Over the course of the next week, various measures were set into motion. At Clarus' suggestion, a guard was set on Master Hamon, alongside more covert surveillance on his private chambers. After a lengthy discussion with Alnet, Crea advised that Reina be properly introduced to the court to begin building a place for herself. She was granted the responsibility of maintaining the Caelum family face in court and upholding the royal family's virtue. She was also, once introduced to the courtiers, stripped of much free time, which she might otherwise have spent bemoaning her separation from Regis' meetings. She was still not permitted to attend council with him, and on the occasion when she did attend court and sit beside his throne, she was strictly forbidden from speaking.

The fatality count climbed throughout the next week, both from the storm and the Starscourge. The two almost seemed to work in conjunction. More afflicted meant fewer healthy hands available for repairs in the fight against the storm. The loss of lights caused an influx of daemons, which caused Starscourge numbers to soar. And the cycle persisted.

Inside the Wall, matters were only marginally better. Even if priority had been given to the Citadel's power—which it was not—they would have been hard pressed to keep the capitol lit all summer. But it was more important to have electricity in their hospitals storehouses, so the Citadel became increasingly lit by candlelight.

So it was that the twins' twelfth birthday dawned on a dark and stormy morning like every one before it. Regis rose in near darkness and called Avun to him. His attendant came with a branch of candles and lit the dressing room with flickering light before he set about making Regis presentable.

"Is breakfast prepared?" Regis asked as Avun took a comb to his hair.

"I believe the cooks are hard at work on the prince and princess' birthday breakfast, Sire."

Some things were right in the world, still.

"Have they risen?" Regis asked. Most mornings he was awake before them, but birthdays awoke a certain exuberance that he could no longer relate to in his children.

"They were just stirring when I passed by, Your Majesty."

And so, by the time Avun was through with him, Regis expected to find both twins racing around the lounge and down the halls. Instead he found Noctis and a handful of servants and Crownsguard standing outside the closed door to the twins' bedroom.

"Rei!" Noct called through the shut door. "Let me in!"

No response came. A sense of misgiving grew in the pit of Regis' stomach.

"What has occurred?" He asked, approaching with Avun at his heel.

"Rei locked me out," Noctis said. "She was fine when we woke up, but we were getting out of bed and she screamed and pushed me out of the room and locked the door." He rattled the handle in illustration.

Regis rapped on the door. "Reina. Come out, please, my dear."

A pause followed. The longer it stretched, the greater Regis' sense of misgiving grew. He was half of a mind to ask the Crownsguards to open the door forcibly by the time she finally responded.

"Go away!"

Regis found himself gaping at the door. Never before had she snapped at him, least of all shouted for him to leave. And yet even that shock faded in the face of growing concern.

"Are you alright? Will you not let me in?"

"I'm fine! Just leave me alone!"

"You know I cannot do that, Reina. If you will not let myself or Noctis in, may we send someone else?"

Another pause, long enough that he began to wonder if she would force his hand on the issue. He could not leave her unattended without knowing what ailed her. Surely she could see that.

"I… I want Miss Crea," Reina said, and Regis was disconcerted to note her voice quivered as with tears.

He turned to summon Crea and found her standing just a few feet away. Her door had been shut when he passed by; the shouting had evidently called her out.

"What's going on?" She asked.

"I have no notion, but please deal with it." Regis fought to keep the desperation from his voice and did, he thought, remarkably well. Nevertheless, she gave him a sympathetic smile and laid her hand on his arm as she passed him.

Crea tapped on the door. "Reina? It's me. Can I come in?"

"D…Don't let anyone else in, okay?"

"I promise," Crea said.

The lock clicked and the handle turned to open just a crack. Crea slipped inside without giving Regis a glimpse of the room beyond—or his daughter. The door shut behind her and the lock clicked once more. Whatever conversation followed was quiet and muffled by the door; Regis could not even begin to guess what they spoke of or what trouble would lead Reina to call for Crea over himself. As it stood, he had no notion whether or not he should be pleased by that. Yes, he desired for her and Noctis both to accept Crea as someone to be loved and trusted as much as they loved and trusted him. But to have anyone—even Crea—whom his children would confide in over him brought an uncomfortable squirming to his stomach.

