Adagissimo
Skies painted blue, clouds lay beneath her as she soared through, all that is grim, evil or cruel, slipped and bled from her claw riddled limbs.
Drip, drip, it oozes through, slinking past its scaley coop, down to a sin cascade, droplets turning into a viscous gooe, softly sipping on its contents, she drew.
A final breath, then a scream too, eyes closed and wings outstretched, her pointy horned snout, dipped, to the ground she went, leaving the stars and empty sky behind, in an ocean of tar, she drowned.
Her heart sunk, her mind lay afloat, gliding towards a heaven she could not bring herself to hope, crimson glowy globes, with salty tears they flowed.
Woe is me saintess, woe is me witch of old, all that I dreamt, and all that I hoped, crumbled into ashe, and soon i shall follow too, a final touch is all that I seek, to leave with our fingers adjoined is all that I ache for.
Oh, bird of yore, croaking and weeping, not so dissimilar to a babe latched onto its mother's bosom, weep no more, pity me no further, this heart of mine is set free, free at last.
In hell, we shall reunite once more, may you be rid of your wickedness, and me of my scorn.
And if only for a moment, if given a chance, to share a dance with you again, Ah, how delighted I would be to take your hands.
Perhaps our flame may be lit once more.
Neatly folded clothes, stashed in two woven baskets of jute, reinforced with magic, as is with most household articles of the mansion.
A soft fragrance of lilac invaded her tiny nose, wrinkled and wiggly. She fights a sneeze overtaking her, she fails.
Overcome by a sneezing fit she wonders why she brought up the idea of adding flowers to the washing water in the first place, knowing of how sensitive her nose was, but her sister did enjoy such smells, and perhaps she could live with a little runny nose from now and then.
In an uncouth and not so lady like action, she wipes off her nose with a piece of cloth given to her by her dearest, when done, she pockets her handkerchief, and hooks the two baskets on her wrists, she finally takes off.
The first room she visits, her master's chambers, absent he was, yesterday's morning he fled, again he fled, without so much as word, only a letter forwarded to her sister, Roswell was a strange man, she knew that, from his peculiar make up, his strange phonetic tick, to his odd garments, perhaps such was the price of uncontested magical prowess.
Morning came, his return did not, leaving her sister worried, and her even more, a twinge of wrath gripped her heart, to see her twin trip and stumble about, wobbly legs and shaky hands, it made her worry grow tenfold, and her wrath even more.
He knew of her condition, to leave her in such a state. It made no sense. No urgency could excuse it, and to do it once more truly he was testing her patience.
Her hand went to his closet doors, carefully she stopped herself from ripping the handles off, putting his garments in. She closed it and left his room.
Her left basket is now lighter than before. She headed to her sister's room, quietly she entered.
She gazes about, enamored by its simplistic decor, a small little room, no bigger than hers, occupied by an empty bed, and a tiny cabinet on its side, a closet on the other.
Ornate yet monolithic pieces of furniture, Gusteko styled, squiggly wiggly lines, symmetrically carved on pinewood, she carefully traces the curves on the closet door, delicately she pulls on its handles, putting a pile of clothes in it, she closes it.
Leaving her sister's room, she glances one last time before moseying on.
Giant window panels overlooking the flower garden outside, silhouettes looming under the sappy skies, leave her heart stuck in her throat, envy rests at the deepest pits of her stomach, through the corridors she skips along, daring not to look, even as playful tones and sounds attempt to seduce her ears, she ignores it, she has to, lest she be forced to confront it, lest her excuses run dry, lest the veil is pulled.
The guest's room she reached, a strong stench overpowering her senses came from it, steeling her resolve, she lets out a long winded sigh, then, she entered.
The door opened, and if the earlier smell was unruly, then this was a thousand times beyond it, like a wall of smokey clouds enclosing her in, she struggled to breath through it, a bile of her acidic stomach fluids threatened to burst out of her, sprinkles of tears trickled out of her eyes, she grits her teeth.
A hand brought out to her chest, roughly and violently clutching at her flesh, she needed to breath, she needed to calm down, to close her eyes, to relax her muscles, to keep her hand at her mouth so at to not make any more sounds of struggle, or perhaps so as to not sully this place any further.
