When she woke up some hours later, Rushia couldn't believe the scrumptious meal had been anything but a dream. After all, how could she have eaten the wheat bread with honey when it was still sitting on top of the table?

She blinked in confusion, attempting to dispel the sleepiness away. The room appeared to not have changed since she had passed out. The candles were still burning, though their light seemed dimmer than before. Although she had seen some heavy curtains hanging down from the ceiling of the room, there were no visible windows, leaving Rushia to wonder just how long she had slept.

More than anything though, what befuddled her was the loaf of bread and warm cup of tea that currently sat down on top of the desk.

The overpowering hunger she had felt before was not there, which meant she had to have eaten before falling asleep. But the existence of the bread opposed this apparently undeniable fact. It was sitting on top of the white cloth that covered the table, just like yesterday. And the warm milk she had so gleefully drank had somehow been turned into tea. The honey was the only thing which had not changed in the table's arrangement.

Hesitantly, as if it was all an illusion that could come crumbling at any moment, she got up and cut a slice.

"This is making my head hurt…" Rushia frowned.

She took the bread slice to her mouth, taking a small bite out of it. It was undoubtedly the same kind as the one from yesterday. What's more, it was still warm.

"... magic?"

She could not think of another reason. If it really hadn't been a dream, then the only possible explanation was that someone had replaced the food, perhaps by supernatural means. But even that felt unrealistic. Why would someone do that? Was there actually anyone so charitable as to bring fresh food and potentially cast a complicated magic spell for her, who had done nothing but break into a stranger's house for her own gain?

Rushia took the cup of tea and slowly sipped it. The liquid warmed her body, which had cooled down from sleeping uncovered on the floor.

It's good… If there really is someone helping me, I wish I could at least thank them. Rushia contemplated while nibbling on her breakfast.

The fact that the food was replenished meant that whoever this generous stranger was, they must have been able to see into this room. She didn't know if they were a man or a woman, or human at all, but the girl wasn't particularly worried about that. Whoever it was that had helped her, Rushia knew she had to express her gratitude in some way.

As she took the last bites out of the warm, fluffy bread, Rushia put her hands in front of her chest as in prayer. In a tiny, almost trembling voice, she uttered:

"Thank you for the food. And, um, thank you for helping me."

She took a step back, but the house remained as silent as it had ever been.

Well, I guess that's to be expected. What to do now, though… Even if I have food, I can't really stay here forever… She pondered.

"Hm?"

Rushia blinked. The table where her food had been placed had only left her eyesight for a few seconds, but, nonetheless, it had changed. Along with the foodstuffs, there was now a piece of parchment sitting atop of it.

"You are… welcome…something... house?" Rushia strained her eyes, attempting to read the inked letters.

She wasn't anticipating a reply to her words at all, and certainly not an immediate one. She looked up at the ceiling, half-expecting a spirit or some other entity to be there. But, once again, nothing had changed in the soundless room.

Does this mean I'm welcome here?

If that was the case, she wouldn't have to worry about sleeping outside. She would have a place to be, and somewhere she could come back to.

Rushia attempted to read the parchment a few more times before gently setting it on the table. She still had some reservations, and worries were definitely arising somewhere in the back of her mind, but at that moment, she couldn't help but be overcome with emotion.

"I guess… this is my new home."

The not-yet necromancer wouldn't ever discover the catalyst behind these events, but as the years went on and her knowledge of the world deepened, she could venture what had happened.

It was likely that her parents had run away, shouldering some large debt they couldn't hope to pay for. Rushia did not remember them being particularly poor or rich, but she did recall a few situations where she had been asked to hide in the cellar while they had guests over. She guessed her parents had probably been involved with at least a few sketchy individuals.

The voices that had woken her up that fateful evening were possibly robbers, who took notice of the situation and hoped to make some money with things her parents had left behind. The strange figure she had ran away from was presumably another robber, or perhaps someone sent simply to take away their possessions in lieu of the money. As their daughter, it was very possible she would've been taken away as well, had she not ran.

At the time, though, Rushia did not know any of this. All she knew was that she had found herself alone, someone she did not know was coming after her, and she was terrified.

So it was perhaps no surprise that, when she discovered an apparently safe haven in the midst of the storm that her life had so suddenly become, she became quite attached to it.