He turned and found the knot of servants and Crownsguards still hovering.

"Back to your posts, all of you," he dismissed them and sent the lot scurrying away until only he and Noctis remained standing outside the closed door listening to quiet voices—Reina's high notes mingling with Crea's soothing murmur, though all words were lost. Eventually they must have moved away from the door, for the voices grew distant and then altogether inaudible.

Regis exchanged a hopeless glance with Noctis. It took much to resist the urge to begin pacing, but he managed. He convinced himself—and Noctis—to take a seat in the lounge while they waited, though even then, he sat on the edge of the sofa with his elbows on his knees and his head drooping.

It was not as long as it felt. The clock on the wall said as much, but those few minutes seemed to stretch by like hours. Before ten had passed, the door opened and Reina appeared, ushered along by Crea with a hand on her shoulder. Regis leapt to his feet and Reina, seeing his eyes on her, flushed scarlet and looked up at Crea. Crea gave her a smile and a kiss on the forehead, whispering something Regis couldn't hear. She turned and motioned to a servant, giving some brief instructions and waving the younger girl into the twins' room.

"Is everything alright?" Regis took a tentative step forward.

"Quite alright." Crea smiled.

And yet, she was not going to utter a word of what had passed. At least not in Reina's presence, she wouldn't. Regis itched to pull her aside and demand an explanation, but he fought back the impulse and offered Reina a smile instead.

"Happy birthday, my dear." He held his hands out to her and she came, hugging him around the middle.

"I'm sorry for shouting at you, Father," she mumbled against his coat.

"I accept your apology, my dear. I would prefer if you did not shout at me, but I do understand these things happen when we are distraught." Though for what reason she had been so upset, he could only guess.

"Do you suppose breakfast is ready?" Crea asked, stepping away from the door as the servant re-emerged, carrying off a bundle of sheets.

"Near enough." Regis watched the servant leave, but held his tongue. His questions would have to wait.

And wait they did. All through breakfast, while Regis pushed his breakfast around his plate and Crea coaxed Reina out from a fresh shell of reticence. By the time the meal was finished, the pair of them were smiling and laughing together, teasing Noctis and Regis alike. Thick as thieves. And Regis made up his mind. Painful as it was to have Reina choose anyone over himself, he was grateful that she had developed such closeness with Crea. Once it had seemed Crea was doomed never to be accepted by her. Somehow that had turned to this within four years.

Following breakfast, they returned upstairs. A party of sorts was planned and Regis had put his usual schedule on hold. Lucis would survive. Though situations in the kingdom were dire, they were not any worse than they had been for the preceding week. And tomorrow the storm would still be raging, the city would still be flooding, and the refugees would still be overflowing. His presence or absence in court would change none of those things.

And so, as Reina and Noctis were brushing their teeth and combing their hair, Regis pulled Crea aside and closed the door of her rooms behind him.

"Don't you think this is indiscreet?" She asked, a smile playing at her lips.

"Crea." He brushed her teasing aside with a stony look. "What happened this morning?"

"Things that will make you look mortified while I laugh at you."

"Crea."

"Oh fine. Reina started her period. There. Are you happy?"

The words rattled about in his brain. He had been prepared for many things but that was not one of them.

She laughed at him. "See?"

"Yes, I suppose I do see." Regis cleared his throat and tried to gather up the shreds of his dignity. "Well. I suppose. Everything is… sorted out, now?"

"Yes, I think so. There was blood on her sheets and pajamas so I had the servants clear those away and lay out fresh ones, but I'd had them put a supply of pads in her bathroom several months ago, so she has those and she knows how to use them now. I've told her if she feels any discomfort to just let me know and I'll give her some medicine for it."

