A/N: Hello! I'm terribly sorry for the lateness. To make up for it, I present you with a super~ long chapter.

Happy reading, and thank you for all of your lovely reviews! :)

allyelle~

It is a reminder that even the skies scream,

burdened with the weight of lost, forgotten dreams.

—Nikita Gill

.:. 5 .:.

The church was a hive for thunderstorms. Yui Komori was a devout Catholic, and the church had always been her home and her place of safety, where she was never judged nor treated as a social pariah. She loved God unconditionally. Yet when flashes of light slashed across the sky, her loyalty wavered. Did He enjoy seeing this terrified, weeping girl kneel and beg beside His altar?

She remembered back in childhood when thunder echoed in the high-ceilings, the stone weathered and damp from centuries of rainfall. It was humid and any attempts to light the hearth would be in vain. She would burn pale fingers on a flint, eyes welled as the logs failed to ignite. Bathed in darkness, the street outside was silenced of cart wheels and hooves, and with the sound of her father's snores, she faced her fear alone.

Yui would curl up at the foot of a pew or with her nose pressed against the stained-glass behind the minister's pulpit. She would cry until dawn broke through, the rainbow beams warming her skin her only relief. It was God's message that her suffering had ended.

One night, however, she had company. There was a distinctive sound of snoring, yet it was obnoxious, not Seiji Komori's shallow breaths. Yui wrung her hands and rose, tiptoeing down the aisle to the bench adjacent to the door. She encountered a red-headed boy, the clothes on his back ill-fitted and grimy, and with his sprawl, his limbs hung at uncomfortable angles.

Kneeling down beside him, scents of ale and smoke wafted to her nose. He twitched in his sleep, lips parted in a mumble. "I'll do... better... next time..."

"Ayato," she nudged his side. "What are you...?"

He groaned and his eyes—cat-like and slit—opened to view his disturber. "Annoying wench... you have some nerve waking Yours Truly."

"S-Sorry," stuttered she, fiddling with a loose button on her nightgown. "Only... it's the middle of the night." Her eyes skirted upwards to the minister's quarters then back down to the door. "I was certain papa had locked it..."

Ayato grinned, and with a fist rubbing his eye, he rummaged in his pocket and fished out a bent piece of wire. It was a lock-pick. "Yours Truly can go where he likes whenever he likes. Or, Breastless—are you saying my worship," he scoffed at the word. "Has a curfew?"

"God has no curfew," said Yui in a tone which suggested the opening of a sermon. "He is omnipresent." She cleared her throat, knowing it would be impolite to lecture the boy on his atheism. The matter which pressed her was why he had broken into the church in the dead of night with the sole intention to sleep. "Shouldn't you go home?"

"Home?" he grimaced and kicked his feet up onto the back of the pew; she pursed her lips but said nothing. "To the disgusting sounds of that bitch and that man? No..."

Yui nodded in understanding, knowing the subject of Cordelia and Karl Sakamaki was a scandal brushed under the rug. Everyone knew of the Lord's extramarital affair, but they chose ignorance over his wrath. It was a façade; like the family portrait which hung in the castle's great hall, Karl Sakamaki appeared to be a moral, powerful figure with a beautiful wife and two fine sons.

Yet if one peeled back the layers of paint, they would see Shu's lifeless eyes, then Subaru and his mother, fighting for the possession of a dagger. Karl, turned away, kissed the hand of his mistress while the triplets lurked in the shadows, clumsily painted and smudged. Ayato was not a whisper of gossip plucked from the cradle of a stork.

Sensing the sombre mood between them, he laughed, but it was critical and to her expense. He was never one to dwell on personal matters; it was his biggest flaw and he refused to be labelled by it. After all, he was superior and perfect.

"Fourteen and still flat as a pancake... should've chosen a better place to wait out the storm, huh?"

Yui flushed and slapped arms over her chest. Ayato stood and stretched and walked towards the door. It was heavy and bolted, yet it creaked open with the storm, the air rushing in and pebbling her skin.

"Under Mirai Akiyama's porch, maybe," said he with a smirk, creating crude, jiggling motions with his hands. "Tits as big as they come."

Mirai Akiyama's status almost levelled the Sakamaki's. A respected family of nobility, they resided in a stately manor on the opposite end of the village, where the forest began and the river ceased. With large, light-letting windows and immaculate gardens, the inhabitants consisted of Mirai, then a girl of thirteen, and her mother and father. Infamously an only child, her mother bore many stillborn sons. Lord Akiyama was distressed by his wife's incapability to produce him an heir and sought to marry his daughter off well.