With her blanket safely retrieved, Rushia spent the first couple weeks of her new life exploring the streets. It felt quite odd at first to see the town's population carrying out their daily lives as normal, unaware of everything she had gone through. Her small size allowed her to stay hidden from public view, and as such she spent many hours observing the town's lively stores and workplaces from dark alleyways. She rarely jumped into the main streets, telling herself that she might get caught by a guard or someone else with bad intentions. In reality though, her true fear was different; she knew that, were she to try to talk to a vendor, they would either berate or ignore her, just like they did to all the other homeless, badly-dressed children. She saw it happen many times: a child that begged for money would get passed by as if they were air, and even if they stayed quiet, they would be regarded with suspicion until they left the area. Some didn't seem to mind, but whenever she felt the pressure of the passersby's gazes, her stomach started to hurt, and she wanted nothing more than to dash away.

And so, Rushia mostly stayed in the shadows, a ghost allowed to watch but not to interact. In the late evening, when most workers had returned home and the guards started to tighten their security, she returned to the strange mansion she had woken up next to. It took her a long time to get used to the feeling of "returning home" to a place that was not, in fact, her true home. Even so, she knew it was safe. The first time she had gone back to it, she panicked, as the window she had used to get in last time was closed shut. However, she soon discovered the front door to be unlocked, and had not had any troubles getting in since. As for the interior, she had spent some time exploring it, but outside of the library she had first gone in and a bathroom on the second floor, the doors on every room seemed to be permanently locked. Needless to say, the owner never showed up. In fact, the house seemed to be abandoned, as she never saw anyone come in or out of it. The meals, nonetheless, continued to appear on the small writing desk at the back end of the library, and everytime Rushia walked in a new, mouthwatering dish was guaranteed. After eating, she usually took a look around the bookshelves, picking books at random and searching for interesting pictures or one of the few words she could recognize, before falling asleep rolled up in her warm blanket. She was aware that it was a much more comfortable life than she had any right to, but she enjoyed this spoiled lifestyle far too much for her guilt to make her even consider the idea of leaving this house behind.

As the weeks turned to months and the months rapidly led the way to years, Rushia's explorations in the library led her to find some books that were simple enough for her to understand at least partially, and she piled these up on the desk. What's more, she was also able to locate a dictionary that contained the meanings of the words she did not know. With its help, the young girl's vocabulary grew in no time, and soon she was occupying a large part of her free time by diving into one of the many volumes in the bookshelves. Whether they were works of fiction, set in imaginary worlds full of intriguing characters, hand-copied records of ancient peoples and civilizations that had long passed, or even diaries written by travellers who had journeyed through dozens of countries, this curious girl did not judge as she devoured books one after another, learning more about the world than she ever thought possible.

And then, in a seemingly random fashion, a book about magic appeared on top of the desk Rushia had spent enough time with to call her own. She had learned a tad about this art after reading some of the tales of ancient, powerful mages and witches, but what stood there that time was no story, but something more akin to a manual.

Though it was written in fairly complicated language, it seemed to be an introduction to magic of sorts. Rushia did have an interest in magic, but she did not believe it was possible for her to learn it, especially by herself. Still, it was the first time something other than her daily meals had materialized in that library, so surely there must have been some meaning to it, or so she rationalized. And so she set to reading it, carefully looking through each page and committing the sometimes perplexing theory to mind. To her surprise, she soon found out she was capable of performing some of the simplest spells, though it required arduous practice; it was not before hours of sweating that she was capable of casting Light.

Despite her apparent natural ineptitude at magic, Rushia was not discouraged from exploring it further. That first volume, which she had determined to be a magic textbook, mentioned a variety of magic types or schools, many of which she dabbled in. She became fairly proficient in performing healing spells, though whenever she attempted more complex incantations belonging to the magic school of protection the results were invariably disappointing. Even if her capabilities were lacking though, Rushia kept reading, and when she eventually finished her manual, she came home to find a second volume, followed by a third soon after. Her training in the supernatural arts brought the girl much joy, providing her with a distraction from the sometimes disheartening happenings in the outside world.