It occurred to him that asking questions like this often left him open to more information than he was certain he wanted. At the same time, he was Reina's father and why shouldn't he know these things? Indeed, he should have known more about them in the first place. What sort of a father allowed himself to ignore parts of his daughter's life just because they made him feel uncomfortable? He had no right to that.

"Thank you, Crea. I am glad you were here, even though it saddens me to know she chose not to confide in me."

"With good reason, probably. What would you have done if she had?"

Regis' face felt hot. He glanced aside and avoided her gaze. "Fetched you, likely."

"See?"

"But there is no reason for it to be that way." He looked resolutely back to her, fixing his face into what he hoped was a stoic, kingly expression. "I should understand enough about both my children to handle situations like this."

She gave him a peculiar look, which then broke into a grin. "You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say that." She patted his arm. "Don't worry. I'll tell you all about periods when we have time."

"Why do I feel you are going to make me regret this?"

She only laughed.

"Noctis should be pleased, anyway, that she's unlikely to get much taller," Crea noted.

"Truly?"

"And inch or two, maybe."

"But she is hardly a child's height."

"Then you should be pleased as well." Crea flashed him a knowing smile. "Your little girl never has to grow up."

If only it were so simple.

They returned to rejoin the others and happy chaos ensued. Crea was easily coerced into doing Reina's hair for their birthday and, while Reina was immersed in making herself appear a young lady, Noctis was fully comfortable with being a twelve-year-old boy. When Gladiolus and Ignis arrived, the same games ensued, whatever age they were. A birthday did not change much for them.

Or so Regis was able to convince himself, right up until Reina and Crea emerged from the twins' rooms. But it was a young woman's gown and hairstyle that Reina wore, and—try as he might to deny it—it was a young woman who wore them. Whatever he thought of it, nature had decreed that she was old enough.

And she looked so much like her mother.

Regis was caught by it, as she stood beaming in the doorway with Crea behind her. The same sapphire eyes and ebony hair. The same smile with a hint of the imp lurking behind it. Here was a child who, if she had so wished, could cause a lifetime of trouble for him. And he would have done nothing about it. As he had done nothing about the mischief that Aulea stirred up.

He didn't notice the tear until Reina had come to brush it away.

"Father… why are you crying?"

He took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead fiercely. "You remind me so strongly of your mother, my dear."

"I'm sorry."

"No my dearest. For that, you should never be sorry. More than remind me what I have lost, you remind me what she has left behind for me." He hugged Reina against his chest and sought Noctis to do the same. Noctis came somewhat more reluctantly, but allowed himself to be pulled into a hug with his sister all the same. "Two wonderful children, whom I will protect with my life."

Outside, the thunder rolled, as if Ramuh himself proclaimed displeasure at his plans. For it was those plans, was it not, that brought this storm upon Lucis?

"With my life," Regis repeated. He kissed each twin's head and let them go.

Noctis pulled away, flattening his hair down and making general sounds of disapproval, but Reina remained in the circle of Regis' arms.

Regis smiled at Noctis. "Forgive me, my son. When you are as old as I am, you will understand that sentimental moods sometimes take hold of a man, and it is best not to fight them."

Noctis rubbed his head. "You didn't have to kiss me."

Crea laughed and Regis found himself doing the same. It was a joyful start, if not a bright one, to the celebration of their birthday. Everyone was soon assembled, and their merrymaking wrecked fair havoc on the upper levels. The number of chip bags and empty soda cans that littered the game room by that evening was simply astounding. It should have put all three boys off their dinner, but instead they all ate twice as much as anyone else.

Ravus was often caught between the two groups, not quite part of either retinue, but making space for himself where he would. After the way he told Reina how beautiful she looked—and the way Reina blushed in response—Regis found himself hoping Ravus would take himself downstairs to play video games with the boys. Instead, Ravus submitted himself to Reina and Iris' treatment. He sat and discussed dresses with them in matter-of-fact tones and even let them paint his nails whatever color they wished. Regis had to admit a grudging respect for that.