Rather a plain girl with a rounded face, it was her doe-eyes which made her an unassuming beauty. Hair curly and as russet as an autumn pine, it often frizzed out of her bonnet. Mirai, self-conscious, would hurry to a shop window with fussing hands; to her dismay, she hadn't inherited her mother's pin-straight tresses.

Despite her ordinary features, her figure had blossomed. Her father, with the motive for her to attract a husband, insisted that she dressed in the latest fashions. Glorious shades of duck-egg blue and rolls of lace swaddled her skirts, and with each step, she drew in unwanted attention.

Suddenly, a white flash paled their faces, and after a few beats of silence, the roar of thunder followed. A strangled scream caught in Yui's throat, and with hands clasped over her ears, she fell to her knees.

"C-Can you stay?" she implored, lacking the courage to open her eyes. "P-Please?"

Ayato folded his arms and regarded the trembling girl at his feet. "So that was you... always shrieking at the sky's temper."

Stunned, Yui tilted her head. "H-How...?"

Before he could answer, another lightning bolt stung the sky. Yui could hear her erratic heartbeat as her body shook with sobs, waiting, with bated breath, for the crashing of clouds. Ayato crouched down to her level and lifted her chin; tears pooled in his palm. His expression was not one of pity; no, it harnessed the power of a thunderbolt, drinking in her pain with relish and intrigue.

"Yours Truly," said he, flashing teeth with the hook of his lip. "Knows your secret..."

.:.

Fingers white around the window-sill, she gazed upwards to the black, overcast clouds and the air misted with rain. Stranded in her cottage, Yui longed more than anything not to be alone. But she was not a little girl; she was a woman with a baby on the way and she had to remain strong. Inevitably, the child would look up to her and she could not disfigure their perception with cowardice. She needed a distraction; anything to divert her mind from the thunder.

Books provided her with an escape; lost in her imagination, the cruelness of reality diminished. Literacy was the greatest gift and she was fortunate, for only rich women were taught to read. Illegally, she had once schooled with the triplets. Yui supposed if her mother had lived, she would have been taught womanly skills, or perhaps if she had been wealthy, she could have been shipped to a boarding school. In the village, there was a Sunday School which her father catered for the poor. Craftily, he would sneak Yui into the back with her pigtails tied under a cap.

By her father's request, Yui rarely spoke, otherwise her feminine voice would be detected. She had always been thin with an underdeveloped chest and in her younger years it worked in her favour; everyone viewed her as another boy. Meek yet academically able, they left her alone. But to the minister's chagrin, it did not last. Laito was observant and the class jest; he teased her and snatched off her hat. Her braids swung and batted her chin and she was revealed at once.

"Ah~! I always knew it to be true!" he purred as the boys filed out of the rectory. "Only a girl such as yourself, Little Bitch, could possess such fine eyes!"

She had never felt such ridicule. Blinded by tears, she ran to the riverbank, her bag still slung across her torso. Yui flung it, her books, slate and chalk spilling onto the grass. She never lost her patience and was consumed with regret. The pages of her books—having tumbled into the water—were transparent and waved, her slate and chalk shattered. Wiping her eyes, she bent to retrieve them; she would have to apologise to her father for her carelessness.

"Interesting..." drawled a voice. "Do you make a habit of polluting the river with books?"

"A mere river, it seems, has more rights to an education than I."

Shu, who she had not spotted, lay on his back with a book flopped across his face. He peeped from the pages to rake her figure; she still wore her male disguise. She hopped the stones, waved, and sat beside him. He regarded her quietly, waiting for her to speak.

"The problem is," she murmured, resting her chin atop her knees. "Is that I am a girl—"

"Who has successfully ruined my sleep?"

Her eyes softened. "Could the book be so boring, Shu?" Yui retrieved the work he had used as a barrier against the sun's glare and ran a finger along the page; she could not comprehend the black patterns. "I... I cannot—"

He grabbed the book and snapped it shut, and with a sigh, he plucked out a handkerchief. "Don't be noisy," he chided, dabbing the tears from her cheeks. "Reading is overrated, anyways. First they teach you to read, then you're forced to learn nonsense..." his smile was thin from her pleading stare. "Fine, I'll teach you... alright? Just not today. The sun makes me weary."