That is not to say her daytime expeditions ceased; In fact, the few spells she managed to replicate gave her enough confidence to explore more and more of the surrounding area. On a certain day, she found a small opening on an abandoned storehouse that had been sealed off. Since it seemed mostly clear of insects and other pests, this lucky find quickly became her second home, and she slept there whenever her trips took too long for her to safely return to the mansion.

It was also in that same storehouse where she took refuge the day she found her original house, in the same place it had always stood, in the same neighbourhood where she had been born, but now occupied by strangers she had never met. As she brushed the tears of her wet face that night, she swore to never abandon anyone the way her parents had.

Before she realized it, Rushia became old enough to have seen fifteen winters, having spent the last four years living in such a way. It wasn't an uncomfortable life, and although she did feel lonely at times, she had taken the habit of writing small letters, either to herself in the form of a diary, or to the faceless houseowner who kept providing her food. She did not know if they read them, as she never got any replies, but the act itself helped stave off the isolation. Just as she felt things would never change though, an event that would set her life into motion occurred, almost as if spurred on by this continuing stagnation.

Uruha Rushia hummed to herself as she strolled through the same alleys she had passed through hundreds of times. The sun was far past its midway point, and as the firmament became dyed in orange tones, the still very much young girl was returning home, carrying a rough-looking bundle of clothes on her arms.

I really got lucky! It's been a while since I found new ones. My shirt was getting way too small.

On her way back from the storehouse, she happened to catch sight of a family throwing away old clothes. These parts of the city were not very wealthy, and most people reused their garments until they were so worn down that they might as well be rags. Still, some were more well-off than others, and the clothes that this particular family had tossed away were still in fairly good condition. So good, in fact, that Rushia suspected all it would take was a good wash and they would be ready to wear. She hadn't taken a meticulous look, not wanting to risk being seen by someone, but she had managed to discern some clothes that looked to be about her size. She had no means to make money, and as such obtaining new outfits was not something she could do as often as she wished. This explained the girl's cheerful, almost absentminded mood, as she carelessly made her way to the door of the mansion that had become her home.

Huh? The door...

She had pushed the door with her shoulder using a fair bit of force, and yet it had not budged. Rushia stared at the wooden frame.

Did this always take that much strength to open?

She had never had any problems, even when she was younger. Furrowing her brow, she gently placed the pile of clothing on the ground and tried turning the doorknob, pushing as hard as she could. Nothing. It was as if…

"It's… locked?" she muttered to herself.

Surely that couldn't be. In all her years staying there, she had never had any problems getting in or out. For all she knew, the entrance was permanently unbolted.

And yet, she couldn't open it.

Rushia felt her hands starting to sweat. She pushed, pulled, kicked, threw her whole weight into it, and tried to bust it open in as many ways as she could think of. She even knocked, hoping that the faceless homeowner had simply locked it for once and forgot about her. But to no avail. Nothing she did produced an answer, and the closed door simply stood there, unmoved by her agitation. She sat down on the cold stone of the pavement, almost in shock, tears threatening to fall down her eyes.

What… What should I do?

She had relied on the kindness that she had been shown in this mysterious house until now. Without it, she wouldn't be able to easily obtain food. Worst case scenario, she would have to resort to stealing. Her storehouse could work as a new home, but it wasn't as safe or comfortable, and she would lose access to all of the books she had been reading.

Ah… my blanket. Rushia suddenly remembered. She had left it inside when she had gone out earlier that day. Despite years of use, it was still in pristine shape, and warmed her to the core while still somehow not being overbearingly hot even in summer. Without it, the storehouse would be far too cold to sleep in, and she would freeze to death before long.

I have to get that, at least. I won't survive without it.

Rushia slowly got up, wiping both the tears and the despair away.

If the door won't open, then… the windows!

Suddenly, Rushia recalled a memory. The first time she had found this house, she had gotten in through an open window on the left wall.

She sprinted there, nearly kicking away the clothes she had been holding on to affectionately mere moments before. As she turned the corner, she was greeted with the same vision she had seen years ago.

A wave of relief washed over her. The window was open. She admonished herself for almost giving up without trying.

I can't believe I panicked from such a small thing… I guess that's routine for you. At the very least, I can go in now.

While she had grown since last time, Rushia was still on the small side for a human, and she easily fit through the gap.