Even Cid and Cindy made an appearance, and Regis was pleased to see how easily Cindy joined Reina and Iris. For all she was of an age with Ravus, she seems as amazed as Iris at the bright colors and intricate patterns that Reina produced from the tiny bottles of nail polish. Regis had to admit a certain bemused interest of his own. Surely it was impossible to create art with blobs of paint on flat brushes with nothing larger than a fingernail for a canvas. And yet, she did.

"Miss Crea says I may grow my nails longer, this year," Reina proclaimed as she dabbed a flower onto Iris' tiny thumbnail.

And anything Reina had, Iris wanted.

"Really?" Iris' eyes went round and shiny. "Dad! I want to grow my nails long!"

Clarus, sitting beside Regis on the couch, cast him a long-suffering gaze. As if this was his fault.

It likely was.

"No, Flower. Not until you're older and you can take care of them yourself," Clarus said in the tones of a man who has answered this question a dozen times before.

Iris stuck her bottom lip out in a pout.

"Why would you want long nails?" Cindy inspected her freshly painted ones. "They'd only break the first time you had to reach your hand up in the undercarriage, and you'd never get an oil cap off with big ol' nails on your fingers. And it's hard enough keeping the grease out from underneath when they're cut short!"

A stunned sort of silence followed her words. Regis and Clarus looked at Cid, who shrugged, but otherwise looked smug. Leave it to that cantankerous old fool to look proud that his granddaughter was worried about how the length of her nails would interfere with her ability to work on cars.

"Oh, of course," Ravus said in lofty tones, holding his hands delicately in the air as his nail polish dried. "I always worry about grease under my nails. It's simply intolerable."

Iris giggled, Cindy rolled her eyes, and Reina ducked her head to hide a smile.

Avun cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, there is a visitor downstairs whom I suspect you will wish to admit." An uncharacteristic and poorly-concealed smile rested on his lips. "One Weskham Armaugh?"

Regis was on his feet, though he recalled giving his body no instructions to stand. He looked from the beaming Avunculus to Clarus, who was still lounging on the sofa.

"You did this," Regis said.

"No, Weskham did," Clarus said airily. "I merely confirmed his suspicions: that you would find it helpful to have him on hand."

"I may kill you."

"Well at least let me see Wes, first."

Word was sent to the guards at the lift to admit Weskham. A few moments later, the elevator doors opened and Weskham himself stepped out into a confused and quiet lounge. All words fled from Regis' mind. For all he wished to embrace him and erase any gaps that time had caused, ten years was a great deal of time. Even now he found himself studying Weskham's face and categorizing every line. A few flecks of grey now littered his beard and the lines around his eyes had deepened in the past ten years. They were not, all things considered, substantial changes, but Wes was different. In ways words could not quite express.

If he was so changed, what must Regis have looked like in his eyes? After ten more years of struggling against the ring, his hair was solidly streaked with silver and it seemed more difficult than ever to keep his frame solidly filled out.

Whatever he looked like, it caused Weskham's eyes to wrinkle in a smile. "Come here, you old dog."

He held his arms out and enveloped Regis in a hug. Regis hugged him back just as fiercely as a missing piece of him slid securely into place. Weskham. Cid. Clarus. Everyone was here—save Cor, who had begged to be excused from birthday party duty. As they had not been in decades, they were complete.

Regis pulled away and relinquished Weskham to Clarus. Cid stood just far enough away to avoid the reunion but near enough to make certain he was part of it anyway.

"And Cid!" Weskham cried. "Clarus said you were about, but I hardly believed him."

"Not by my choice," Cid grumbled, but grudgingly accepted a hug from Weskham all the same.

"Clarus is going to have some explaining to do." Regis glared at him and received only a smile for his troubles.

"Maybe that's true, but let's not spoil the evening with bloodshed," Weskham said. "Unless I'm very much mistaken, I arrived on an important day!"

His eyes scanned the room and landed on Reina, who still sat among her friends with a bottle of nail polish and freshly painted nails. Sensing their attention on her, she hastened to her feet and curtsied. Iris, ever in her shadow, imitated her.