"Shu," Yui inclined her head to his lap. "What's it called?"

"Hn... this? Romeo and Juliet... ah, what a tedious read. I read it to Subaru earlier and he almost cried." Yui followed his gaze to find the youngest throwing daggers at a burlap sack. He grunted in exertion as sweat rolled down from his hairline. "Don't," Shu suppressed a laugh. "Tell him I told you... he isn't safe wielding that thing. I value my fingers."

"Not your head?"

"No... I'd rather play the piano. Without a head, I'd have no ears, so I'd be spared from that man's nagging... although, I wouldn't be able to hear music again. What a troublesome thought. I can't decide what I'd rather have."

Yui frowned. "What's it about?"

"Fools," he answered. His eyes were hazed over, watching his brother in a drowsy trance. "A pair of love-stricken fools..."

Yui traced the spines of books stacked on the mantelpiece. There was no need for a bookshelf for she could never afford them. She merely owned a handful, and they were old editions, worn and yellowed, no longer wanted at the castle or the church.

Romeo and Juliet was her first. Shu gave it to her out of hatred; he had never read anything more pathetic. Conversely, it was her favourite. She slotted it out and the books, like a set of dominos, toppled onto the side. Cracking the spine, it opened to a page weighted down by a makeshift marker. There, pressed and folded, was the young master's handkerchief. Starched white with his embroided initials, her tears remained crusted into the cotton.

'What a foolish woman you are, mulling over forgotten things,' he would undoubtedly say to her. 'Nostalgia's a pain... why torture yourself with it?'

The pad of her fingertip traced the curve of the S. It reminded her of a serpent. "Oh, Shu. How I wish you would forgive me."

Uncanny to an explosion of white fire, the cottage walls flashed. Her hands lost nerve and the book thudded to the ground, and with the wet air, the candle extinguished itself. The windows and doors rattled and banged, the wind like an aggressive intruder. The sky was angry and vainly, she always believed it was directed upon her; the lightning was a strike and the thunder was a bellow. She knew she had wronged God, but she was paying the price; the letter, forever seared into her bosom, and the guilt she not only carried for the both of them, but for her estranged husband and father. They, too, had been unwittingly dragged into the drama.

If she had not succumbed to temptation, all would be well.

A girl, heavenly and kind, who was raised with utmost morals and sanctity—a minister's daughter no less!—had become the slut and shame of the village. She had married respectably and was educated—surely she could make something great of herself. No, for Yui was guided by her heart not her head. Her mind had always been optimistic and fanciful. After all, love was a dizzying spell of hopes and dreams. A fairy tale with a happy ending. But then she awoke with the first bout of morning sickness and realised that reality was a cruel narrator.

There had never been a moment were she regretted what she had done. This life that they had created was the only piece of him that she could solidly behold. It was their living consequence, and to many, a gift from the devil.

Yui prayed that the child would not look like their father. She could not bind their hair or shroud their eyes; he would be revealed instantly, and it would have all been for nothing. Selfish her silence may seem, she did it to protect him, to preserve his honour and dignity. She would not allow him to sink; she gave him her only lifeboat.

Berating her clumsiness, she winced as she bent to retrieve the book, her rounded stomach becoming a daily obstacle. Striking a match, she ignited the wick once more, and with a hand cupping the flame, she ventured over to the window to draw the curtains. They were moth-eaten and they did little to drown out the light, but she hoped it would at least veil the lightning.

Yet the sight out of the window surprised her. Slumped against the trunk of an oak and sopping with rain situated a man. Squinting, she rubbed the condensation from the glass, the smudge of red clearing to define sharp features. Her eyes flitted to the pile of garments folded on the stool, the very ones she had repaired for his mother.

"That man," Yui disapproved. "Coming out in such weather..."

Fetching her cloak, she whipped the hood and rushed outside. Her boots squelched the earth, puddled and sticky, the rain froze her fingers as she gripped the wool of her mantle. Dandelions flowered around him; it was a durable plant which did not droop with the storm's thrashes. He shifted when she approached, blinking away the haze, as though Yui was an apparition spun from his imagination. Lips pulled downwards, he fiddled with a sagging, deflated pouch; it did not jangle with coins.

"Ayato? What on earth—you're going to catch your death!" said she, extending a hand. "Please, come inside—"

He swatted it away. "Did," he began, his breath hitching. "Yours Truly ask for your pathetic charity?"

