like you, my dude."

"Wha— How do you know I'm a noble?"

"Well, you just have that aura, you know? Your manners, the way you speak, you seem well-educated… You're like that cute blonde pipsqueak — it's just obvious we don't live in the same sphere."

Michel wondered if it really was that obvious, or if Maria was just very acute. Maybe it was both. He remembered, centuries ago, that Giselle had told him something similar, too — that he had a 'regal' aura, though back then he could never say if she was teasing him or if she was serious.

"I really… don't consider my life to be that bad," Maria whispered, her voice unusually quiet. "I mean, obviously it's not great. I've been through some shitty times, I won't deny that. I certainly wouldn't complain if one day my good pal God took pity in me and decided to make me rich."

She looked up in front of her — towards the horizon, her eyes vacant, and started to rub her naked arms. Michel couldn't tell if it was because she was cold or because she tried to comfort herself from some bad memories.

"But… the simple fact that I am still alive right now makes me feel pretty damn lucky. Not everyone can say the same. So many of my friends — good, nice folks — didn't get the same chance…"

The more he listened to her, and the more Michel felt kind of… uneasy. Had he ever felt like he was 'lucky' to be alive? Even during his darkest times, when he was locked up in his room at the Bollinger estate or during the ten years living in that haunted mansion, he couldn't remember a moment where just the fact to be alive felt like a blessing. It rather felt like a curse, honestly. He couldn't count the number of times he thought about dying, about all the times he almost made a suicide attempt — but how every time, old, fond childhood recollections of his brothers would come flocking back and make him hope that, maybe, just maybe, things could get better. But the idea that others may have had worse than him — like the dead girl who he tried to ignore for years and never attempted to understand, because understanding her would mean actually seeing her like a person and not like a formless cackling witch — thus that he should feel lucky never once crossed his mind. Back then, he was way too deep into his own pain and suffering that it never seemed relevant — until he met Giselle, that is.

And now that he thought about it… Michel certainly couldn't say he had an easy childhood by any stretch of the imagination — especially not after his fourteen years old — but he still had been lucky enough to have been born into a noble and rich family. Aside from those two terrible years he spent being abused by Aimée, he couldn't recall a time where he felt hungry or missed of anything. The same couldn't be said of Maria.

Maybe she truly was good at reading people, because she seemed to instantly guess his train of thoughts and added: "Hey now, I didn't say that to guilt-trip you or anything. I'm not interested in pity, anyway."

"I wasn't…"

She sighed. "If you nobles really feel so bad, then actually do something and use your power and money for a good cause, instead of ruminating. Some peeps could really need that."

"Well… I am technically… not exactly a noble anymore…"

"Oh?"

"I was disowned." And then I was killed, he thought. But I can't exactly tell her that. "So I don't have any power anymore. Though… even back then, I never had any actual power… everything was decided by my father and older brothers…"

"Hmm… Is that so… That sucks," she declared, before crossing her arms. "So you had brothers?"

"Yes, but…" He took a deep breath. "We… something happened, and… They…"

Michel hesitated. Should he really start talking about himself right now? To Maria, of all people, who he only (technically) first met yesterday? But then he looked at the woman next to him in the eyes, who was silently and attentively listening to him. And he felt the need to continue.

"They betrayed me. And… they're dead now. They died… a long time ago…"

He felt his chest tightening as soon as he mentioned his brothers, and his hands trembling a little. Maybe he shouldn't have started talking about them after all. Mell and Nellie's debacle had already reawakened some bad memories, and right now he needed to stay focused on Morgana and Giselle and—

Suddenly, he felt a soft, comforting pressure on his shoulder. When he turned around, he saw Maria looking at him with understanding green eyes as she was gently holding his shoulder, like an old friend would do.

"I dunno what happened to you exactly, so sorry if I asked something I shouldn't have…"

"No, it's fine…"

Maria looked away, wincing a little. "Though I… can relate. I had… well, I'm an only child, but… I did have someone I considered a brother once. And he… also betrayed me."

Michel frowned, and was going to ask her more details… but then Maria looked at him and smiled.

"He died a long time ago too."

It was… a strange smile. There was something nostalgic in it. Bitter, maybe. But also tender. Gentle. It wasn't a smile he'd ever thought he'd see on the face of that rambunctious woman.

"I'm… sorry," he said, stupidly, not being able to think something more eloquent.

She shrugged. "It's okay. Like I said, it was a long time ago. I'm over it now."

Michel could tell by the way she looked away and the sound of her voice that it was a lie. Maybe it hurt less — just like the intense pain of his brothers' betrayal had slowly faded with time. But it wasn't something you could just 'get over.'

"Well, your brothers were idiots," she suddenly said, and Michel arched an eyebrow.

"What?"

"It sounds like it'd be nice to have you as a brother, so they must've been idiots to betray you. I mean, you seem like a handful, but I'm sure I'd have a lot of fun teasing you. Too bad I wasn't born as your sis. In another life maybe?"

Maria gently punched Michel in the shoulder with a wide grin and a wink, which earned him a chuckle. He wondered how much his life would have changed if he had had a sister in it, especially a sister like Maria. Would it have made things better? Or worse?

He couldn't tell. However, he certainly wouldn't refuse to have her as a sibling in another life.