"Hello," she said in practiced tones. "I believe you have the advantage over me. Might I know your name?"

Weskham crossed the room to her and lowered to one knee, as if he would swear fealty to her. "Your Highness, it is an honor to meet you again after all these years. I am Weskham Armaugh, an old friend of your father's. And, I hope, a new friend of yours. Several years ago I used to live here, but you and Noctis were only children at the time."

She studied him, curious eyes sweeping his face for any sign of recognition. "I'm afraid I don't remember you. But there's a picture—" Her eyes flicked toward Regis, for some sign of confirmation. He nodded to coax her further. "On Father's bookshelf. Of you and Father and Clarus and Cor."

"Well, it doesn't much matter if you can remember so far back or not. What matters is that I'll be around again. Maybe I'll even convince your father to take care of himself, sometimes."

She smiled at that. "You'll have to fight Miss Crea for it."

At her words, Weskham's eyes were drawn to Crea, who stood a few feet apart from their gathering, observing.

"Why, Crea!" Weskham rose and went to her, taking her hands in a familiar way that made Regis' stomach burn. "You've grown even more beautiful than I recalled."

She laughed and allowed herself to be pulled into a hug. Regis folded his arms over his chest and tried to push the ugly jealous to one side. It didn't work. Not while she was laughing and beaming at the compliments he so effortlessly laid before her. Weskham would have had no restrictions on him, had he and Crea wished to marry.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than he regretted it. It was an ugly thought, unworthy of him, but once it had entered it refused to leave. She would not have to become queen to marry Weskham. He would not need the approval of the council to ask for her hand. And they fit well together. Both of them were clever and insightful, somehow seeing beneath the exterior into everyone's heart and soul. Both of them were gentle, caring souls who took the position of protector before all else. If what they truly wished was to be together…

"Your Majesty, the kitchens have informed me that dinner is ready to be served."

Regis bundled his jealous thoughts away and tore his eyes away from Crea and Wes. Dinner. Of course. Though he had no appetite any longer.

"Please see to it that Prince Noctis and his friends are informed. Then send word to the kitchens," Regis instructed.

A similar greeting—part-reunion, part-meeting—occurred when Noctis joined them. He was more reserved and less proper than Reina, somewhat unnerved by suddenly having the attention of the lounge on him as Wes knelt before him. But he pulled away and back into the comfort zone of his friends not long after.

Dinner followed, and cakes after that. Once presents were exchanged, Clarus dragged Iris and Gladio away—in spite of protests—insisting that they really must be heading home. Cid and Cindy followed not long after, and Reina was left with little company, save those older than her, as Ravus had gone to join Noctis and Ignis in playing games. Much to Regis' displeasure, Weskham remained sitting near Crea and speaking in quiet tones, occasionally broken by his rolling chuckle or Crea's clear laugh. Regis tried not to watch them, though he struggled not to be aware of them, even when his eyes were elsewhere.

Whether she sensed his discomfort or was merely bereft of other company, Reina climbed into Regis' lap and she hummed quietly to herself. It took the better part of five minutes for Regis to note that she did not simply hum, she also tapped the notes and finger holds onto his arm, as if she played the violin. Her nearness brought him some comfort and provided a distraction for his melancholy thoughts. The ache of loneliness was lessened in her presence. His beautiful daughter. Aulea's last gift to him.

Struck by a thought, Regis cast about for his attendant, who stepped out of the shadows of the hall, nearly before he was summoned. "Avun, there is a box—I know not where, because I suspect Clarus intended for me never to find it—but it contains some things we packed away twelve years ago. Will you find it and bring it here?"

Avun bowed and hastened to work his magic on vague instructions from his king. Reina turned in Regis' arms to look up at him.

"What's in the box, Father?"

"You shall see, my dear."

And, true enough, when Avun managed to unearth the half-forgotten box, it was set on the floor in the lounge and Regis pushed Reina forward to open it.