His words were a bramble sting. Wringing her hands, Yui inched closer to see the right side of his face swollen and contused. She resisted the urge to reach out to him. He was in pain, both mentally and physically, and nothing tugged at her heartstrings more than the suffering of others. She wanted to help, but she knew a caress or an embrace would not cure an ailment. Her fingers recoiled into her palm.

"Subaru," was her first thought. "Did the two of you get into a fight?"

She recalled the countless occasions when Subaru and Ayato—both stupidly intoxicated—would stumble into her cottage in the early hours of the morning, reeking of stale alcohol and painted in cuts and bruises. Yui, with a hand clutching her heart, would berate them for the scare, but continue to usher them inside to tend to their wounds.

Then, with the panting of a horse, Shu would arrive. He was unimpressed at being awoken at an ungodly hour to hunt for his missing brother and would tease him mercilessly—had he shamefully spent the night in Miss Komori's bed? Or, what a shame it was that he had been found alive; a cold body in the woods would have been a quieter find. Subaru would rage, but it disagreed with his hangover. He sulked while Shu caught up on his sleep with his head atop the table.

Sometimes, Ayato's two brothers would join the mass and Yui would be bestowed with the task of breakfast. A full house, full of life, where for the briefest of moments neither rank nor sex mattered; they were a family. Nothing would be the same again.

"That albino creep? As if!"

His words lost their usual vigour, spoken in stutters from pale, wet lips. Ayato had stopped fussing with the money pouch; his hands had cramped and flushed purple. Yui tightened her cloak. "Then who?"

"An ugly, wild dog, that's who," he laughed, revelling in an inside joke. "What were you thinking, huh? That someone as strong as me would allow a mere brute to disfigure such a face? Like hell I'd let that happen!"

"Still... won't you come inside? I can treat the skin..." her eyes welled at his shivering form. "Oh, Ayato—sitting outside in the rain! You're bound to catch a chill. I've seen countless men die in their beds over a fever. I cannot bare to see you the same. Not when my cottage is so near—not when I'm able to help!"

"Don't you listen? Like I said, I don't need your—"

"I know," she interrupted softly. "Then how about you pay me with the honour of your company?"

He blew and rubbed his hands, turning away with the knit of his brows. He was mulling it over. "You have meat?" he asked and Yui blinked at his odd request. "You'll make Yours Truly some food. You're a woman, so you're good at that stuff, right?"

"Y-Yes, I believe so. They're leftovers from the castle," she smiled. "Subaru Sakamaki wouldn't dare be so kind."

"Kind my ass! More like he doesn't wanna be lumbered with the guilt of discovering your bones come winter." He snorted and steam swirled from his nostrils, like a dragon from an old fable. "It's a stupid thing to think highly of us men. We're only interested in one thing, and one thing only."

It was true—all men were guilty of yielding to carnal desires, and prostitutes tended to be the favourite; a woman's body was an object of purchase and bliss. In this aspect, Subaru Sakamaki was no different. Ayato knew him to be an unruly noble who he used as a spar and a drinking partner.

Oppositely, she knew him to be a boy who once hid his tears over a rabbit tangled in a snare, who gave to the poor and was aggressive because of his frustration with the world, not out of cruelty. He was kind, and she fought for the redemption of his character. Townsfolk would laugh in disbelief or point to a blackened eye or a damaged ware. He wanted to be hated, it seemed; yet she could never oblige.

Ayato muttered a mean remark about his half-brother and rose to his feet, his bones creaking from the cold. The rain was relentless and the wind burned their cheeks, fat droplets hurdling over every curve on their faces. His hair had darkened and was plastered to his forehead like pieces of seaweed, his shirt moulded to the shape of his torso. Water had seeped through the fabric of her cloak and she shivered; they needed to take shelter.

Before she knew it, Ayato was ahead of her, waiting at the cottage door. His nose was red and his lips were thin, and with one hand resting upon his hip, he was the image of impatience. It was as though the temperature had only just dawned on him.

"Oi, what are you waiting for? Quit with your dallying and open up. Yours Truly is freezing out here."

"You don't have to wait for me. Please, just open it."

"You think I haven't tried?" He grit his teeth and shook the handle, but it remained stubborn and static. "C'mon! I ain't waiting around in this creepy forest any longer. Or," he grinned, struck by a possibility. "Do you think that tableware freak is lurking somewhere in the trees? That stuck-up guy... he has some gall questioning me."