This is somewhat nostalgic. She smiled to herself.

She carefully jumped inside and proceeded towards the library door. However, as she opened it, revealing the room inside, she had the impression that something was wrong. She took a cautious look around, but the library was still the same, and the imposing bookshelves had not changed. It was silent, but silence was the norm here. Everything appeared to be business as usual, and yet Rushia felt uneasiness seeping into her body. Her instincts were sounding the alarm, and she could not understand why.

Why am I being paranoid all of a sudden? Everything is fine. They must have just forgotten to unlock the door.

Despite these self-comforting words, Rushia remained antsy. It was only when she arrived at the writing desk that she understood why.

The small, mundane writing table was still there, as it always had. However, for the first time ever since she had started sleeping here, on the top of the table sat no food, no source of succulent odor. Instead, a large book rested there, along with a sealed envelope.

Ah...

Rushia's senses had been right. Between the door being locked and the fact that there was no food, something was definitely strange. She gazed at the two items on the desk. The book was large and heavy-looking, appearing to contain hundreds upon hundreds of pages. Not only that, but its binding was purple, a color that, she had recently learned, was almost never used in a publication due to the rarity of its dye. The title, hand-written in big, stylized letters, read: "The Art of Necromancy."

Necromancy? Isn't that one of the magic types?

She did not know much about this school. She was aware of its basic characteristics and simpler spells, but knowing she would be dealing with life-and-death forces put her off experimenting with it, and so she had never tried to delve too deep into it during her magic training.

As much as Rushia wanted to take a look at such an odd book, the envelope called to her attention even more. There was only one person that would leave something like that there.

The homeowner, huh…

Outside of the message she first received informing her that she was welcome, she had never been contacted by the individual that had been feeding her all these years. She had quickly understood they did not want to be seen and, not wanting to disrespect the wishes of her savior, she never attempted to find out their identity. Of course, there was always some curiosity as to who it was that gave her such special treatment, but she had just come to accept that they would allow her to use the house to sleep and eat, no questions asked, and not being able to meet face to face was a low price to pay for such a boon.

Rushia flipped the envelope around and unsealed it. A letter was inside. Its contents, no more than a few short phrases, were scribbled in black ink, and the handwriting was sloppy and messy, as if the writer had rushed to get it done.

Greetings,

I shall start by apologizing, as I have never properly introduced myself. Nonetheless, seeing as I am leaving this plane shortly, I see no reason to do it now, and so I shall stay in anonymity. Please just think of me as an ordinary mage.

If you are reading this, then I no longer have any control over this house. As such, from today onwards, I am unable to bring you any more meals or books. It is not something I wish to do, but certain circumstances leave me no other choice. Though it pains me to write so, you must fend for yourself from now on.

Withal, I did not wish to leave you completely alone. I know for a fact that, despite what your experiences might show, you possess large magical potential. As such, I have left you my life's final work, an opus on necromancy. You are free to do what you want with it, and I do hope it ends up aiding you in your journey through the seasons.

The enigmatic letter ended abruptly, no ink spent on farewells. Rushia stared at it for a few moments before loosening her shaky grip. The paper fluttered to the ground in silence.

There were many worries swirling around in her head. How was she going to find anything to eat from here on out? Could she still sleep here? Why was she given such an important book? Why did the mage disappear now, so suddenly?

In the midst of all these anxious wonderings there was, nonetheless, one thought that suffocated every other, a black fume staining her mind.

Ah… I guess I'm actually by myself now.

She shivered, the sudden realization of her loneliness seemingly making the air around her cooler. Invisible or not, just knowing someone out there cared for her had helped Rushia sleep well all these years, even on the rare occasions when she got careless and was yelled at by some pedestrians. But now, just like her parents, the homeowner too was now gone. She had only herself, alone against the entirety of the huge, uncaring world.

Rushia stumbled her way to the open window. She felt she needed to take in some fresh air, or a headache would soon form.

It was then that a man's voice reached her ears.

"Ya know, I'm always surprised at how big this house is. Who even had pockets deep enough to build such a mansion here, in this good-for-nothing district?"

"Hm. You know, I actually heard rumours it was a powerful mage." A second, deep voice replied to the first man.