She unlatched the top and peered inside. Her eyes went wide and round and she gave a little gasp of amazement, reaching inside to draw out a dress of midnight blue.

"I thought to save them some years longer, but Miss Crea insists you are nearly finished growing," Regis said. "Perhaps they could be sized for you. Your mother would have wanted you to have them."

Reina clutched the gown to her chest and stared up at him, eyes shining. "Thank you, Father!"

Regis' heart throbbed painfully at the sight of it. The last time he had seen it worn had been, of course, by Aulea. It was her dress and made custom for her. But if any was to wear it again, Reina was the only one who had rights to it.

She laid that gown aside with reverence and drew out the others, one by one. When she reached the wedding dress she laughed with glee and held it up to herself, running to admire it in the mirror. She had to drag a chair over and stand on top of it to see the full effect, and even then the hem of the dress hung several inches below her feet, but she beamed at herself in the mirror and Regis couldn't help but smile, in spite of the bittersweet memories sewn into that dress.

Reina treated each dress as if it were a precious thing, spun from glass. When she reached the bottom of the box, her brow furrowed.

"What's this, Father?" She reached inside one last time and drew out a violin case.

Regis' heart ceased to beat. A typewritten manuscript, the only one of its kind, sat on his bookshelf to remind him of the violin's owner. Regis had ordered it bound properly. Sometimes he flipped through it, letting his fingers find favorite passages as his mind wandered.

"Father?"

Whatever look was on his face, it mustn't have been good. Reina's eyebrows arched in concern.

"I am sorry, my dear—it is, as you no doubt have guessed, a violin."

Reina's fingers brushed the clasps on the outside of the case, but she didn't release them.

"Did Mother play, too?"

"No, she…" He stared at the case. That had been the year Aulea had died. Twelve years ago, now—Spero had told the truth; he never haunted Regis. But finding that violin again after so many years…

"I'll… put it back," Reina said carefully.

Spero had left it for Regis—something about how he never had gotten the chance to play it for him. It deserved to be seen, to be remembered.

"No—open it, please."

Reina halted midway through lifting the case back into the box it had come from. She blinked at him for a moment before she set it back down. With nimble fingers, she flicked the clasps open and lifted the top.

Spero's violin rested, cradled on crushed red velvet, inside. Atop the violin lay a folded piece of paper.

"A note?" Reina reached for it.

Regis made a wordless sound, sitting forward in his chair, and she stopped. That note was Spero's suicide note, stained with his blood. The last thing he wanted was for Reina to read that on her birthday. He held out his hand and she passed it to him, neither unfolding it nor trying to glean anything from the outside.

The paper was yellowed with age, by now. It crinkled in his hands when he unfolded it. The words, though spattered with dark reddish-brown stains, were still legible. His eyes flicked over the note while Reina lifted the violin tenderly from its case.

I'm sorry about the violin—Regis read—but music comes from the heart. You understand: mine is gone. I hope you'll keep it. Maybe someday, someone else will make it sing for you. Someone with a heart so big it makes you forget the hole in yours.

He looked up to find Reina testing the strings and inspecting the bow.

Someone with a heart so big it makes you forget the hole in yours.

Regis smiled sadly. Reina and Noctis had always been his reason for carrying on. And now, twelve years later, they did make him forget the hole in his heart.

"It's a beautiful violin," Reina said.

"Would you like to keep it?"

She looked up at him, raising her eyebrows once more. "I would love to, Father!"

He smiled at her. Her whole life, she had been given every material possession she could possibly want; how was it, then, that she found such joy in a second-hand violin?

"I will give it to you on one condition—well, two conditions, but the first I take for granted—you must take good care of it—"

Reina nodded, only too eager to agree.

"—and you must play it for me."

Her eyes widened; her lips parted. For a moment she only stared at him. Was it such an outlandish request?

Eventually, she found her voice again. "Of course I will, Father!"

"Tonight?" He asked.

For the first time, she hesitated. "It… hasn't been played in a long time. It needs to be restrung and tuned and oiled."