"He suspects you," she realised, swallowing thickly. "I'm—"

"Sorry? What, afraid you've bruised the great Yours Truly's dignity? Save your breath. It takes more than the likes of him to break me." Ayato's eyes hardened as he extended a palm. "Key. Now."

"Oh no," Yui blanched. To confirm her fears, she lurched and rattled the handle, but to no avail, the door would not budge. "I-I'm sorry, but—"

He shifted his weight to circulate blood flow. "Some host you are, Breastless. Remind me to seek you out again in a storm. Jeez, what a joke!"

"W-We could climb through the window—?"

"Don't flatter yourself," he eyed her stomach. "Like you'd fit." He sighed and flexed numb fingers before rummaging in his pocket. "You're lucky I'm here to save you. Otherwise that Sakamaki bastard would be scaring the crows come morning from picking at your flesh."

She wanted to correct him that the only reason she ventured out in the storm was to help him, but thought better of it; let him relish in his glory. With his tongue poking out in concentration, Ayato picked the lock with a thin stick of metal, and with a satisfying click, the door unlocked.

"Do you make a habit of breaking into other people's homes?"

His eyes flashed. "Only if it suits me."

They stepped inside and their desire to be engulfed in warmth was not met. Yui made it her first priority to light the hearth while Ayato slumped into a chair and discarded his boggy shoes. She splintered her skin as she tossed logs into the grate, but with her damp, cramped hands, she struggled igniting the wood. Her companion grumbled about the chill and she was soon darkened by his shadow.

"You sure are pathetic." He snatched the flint and steel and grinded them together, sparks flying onto his bare wrists. He had dried his hands, but his skin was wet, the small balls of light sizzling as it made contact. "What, this sort of thing amaze you?" He raised an eyebrow as he watched her eyes bore into the newly born flames, their cheeks rosy and grateful for the heat.

"I suppose," she murmured, her eyes as scarlet as the stigma binded to her chest. "Fire... it's a dangerous thing. We dance around bonfires and seek its warmth and light, forgetting how easily it could turn against us. Mishandled... and everything will be brought to ash," she faced him with a flicker of a smile. "At least, that's what Reiji told me once."

Ayato's hair was brilliant by the fireside. He rolled his eyes and prodded the wood, the flames roaring and licking the brickwork. "See, that's what happens when you read too much," he nodded upwards to the mantelpiece. "You sound like that hysteric, always gawking at the flames with a threat on the tip of his tongue. What a psycho... lucky he's not a woman though, huh? He'd be sunk to the bottom of a lake or burned at the stake by our old man by now."

Noticing her horrified expression, he laughed, the sound boisterous and loud. "That another one of his tricks?" he asked, his gaze trained upon the letter. "Jeez, what a stupid place to put it! At least stick it somewhere to divert the attention from your tits. C'mon... it ain't your best asset!"

Yui opened her mouth to defend herself from his derogation, but instead, she bit her tongue and stood, her father's words echoing in her mind. 'The world is unfair, and in this world, it can be a wise thing for a woman to pick her battles.'

"Please, Ayato, try to keep warm," urged she, setting down a soft sheepskin blanket at his feet. She knew if it were to be offered directly it would be refused; his pride was fragile and he would use it on his own terms or not at all. "I need to fetch some ointment for your cheek."

Ayato groaned and nodded, continuing to feed and poke the fire. Reiji had formed a habit of keeping roots which were integrated into daily usage—and the ones he deemed basic enough for his wife to experiment with—in the kitchen; his study was off-limits. The cupboards were sparse, dusty and cobwebbed, with a higher ratio of jars than food. They housed medicinal herbs and even after many years, they still donned their labels. Spotted in unidentifiable stains, the doctor's neat and connected hand provided each inscription.

Symphytum; comfrey.

Apply to sprains, cuts, bruises, burns,

and any other mild skin disfigurement.

Yui unscrewed the lid and sprinkled a handful of leaves into the mortar, adding water and grinding the mixture until it reached a paste consistency. When she returned to the space, Ayato had nestled into the sheepskin down while his hair—having dried by the fireside—waved and flicked. The blue-tinged pallor of his skin had warmed and she felt her body relax. It was probable that he would develop a sniffle, but if he looked after himself with a full stomach and plenty of rest, a fever could be kept at bay.

"I know it appears unpleasant," she started, eyes lowered to the moss-green pulp. "But trust me, it will soothe the skin and quicken its repair."

