Delayed because internship.
Feeling cute. Might do Re: Hilichurl next.
Flowers
Veronica stared at the bed. There, sitting in the middle of it, was a suitcase that contained all of the belongings she considered important enough to bring, and it was a light case. It was almost funny. For an orphaned girl under the protection of a rich and powerful military clan, she had surprisingly little to value among her possessions.
Her eyes drifted to another letter that arrived the day before, which had sent the entire manor into a scramble.
Dear Veronica von Schariac,
Congratulations on your awakening! What you possess now is one of the greatest weapons of humanity against the Honkai— the Holy Blood of the Schariac lineage!
Despite the Holy Blood being the greatest legacy of the family, not many Schariacs are blessed with it. This makes your appearance a true boon to the family— a resurgence of our greatest warriors for the next generation!
In light of this, your abilities must be trained and honed by the best of our family's techniques and ways. Thus, we shall provide for you a new home, a new house, a new family, and new friends!
Prepare to move to the Woodwind Manor at 0700 tomorrow, on the 7th of January. Bring everything you desire for this shall be your new home.
Indeed, Veronica wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry upon seeing that.
It was clear to her what the entire arrangement intended. This was the beginning of her conditioning, her indoctrination into worshipping the will of the Schariacs as the faithful "Priestesses" of Schicksal. Place her in an environment they control, give her everything she wanted to establish goodwill, then slowly but surely introduce both positive and negative reinforcement for adhering to and defying the words of her handlers, respectively. Entrench her into bonding closely with other conditioned or planted agents so that she feels a social obligation to meet their expectations.
Then again, it wasn't much different from parenting, she thought, idly. With the difference in parenting involving actual love?
She stopped that train of thought with a rueful smile. The lack of parental figures was getting to her.
There came a knock on her door. "Miss, the driver is here."
"Coming, Nana!" the girl called back. She quickly picked up her belongings and followed her mother to the car.
The journey didn't take more than an hour, which was made faster by the fact that the sun hadn't even broken through the horizon before they left. They were once again moving out of the familiar sights of civilization and were moving into a remote district that was no-doubt military property. Private military property, although given the line there was blurry since from what Veronica had read, Schicksal apparently owned a few countries itself.
They soon rolled into a compound with a path surrounded by cultivated fir trees leading from the gate. It led to, out of all things, what seemed to be a cathedral built in a stereotypical style of pointed archways and stained glass. Veronica felt vaguely ill upon seeing that. Sure, He was a Catholic in life, but at the same time, He was a bit of an agnostic born in a family that wasn't as strict as the culture surrounding Him. Veronica would appreciate it if her future was not filled with a routine of many, many droning prayers and purification rituals.
The driver dropped the two of them off and quickly drove away from the scene. Veronica and Margaret glanced at each other before the girl walked up to the oaken doors and knocked. It took a few seconds before they were opened by a tall woman garbed in black and a hawkish scowl.
"Name?" she asked, a lot more callously than Veronica expected.
"Veronica von Schariac, ma'am," Veronica answered. The woman looked at the girl and raised a brow. Clearly, she was expecting the nanny to answer in place of her mistress. Then, both her eyebrows were up and her eyes widened in recognition and she sighed.
"Come inside."
She stepped back. Veronica and Margaret obediently file into the building. They entered the not-cathedral's grand hall, a dimly-lit gallery devoid of its pews, framed by murals of the Judeo-Christian Passion on either side and stairs that led to a balcony on the second floor. Briefly, Veronica's mind thinks back to religion. 'How do people have faith in an all-knowing, all-powerful, and all-loving deity when it's like the whole world doesn't want humanity to live?' she wondered.
The woman who let them inside turned to face Veronica and bowed. "Welcome, miss Veronica. I am Roselina Goldsmith, caretaker of the Flower Dormitory."
More like a convent than a dormitory, Veronica mused.
"Please let your maid leave your belongings by the door as we prepare your room."
She glanced over Margaret but ultimately ignored her, and Veronica had to force herself not to scowl at the treatment of her mother. Roselina turned back to the girl. "Would you like for me to give you a tour?"
"No, thank you," Veronica replied. She swore she just saw the caretaker sigh in relief.
"Then allow me to lead you to the living room. Snacks and tea have been prepared. I will inform you once your room is ready."
Veronica hummed agreeably and the three of them headed off into a side room branching out from the entrance hall. The room was small and lit with warm light, outfitted neatly with old furnishings and paintings in the artistic style of the Enlightenment period on all four walls. It housed a single coffee table with a single potted orchid and two desert stands of cookies, biscuits, and cakes, surrounded by couches on three of its cardinal sides. At one end, above a long drawer decorated with monochrome group photos, likely of the previous inhabitants, was a radio that Veronica had to refrain from labeling as "vintage" in her mind. She nearly frowned upon taking in the whole room. It felt like she had just stepped into a historical romance manhwa.
"Please wait here," Roselina said. "After your room has been prepared, you may choose to rest there or explore the rest of the dormitory. Do note, however, that there will be others that are blessed for the path of Valkyrja that may arrive before then."
