"I have come to offer my daughter's hand to your son."
Vivian's chestnut eyes narrowed instantly at the sight of the girl in question, her thin fingers defensively pressed against the mansion door.
As poor as the girl's family is, Vivian has to give the members some credit; they really tried to make her pretty. Powder has been slathered on the girl's face in a halfhearted attempt to hide all of her imperfections, while her sapphire dress sparkles and fits her waist perfectly. However, Vivian sees through it all. After all, nothing can hide the fact that the girl is practically a twig that could be snapped in two: a bad sign for her ability to bear many children.
To think that the girl's family thought she had a chance… What a laughable thought.
In one last attempt to save herself, the girl practically stumbles over herself to curtsy. "M-ma'am, it is an honor to meet you."
Vivian sniffs and raises her head. "You do realize who my son is, don't you?" she snaps, ready to send the girl back outside the mansion. It has not been two minutes, yet she has already seen enough of this bizarre proposal. Her son is too valuable of a man for someone like her.
The girl raises her head slightly, her eyebrows raised with surprise. "W-well… y-yes, of course… His name is Sylvain. Sylvain Gautier."
"I didn't ask for his name." Vivian snaps, "I asked for who he is. Surely you must know why he is so important, so valuable to our family. He is the heir to House Gautier, and he is more important than you or I will ever be."
The girl glances like a timid lamb towards her paling father, evidently unsure of whether the question is a trap. Her lips quiver, her head down.
But in the world of gossiping midwives and noblewomen green with envy, no one will have time for such pauses. The future margravine needs to have status, a noble bearing, and the determination to have as many kids as it takes to have a worthy heir with the Gautier crest.
She has to be perfect. The family depends on it.
The woman in question is timid, poor, and doesn't even have the ideal body to bear children.
She is, in fact, not perfect.
Vivian is surprised that both she and her father thought they had a chance to marry her son, who bore everything he needed to do well in life: money, prestige, and a Crest. He needs a proper wife by his side to match, and this girl isn't it.
She has humored this girl long enough. "Allow me to spell it for you, then. My son is one of the most prominent nobles in the entire Kingdom. The competition for becoming his wife is a fierce little game, one where you aren't even a player."
The father protests weakly, his pathetic voice trembling in her presence. "I will not stand here and listen to my daughter being insulted, no matter how high up you may be!"
"Then leave." she demands, tired of the father's sputters. She gestures towards the butler, who drags the father out. He dodges, his lungs swelled with range.
"I know about your son!" he yells, "I know just how much of a scoundrel he is, flirting with the Kingdom's maidens left and right. Has he no decency!"
His words fall on practically deaf ears. After all, the accusations of her son being a philanderer are not new, and the fact that her son's bedroom acts as a revolving door for so many women suggests that there is in fact truth to the claims. But at the same time, she's also seen how ugly, how poor each and every one of the women really is, and she understands. Her son has to be picky if he has any hope of finding anyone worthy of his hand.
It is midnight when her husband returns. He stumbles in with a much younger woman, both of them carefreely laughing as they haul each other to what appears to be the bedroom without so much as a glance her way.
One might expect her to be upset, livid even. But after so many years of a loveless marriage, they had both grown weary of each other, preferring instead to throw themselves in the loving arms of others. She herself had recently found herself alone and affectionate with the family butler.
Still, she wonders where her husband finds all of the women he encounters. He isn't particularly good looking. His face is shaped like a cardboard box, and his shaggy, red beard and slanted eyes simply do not do him any favors either. It was a miracle that their son had inherited her shaped face and round eyes instead.
Still, Vivian can't help but lament that she doesn't look the way she used to. Back then, noblemen fell over themselves to even catch a glimpse of her slender figure and gorgeous, tawny brown locks flowing in the air. Now, she has to apply powder to cover her wrinkles, and tie her hair into a bun to look more sophisticated than youthful.
After seating herself on one of the family's luxurious sofas, she takes a handheld mirror from the side table and places it in her lap. As she lets down her hair and begins to comb, another, rather beautiful figure briefly appears in the reflection. The comb in her hand falls to her lap at once.
"Sylvain. The light of my life." she coos, wrapping her arms around her golden treasure, "How are you, my darling? Are you ready to head off to Garreg Mach soon? It's the most prestigious of military academies, you know."
"I am. Thanks." she hears him say, his voice traveling as music to her ears. Her fingers run through his fiery red locks. While he says he is fine, she can sense something else in her child, as he collapses on the pillows beneath him.
Vivian purses her lips. "It's that Ingrid girl again, isn't it? I know she likes to yell at you for your relationships with women." She states, marching off to the kitchen to retrieve some tea. Flashes of Ingrid yelling at Sylvain for his philandering appear in her mind. The girl has some nerve, daring to scold someone so above her. "Honestly, you should just leave her in the dust. You don't need her. The Galateas don't have a single dime to their name, you know. Then there's this… rebellious streak she has, what with becoming a knight and what have you."
"Nah, Ingrid's just fine… And I'm fine too," Sylvain stutters, mustering a carefree smile, "I'm just thinking about all of the beautiful women I'm going to come across at the Officer's Academy."
"There's no need to worry, darling." she insists, happily pouring the tea in two, intricately designed cups, "You have a very prestigious background; you will find plenty of potential wives lined up at your doorstep. And one day, the woman fit to be the next Margravine will appear right before you. Someone who will have the right children, and have the right priorities… You just have to get through the muck first."
Sylvain's expression doesn't change with her reassurance. Instead, he lifts himself, wandering despondently over to the window. Raindrops begin to fall against the glass he rests himself against.
"Where do you think Miklan is right now?" he asks.
Vivian freezes. "M-Miklan?"
Sylvain looks back with no light in his eyes. "Yeah, you know. Your other son. The one without a Crest."
Surely, she recalls the boy she had to bear to later become pregnant with Sylvain. But the man was irrelevant to the family the moment he was born, with no Crest or noble disposition to his name. He even went so far as to try to kill Sylvain, their house's precious heir, several times ever since he was a child.
But all is well now. Now, Miklan no longer stays at the Gautier mansion. He is long gone, and he will likely stay gone for the rest of his days.
"I would not know, sweetheart. You know that he left the house many years ago. " She informs him, before asking, "What brought this on, Sylvain? I know he is your brother, but…"
Sylvain clenches his fist, his shoulders sunk and face facing the marble tile. "I just wonder if things would've been different had he been the heir to House Gautier. He was the first born, after all, yet he didn't even have a chance to prove himself-"
"Miklan was not worthy, Sylvain." she sternly retorts, "You know as well as I how important it is that the head of the Gautier family bears a Crest. Had your brother taken over, it would be a disgrace for us all."
Sylvain says nothing. Vivian is confident he understands. She raises her arms, ready for a warm embrace. Yet instead of giving her one, he storms off to his room without a glance her way.
What a moody child. He's lucky that he's perfect anyway.
"Ah. Well. Have it your way." she calls out, placing both teacups on the table. "More tea for me, then."