Yet by the sour contour of his features, her words did little to reassure him. "Ugh... gross! No, no—battle wounds are cool!" he piped. "They can serve as a reminder to any bastard with the nerve to challenge me. That gunk," he gestured to her hands. "Get rid of it. Yours Truly will wear his bruises with pride."

She exhaled. "Then I hope you're prepared for any possible scarring."

The healed, fleshy wound which slashed across Reiji's cheekbone came to mind; Ayato's eyes widened. "S-Scarring?" Yui nodded and circled to face the cupboards. "Oi, Breastless! Come here. It's below me to apply such a thing... but a woman fussing over me? Well, that ain't a bad sight."

"Then please, try to hold still." Yui brightened and fought a smile. "You men," she tutted, "are such fickle creatures."

She scooped the paste onto a finger and smoothed it over his skin. Ayato hissed with the sting, the sound simmering into a sigh as the ointment settled. Her eyes narrowed in inspection: his cheek was raw and swollen—as though slapped—and faintly yellow as a bruise began to flourish. There were several long and crusted gashes which appeared to be implemented by a clawed animal, further supported by his cryptic explanation underneath the canopy of the oak.

Ayato had picked up the empty pouch and resumed fiddling with the draw-string. His eyebrows and lips were taut, the vibrancy of his eyes dim and distant. He was troubled, and Yui's gaze switched to the heap of garments folded on the stool of her needle. Black and lilac—she made the connection at once.

"A-Ayato," she dropped her hand. "The reason why you ventured here—"

"What a shame," he cut her words with a tug on her dress. "Too bad all this fat couldn't have swelled your chest out instead, huh?" He paused and made eye contact. "What'd you want?"

Yui swept her fingers over her belly. "It's in God's hands," she answered, monotonous and practiced. "I only wish for a healthy babe."

"Quit being a bore," his eyes rolled. "C'mon. If you could choose, what'd you pick?"

She wiped her fingers on the cloth of her apron, leaving trails of green like the stains from dewy grass. His question stewed in her mind—what did she want? Yui didn't occupy her thoughts in conventional motherly daydreams. Many expectant women obsessed over myths suspecting gender, the baby's appearance, or their temperament. She couldn't enjoy the short period of pregnancy for she was alone and afraid. Fear of harm—either to herself or her unborn child—dangled and teased wherever there was a whisper of light.

"A boy," she decided. "Then perhaps people will be forgiving. It would be easier for him to make a life for himself separate from his mother's shame. A girl, however..." she cringed and absently stirred the mixture. "Well, what an unlucky fate it is to be born on the wrong side of the coin."

"Figures," Ayato snorted and rocked back on the chair. "Why don't you pray to your pathetic God then? Hey, why you're at it, pray that the kid'll grow up to be half as great as Yours Truly!" He tapped his fingernails against the wood. "Y'know... you'd think that old hag would treat us a bit better considering her luck."

Yui's eyes softened, knowing his mother's treatment affected him more than he liked to acknowledge. He noticed her sympathetic stare and jerked to his feet, the chair narrowly escaping becoming fodder for the flames. He prodded a finger into her collarbone, lips a mischievous slant.

"You'll name it after me, right?"

She humoured him with a smile and a nod.

.:.

It was clear that Ayato intended to stay the night when he bounced down into her bed, the rusty springs groaning underneath him. Yui had no qualms; in fact, she was on the verge of suggesting it herself. It was nightfall and the storm continued, and with his dampened spirit and the occasional sniffle, she could not allow him to return home. The forest was dangerous at such a late hour. Bandits lurked in the treetops, waiting to ambush an unsuspecting carriage in the early morning light.

To appease his continuous complaints of hunger, she cooked a pot of stew. She reheated the fatty pheasant and chipped rot from the vegetables. It was watery and tasteless, but Ayato knew no different. He ate with uncivilized vigour, spraying gravy across his cheeks, the beads clinging onto stubble. Afterwards, he nursed the bloat with a bottle of whisky. It served as an antiseptic, yet the barmaid's son had other intentions.

Before she had been married, she once cooked for the two Sakamaki brothers. As their palettes were spoilt, they were repulsed by the bland and stale broth before them. Subaru attempted to mask his grimace with a smile and awarded her effort. Shu, meanwhile, was devoid of tact. After one mouthful, he stood and wordlessly poured the contents out of the window. It served a better purpose for the flowers, he had said, and even then they were likely to die. The heir left soon after to attend to business, but not without remarking that he hoped she would never marry. Subaru helped her clean the dishes.