"Lunch is at twelve-hundred and dinner at eighteen-hundred, both in the dining hall. If that is all, then I shall see you later."
Rosalina bowed and left quickly, closing the door behind her with a soft click of the knob. Veronica glanced at Margaret, who gave the girl a helpless smile. Shrugging, Veronica made her way over to the couches and flopped onto the seats, eliciting a sigh from her mother at her manners.
"I don't like her," Veronica said.
"Now Vera, don't be like that. You will be seeing that woman in this very same household for the years to come. For your sake, you should at least get along."
Veronica didn't argue. Margaret had a point, but it was also true that Rosalina could be replaced by someone better.
Like Margaret.
Veronica smiled. She liked that idea.
"Would you like to drink the tea? It appears to be black tea by scent."
Veronica shook her head. "I'd rather not Nana. I only drink your tea."
The woman sighed, but this time it was out of fondness. Chuckling, Margaret left the tea back on its tray and made herself comfortable standing beside the girl.
The two settled into tranquil silence. Veronica closed her eyes and allowed herself to sink into the seats. She hadn't slept the night before, the night before that, and all the nights after she had returned from the procedure for her body was in pain. It was as if an incessantly active hive of bees had settled in her body— one that seemed to be more active at night. Veronica thought that it was because of the Stigma, that even though it was technically a natural adaptation, her body still had to acclimate and grow into it. It was like accelerated puberty, she supposed. She didn't bother confirming that, however, as doing so wouldn't do anything to help in finding ways to alleviate the pain, nor did she have the time or resources to do it. She just had to grit through it and wait for it all to stop.
Veronica felt the weight of cloth settle on her shoulders. She opened her eyes a crack and confirmed that it was indeed Margaret who had placed the blanket on her. She smiled and allowed herself to drift off.
Moments later, Veronica found herself brought back to wakefulness by a loud noise. Opening her eyes, she saw that there was a little girl yelling, or rather, screeching at her. The sound of it, now made louder thanks to being conscious, nearly gave her a migraine.
"—AT'S YOUR NAME WHO ARE YOU WHAT'S YOUR NAME!"
Veronica grabbed the girl's cheeks. The action was actually quite easy despite how relatively equal they were in size.
"Shut."
The other girl shut. Veronica let go and rubbed the rest of the lingering drowsiness out of her eyes, then finally took a proper look at the newcomer. Platinum blonde hair and purple eyes, wearing a frilly yellow dress that already had stains of the icing from the noticeably smaller pile of cakes. In other words, a brat.
"And who might you be?" Veronica said. Then she cringed. Cold voices sound incredibly childish from a voice of a, well, four-year-old.
"I'm Isabella, but I like Ella more, and I don't like Anna. Hey, what's your name?"
Veronica was annoyed. She knew she was annoyed. She knew she wanted nothing more than to send the other girl back crying to her nanny or mother with a few choice words and maybe some violence. It was because she knew that she thought and considered. Antagonizing the child was a bad idea, not only because doing so was admittedly petty, but because she would likely have to spend the next decade or more sharing the same building as her. And lastly… she couldn't afford to have a temper as quick as his.
To that end, Veronica took a deep breath and smiled. "I'm Veronica. This is my Nana, Margaret. How may I help you?"
The girl, Ella, beamed. "You're pretty!" she shrieked.
Veronica blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"You talk pretty too!"
Veronica took another long look at the girl. Ella was staring at her with blatant curiosity— curiosity that only a four-year-old could have.
She was keeping her guard up against a toddler.
The giggles came unbidden. Veronica couldn't help it. Ella was probably four, heck, she was four, and likely, the rest of the girls she would meet in the dormitory would all be in the same age group of below ten. Children didn't think in terms of ambition, deceit, or pragmatism on a level anywhere near how the most naive adult would. They were beings ruled by emotion— and perhaps so was she.
"Was that funny?" Ella asked, tilting her head in confusion.
Veronica managed to catch her breath. "Ah, sorry. No, it wasn't funny." She smiled at Ella. "I was just very happy you called me pretty. You're pretty as well."
Ella blinked. Then she blushed. "Hehe."
Maybe… I should try this. Veronica held up her hand, offering it to the other girl. "Ella, let's be friends," she said.
The other girl squealed. "Friend!" Then she tackled Veronica in a hug, toppling both of them on the floor. Veronica was glad that she had learned how to tuck her neck from Judo lessons in His life as she was pretty sure she would have suffered at least a minor concussion otherwise.
In the corner of her eye, Veronica caught her mother covering her mouth. With the way her eyes were tilted, she would guess that the woman was beaming. The girl looked away, embarrassed.
Well, He had always been quite the loner anyways. Maybe in this life, not all of her friends would drift away with time.
A knock on the door had the three of them looking over to see that Rosalina had returned. The woman glared at the girl on top of Veronica that disappeared so quickly that she would have missed it if she wasn't already looking.
"Miss Veronica, your room is ready. Please follow me."
"Time for me to go," Veronica said, pushing Ella off her. It took a surprisingly little amount of strength. Ella frowned, which caused Veronica to chuckle.
"See you later."