She looked up at him, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

"I understand," Regis said, though he did feel a twinge of disappointment. Surely, after having waited twelve years, he could wait a few days more.

Reina seemed to make up her mind; he watched the decision settle into place on her face. "I'll do it right now—I should have everything. I can do it."

Regis smiled. "Do not rush on my account, my dear."

She did, anyway. She rushed straight out of the room, leaving Spero's violin carefully laid out. Across the lounge, Crea caught his eye and smiled. That simple motion caused his heart to flip-flop as it had not in years. There she sat beside Weskham, pulled from her conversation by Regis and Reina, and smiled at him. He dared not assign significance to it.

Reina returned a few moments later with a small leather-bound kit and went to work. He watched her work, his eyes flicking between her and Spero's last note to him.

You would have liked her, Spero, he thought. She has enough heart for the both of us.

It took time. Regis let his mind wander. He shut his eyes and lost himself in memories of days long gone. Reminiscence wasn't a luxury he usually allowed himself, but just this once it seemed suitable.

Spero's violin hummed.

Regis opened his eyes; Reina knelt on the floor, knees splayed, with the violin at her chin as she dragged the bow over the strings and drew sound from it. She tested each note, making adjustments as necessary, and tested again. At long last, she looked up at him and smiled.

"All done."

Regis smiled back. He shut his eyes and leaned back in his chair. "Make it sing for me."

He heard Reina climb to her feet and then the room was still for a few moments.

Then Spero's violin sang once more.

The music twisted around him, wrapping him up. It was mournful and magnificent; it was life and death, it was joy and sorrow. How could so many emotions possibly come from a simple piece of carved wood?

Regis was lost in it. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as Reina's music washed over him. He had always known she was talented, of course, but this was something else, entirely.

He could have sat indefinitely and listened to her play, but eventually the song did come to an end.

Regis opened his eyes. Reina stood before him, holding Spero's violin by the neck in one hand and the bow in the other. She waited, watching him for a reaction.

"Beautiful," he managed.

Her face broke into a grin. She laughed and ducked her head. "I'll play another."

"Please."

She did. And another, and another—taking his praise with a pleased flush on her cheeks at every pause—until he began to fear for the state of her fingers. By then, Noctis, Ignis, and Ravus had wandered back from downstairs and sat about the lounge, joining the small audience for her impromptu recital. Regis hadn't heard them approach. So engrossed in her music had he been that even the tromping of teenaged boys had gone unnoticed.

"My dear, I would listen to you play all night—but I refuse to tax you. Besides, you have hardly let me thank you. Come and sit with me for a time."

There was a wave of scant but enthusiastic applause as she set the violin down on the coffee table. She flushed, looking around the lounge with a start as if she had just noticed that she had an audience at all. She gave them all a curtsey before folding herself into his lap, settling the skirts of her dress around them. He wrapped his arms around her, tucking her underneath his chin and holding her tight. Quiet conversation resumed in the lounge.

"Who did the violin belong to, Father?" Reina asked after a moment.

Regis looked at the aged note beside the violin and was silent. How did one describe the man that Spero had been?

She didn't ask again. At length he found some words to stitch together.

"It belonged to a friend. A man, whom I met the same year your mother died. He had also lost his wife, and we found solace in an unconventional friendship."

"What happened to him?"

He smoothed his hand over her back. Would she be frightened if he told her the truth?

No. Reina wasn't that sort of child.

"He took his own life… eleven years ago to the day."

Reina said nothing. She didn't move, either.

"He could not bear to be apart from his wife. But he left me his violin, in the hopes that someday, someone should play it for me in his stead."

She did look up at him, then. "What was his name?"

"Spero Perdita."

Reina smiled—a tight, melancholy smile, too long for a twelve year old to wear. "I'll remember him when I play it. And I'll play for you whenever you like."

She was too old to be just twelve, too wise, sometimes. Regis smiled, cupping her face in his hands. "You do it justice, my dear."