Presently, Yui was stacking the dirty earthenware bowls; she would wash them in the stream once the weather calmed. In the kitchen, she heard the sloshing of liquor as Ayato drank. He was tipsy with a loose tongue and she knew his troubles would be spilled. He was reckless by nature and when fused with a gamblers habit, the outcome was disastrous. Cordelia longed for riches, and Ayato, burdened with illegitimacy and poverty, knew the only way to fulfill his mother's wish was by testing his hand at poker. When victorious, the man would be euphoric, yet when defeated, he would wallow. Yui often stumbled upon form—as she had today—abusing substances to numb the ache of his worthlessness.

"The sun will punish your head tomorrow," said Yui, entering the room with a light smile. "Here, try to drink some water." She placed the cup on the nightstand, but Ayato ignored her and continued to tip the neck of the bottle. "Are you hungry? There's still stew in the pot that I can warm for you. You might feel better with a line on your stomach."

Mutely, he shook his head and fingered the peeling label. He mimicked the black clouds weeping above them; his despondency unnerved her. "Oh, Ayato." The bridge of her nose creased as she tucked her skirts to sit beside him. "Please know that you can talk to me freely. I may be a useless ear, but I promise you, I will listen."

He lifted his eyes, unfocused and webbed red. "For someone like me, who's the greatest at everything," he slurred, waving the half-emptied bottle. Whisky escaped and stained the bed-sheets; Yui grimaced at the acidic stench. "Man... do I have rotten luck."

Yui took his hands into her own; they were cold and calloused with dirt rimmed cuticles. Her gaze was gentle as she ran her thumb along his knuckles. It was a method which she often applied to young children whilst Reiji concentrated on a procedure. It was comfort, it was a distraction, and it was warmth. "Money isn't everything, Ayato," she said. "It may define your image, but never your character."

His hands limped. "It ain't fair," he grumbled. "Those two bastards sitting all high-and-mighty up on the hill don't care for riches or fame. It's the only thing that matters. To think... if I'd been born under another circumstance... I could've had it. I could've bathed in gold. Yours Truly would've been the best Lord this village had ever seen."

"It comes with a price."

Her attention flitted to Ayato's hands, and at his words, she thought of Shu with his quill and his twitching, ink-stained fingers. He was a prisoner of his position, defeated and listless. He did not want the wealth and attention which Ayato so desperately sought; he wanted to be free from constraint. All would be well if the two half-brothers had switched fates.

Subaru noted that his violin melodies were sombre nowadays. Sadness sunk into the pit of her stomach. Yui remembered Shu's beam as he played quick, upbeat jigs, the notes vibrating through the crisp forest clearing. Subaru would sit on a fallen trunk and clap and tap his feet, too embarrassed to accept her hand to dance. Her dress would swish against her thighs whenever she twirled, the rush of exhilaration bubbling in the back of her throat as the chorus peaked.

Yui jolted from her reverie with the red-head's snore. His head lolled against the headrest and she itched to prop a pillow behind him to avoid a stiff neck. His mouth was agape and dribbling salvia, but the furrow between his brows had smoothed and his hands had loosened on the bottle. He was finally at peace and would sleep through the storm. She exhaled; she would not be so lucky. Ease had settled into her far too soon; her companion was unconscious and drunk and would provide little comfort for her fears.

With a shuddery exhale, she fetched her shawl. Night-time winds were darker and harsher, and the fire had finally spat out its dying breath. The book lay facedown on the mantelpiece and the master's old handkerchief dangled precariously from the brickwork. The tips had blackened and were patched in soot; the sight made her uncomfortable. Yui attempted to blow away the dust, but it remained chained to the fibres. The whiteness was soiled.

Her fingers pulled back the curtain, the glass dripping behind flares of lightning. Her grip slipped and shifted to her rosary, the silver cold at the touch. Thunder cracked and the ground beneath her trembled, and unintentionally, Yui caught her reflection in the windowpane: she was petrified and wide-eyed, her hair scraggly and her cheeks tracked and glistening.

"Please," she implored, her plea sincere and vague. Was it for the thunderstorm to cease? Or something much deeper? "I beg of you, let me have peace!"

Nothing responded. The storm persisted, as did her sobs, forming a steady rhythm with Ayato's snores.