Guards?! Rushia widened her eyes and hid next to the window. She silently prayed the two men strolling through the road hadn't seen her. From a glance, she had noticed they both had the standard armour and sword that was the work tool of the city patrol.

"Really? But why would he do that?"

"Apparently he wanted to be alone, undisturbed by the politics of the kingdom." The man's plate armour creaked as he shrugged.

"Heh, I can see why. Just dealing with our stuck up superiors is already enough of a pain. Imagine if they were nobles."

"With that said…" the first man paused his walking for a moment, taking a hand to his chin. "I heard some interesting rumours about this house from my acquaintance at the palace."

"Oh? You have contacts in such an important place?" The second man's voice had an impressed tone, as if he was genuinely surprised at his workmate's connections.

"Well, I wouldn't say he's anyone important. He's just one of the many coachmans for the royal court."

"Seems important enough to me. And so? What did he hear?"

"Supposedly, some nobles were talking about how a certain sorcerer that lived in the poor people's suburbs hadn't been seen in the flesh in years. There were talks about sending soldiers to his home to check if he was still alive."

"And if he's not?"

"Well, you know how these things go. If they find out he's dead, they'll probably pillage his house and take anything worth a penny. Even the richest are losing money nowadays, after all."

"Hoh… Sure hope I'm selected to help with that. I wonder what kind of exotic riches a powerful mage has in his house…"

"Dumbass." the man scolded. "This is old news. By now, they're probably already on their way here. And in any case, they'd only choose proper knights close to people of power for something like that, not low city guards like us."

"I guess so…" the other man replied dejectedly.

"C'mon, let's go. We'll get yelled at if we take too long to report."

As the pair continued along, they had no idea their entire conversation had been overheard by a young girl just a few meters away. This same girl had now fallen to her knees and looked utterly depressed.

"I can't even stay here…" she mumbled to no one, back against the wall.

She did not know how much time had passed when she finally got up. Rubbing her damp eyes, Rushia took a deep breath.

It's okay. I'll figure something out… In any case, I need to get out of here soon.

She concluded staying in the mansion any longer would only endanger her, and so she set to preparing her departure. She promptly picked up and folded her blanket. There was nothing else to pack, or even a bag to pack it into. With the exception of one item...

Rushia gazed at the book on the table. The mage had told her to take it, but nonetheless she hesitated. She wouldn't be able to return it. Wasn't that no better than stealing? She had never taken any of the books outside, as she feared losing or damaging one of the homeowner's personal possessions.

Well. I don't think I'll come back here, and they did say it was for me… I guess I'll take it. It might be interesting, too.

She was in no mood for magic, but any new spells that might help her survive would be good to learn. She took the volume, wrapped it in her blanket and proceeded to the entrance.

Rushia contemplated the entirety of the room. It hadn't changed much, if at all, ever since her first visit. The chandelier still hung from the ceiling, the seemingly ever-burning candles casting their light. The bookshelves still stood in the same place, carrying mountains of books, and though a good portion had now been read by the young girl, there still remained many which she had not even touched, much less discovered the secrets of. And yet, one essential property had changed; this library had become, over the course of four long years, her true home, and as she put her hand on the door handle and firmly closed it, the notion that she would not be stepping foot on this place again nearly crushed her with sadness.

Outside, Rushia took one final look at the mansion and closed her she didn't believe in any gods, she still offered a prayer of thanks for everything she had received up until that point.

"I can do this." With these words of self-encouragement, Rushia turned around to leave.

As she did so though, something caught her eye. The pile of clothes she had saved from becoming waste was still lying at the entrance. She had completely forgotten about them in the commotion.

I guess… I could take one.

She couldn't very well carry the bundle of clothes along with her other belongings, especially considering the distance she was about to walk. Even so, it felt like a waste to just leave them all there, or so was the excuse Rushia gave to herself as she rummaged through the pile.

Despite the sky threatening to become pitch black at any moment, she took her time looking through each article, trying to decide which one to take. Perhaps she felt that whatever she chose would be the last memento of her life in this place, or perhaps it was simply a brief moment of vanity from a girl who had no choice but to wear the same things every day. Whatever it was though, the decision was soon made, and Rushia walked away in silence, a one piece dress tinted in tones of blue and emerald green on her arms.