Okay so I had this hare-brained idea in my head and I couldn't sleep until I let it out.

Enjoy.

Seed 1

Veronica Schariac felt her nanny's grip tighten around her hand upon seeing the letter. She looked and saw her nanny don a brief scowl before approaching the door and taking the letter quickly, but not before Veronica spotted the crest imprinted on the wax seal.

A three-petal-three-leafed blossom to represent the Abyss Flower.

"Nana, is that from mom?" Veronica asked.

Margaret Weber turned towards her mistress a little too fast but gave Veronica a perfect maid's smile. "Maybe. Though I do believe that this is from the main house."

Veronica sighed, chuckling ruefully as she did so. Margaret frowned at that.

"Anything wrong, sweetie?" the woman asked.

Veronica looked at her nanny. The woman was only in her early twenties, but the weariness on her face, combined with how tightly she bound her flaxen hair, made her seem at least a decade older. Veronica knew that Margaret was an immigrant maid that was originally a temporary hire, one who needed quick cash and thus was paid a lot cheaper than the other Schariac maids. The other servants had been rather loud about that fact, enough that they used it to push the young nanny around, getting Margaret to do their portion of the work or blaming her for many of their faults. Veronica didn't like those other servants because of that. She also didn't like them because no sane person should carry a one-year-old by their leg.

Unfortunately, she didn't have a choice. She was just a toddler. Not only that, it seemed like the manor didn't have any oversight. Sure, there was the man Veronica only knew as the head butler, but he was a reclusive man who preferred to while away in his room or avoid eye contact with Veronica whenever they saw each other. Someone from the Schariac family? At four years old, Veronica had never even met either of her parents. Margaret was closer to being her mother than the very woman who gave birth to her.

"Vera?" the woman asked again, using her pet name.

Veronica smiled. "Yeah. It's cold. I want hot cocoa."

Sighing, Margaret unlocked the oaken doors of the manor and ushered her little mistress inside, took off and hung both of their coats, and turned on the lights. Fluorescent light bulbs revealed the beige-colored interior of the foyer. No one greeted the two upon their arrival— it was by design.

When Veronica was two, she asked for stories about Christmas, seeing as she was born on that day. The other servants, weak-minded as they were, eagerly told the girl tales of Santa Claus, family dinners, and gift-giving. At some point, she asked them if they had family members to celebrate Christmas with, which they took as a chance to moan about the unfairness of being forced to work and live somewhere else during the holiday season. From there, it was easy to suggest giving them a break of one week since Veronica happened to be born on Christmas day. This somehow managed to reach the head butler and was quickly officiated, letting any other servants take a vacation for one week during the season.

It left Veronica and Margaret with the house to themselves. Ironically, the house ended up cleaner in the week that they had to themselves that year. It still baffles Veronica how the woman could do it, given that there were eight bedrooms, four bathrooms, a large kitchen, storage room, two ball galleries, and other auxiliary rooms.

The woman asked Veronica to wait on the couch while she went to prepare the drink. Veronica turned on the TV— a vintage dial-seeking type that looked way too new to actually be a vintage electronic— picked a white divan, and unceremoniously plopped herself onto it.

"Four years, huh," she muttered.

She spent her time swinging her legs on the edge of the couch. Margaret returned soon after with two cups of hot cocoa in her hands. Veronica sat up to receive her share and the two sat down together on the couch, sipping their drinks in a pleasant silence. Veronica liked this silence.

Which was why she only brought it up after she'd enjoyed her fill.

"So… the letter?."

There was a moment that Margaret was silent, sipping at her cup as if to pretend that nothing had changed. But it did. The quiet no longer seemed comforting. Eventually, the woman sighed.

"Give me a moment, sweetie."

She stood and went to a drawer, then came back with a paper-knife. She laid the letter with the Schariac seal on the coffee table and cut it open.

Then she hissed and jerked her hands away, dropping the knife. Veronica realized a second later that the floor had been stained with droplets of blood.

"Nana!" Veronica shrieked in alarm.

"It's fine! It's fine, sweetie." She showed her hand; a thin red line ran across her index fingertip. "It's just a papercut."

"That was a knife, Nana!"

"Yes yes." Margaret smiled at her. "But it's shallow. I just have to clean it and I'll be good as new."

"Then go and clean it then. The letter can wait," Veronica said, shooing the older woman away.

The woman sighed and obeyed her mistress. It took a while, but when she returned, there was notably less tension on her shoulders.

Once again, she stood before the envelope. She took a deep breath, pulled the letter out of its container, and read aloud:

"To Veronica von Schariac,

You have been given the incredible honor of taking part in the Schariac family's Awakening ceremony that will take place on the eve of the year of 1978.

The Awakening ceremony is an important tradition of the Schariacs for it is there where a Schariac's sleeping Stigma is activated. One should be glad to receive this honor for, if the procedure is successful, one can be allowed into the Order of Valkyrja. There is no greater glory than to live and die in the service of the family, of Schicksal, and of the greater humanity.

With regards, Cassandra von Schariac."

Veronica suddenly found herself quite cold despite the cocoa, with clammy hands that felt so weak she feared she might drop her mug.

"Oh Vera!" the woman cried, sweeping Veronica off the chair. The girl didn't so much as flinch as she was buried in her surrogate mother's chest. Veronica felt quite amused, actually. She knew what the letter meant, knew what it implied, and knew just what kind of world she had just landed in and what circumstances she suddenly had to deal with for her future. And yet, it was Margaret who began weeping for her sake. She patted the woman on the back until she calmed down and let Veronica back to the floor.

Margaret sniffled, and Veronica offered her a napkin. The cloth was tailored to the size of a four-year-old and was too small for any real use from an adult, yet Margaret took it, wiped her eyes on the cloth, and blew her nose.

When she finally realized what she'd just soiled, she gasped.

"I-I'm sorry, I soiled it!" she exclaimed.

Veronica snorted.

"Vera!"

Veronica stifled the laughter that threatened to spill but couldn't stop her grin. She looked up at her nanny. "Thanks."

Margaret blinked. "Vera?"

Veronica stood up. "I know about it," she said. Then she turned to her real mother and forced herself to smile.

"Everything's going to be okay."