With a few more moments of rhythmic and slow breathing, she guides herself further onto the room, not willing to trust her weakening knees, she leans on the wall using her hand, only to reach the bed and unceremoniously plop down on it.
Face down, she lays, feeling more pathetic than ever, bringing herself into a ball, her knees trapped by her hands.
Emotions flow within her uncontrollably, wrath, envy, love, hate, melancholy. They twirl and swirl inside her beaten mind.
Her teeth clatter, then roughly she bites down, locking her jaw as she lets out a soundless wail, envy fills her entire being, her soul, body, and mind.
That day so unbelievably hectic it was, she remembers vividly, how her dearest had woken up uncharacteristically energetic, maybe not in body, but in spirit, to see her so merry and happy, it filled her with joy.
To see that usually serious and strained face, such reserved beauty, only to now have an otherworldly smile be thrown back at you, it made her feel lighter than a feather.
But to know of the reason of it, to know that she, her kin, her flesh and blood, was not what had made her so delighted, that it was some mere stranger.
The man came at the dead of the night apparently, and morning came back her master too, during a lavish breakfast his stay and the conditions of it were discussed and a decision that he would be of help in the mansion but not required to, she couldn't help notice the slight smirk gracing her sister's face with such news.
It made her blood boil, struck so suddenly with an unbearable sorrow, a weight crushed her heart, a cruel mechanical contraption wrapped itself around her ribs, with every breath, every inhale or exhale, it tightened, her bones cracked, her organs bled out, she was being turned into an empty husk, more than she ever was.
She could not live through it, she could not accept it, unable to even face her sister, she ducked through the hallways, waiting, till the guest was left alone.
She saw him, she watched him through the rooms and the hallways, how he talked to all the residents of the mansion his fake cheery facade, how he made them all laugh, it was all so twisted and sick, he was tricking them all, she was sure of it.
So she stalked him, followed him, slowly and uncannily patient, beyond the mansion, and the village, to a spot deep in the forest, where he stopped.
Her hands clutched her mace so tightly, her knuckles turning white, she needed to be rid of him, she needed to, she had to follow him, his smell, his stench, it was all the evidence she needed.
Almost delighted at the revelation, she was given a chance, an excuse, no, a valid reason to kill him.
She need not excuse herself anymore. It was for her sister to keep her safe, not out of jealousy, not truly, but out of care and worry, he was a thr-
"Is this far enough Rem?" He said to her.
Slightly startled, she walked out from behind the bushes, standing a few feet next to him, weapon in hand, and patience running out. She should probably have guessed that he knew of her following, but she cared not anymore.
His lips thinned at her silence, then a small curve that could not quite be called a smile graced his face. He let out a whisper, "Some things never change."
She paid no attention to his mutterings, deciding on ending this as fast as possible, wrath making her horn unravel more easily.
Throes of envy fueled her, leaping forth, she gave away any notion of reason, instincts took over, her mind blank, and light turned to darkness.
Suddenly, the scenery changed, disoriented, she knew not up from down, trees towering even higher than before, cold and wet dirt was made to be a bed for her, as she lay flush against it, a familiar wand brandished infront of her face.
Alarm bells ring loudly inside her mind, her very own sister, straddling her incapacitated body, aiming a staff towards her, struck with the unimaginable reality, she gazes around searching for an answer.
Not so far from her lay a man, seated on his knees, lacerations all around his body, but alive still, his head arched towards the sky, his face looking more dead than alive.
Droplets of liquid hit her cheek, it was blood, trickling down from the staff, her sister's blood, her eyes bulged at her disheveled state.
What happened? What caused this? Why couldn't she remember? All these thoughts and some more swarmed her head, tormenting her to no end.
Finally, noting her awakening sister, Ram spoke.
Harsh, raspy, and indignantly tongue-lashing came her voice.
"What have you done."
The moonlight came and went, birds whisled and sang nearby, she heard animals rustling close, the forest slept and came alive with her.
Eyes wide open, mouth slightly agape, she could not believe the memories playing inside her mind, even as she recalled hearing their grunts of pain as they left her on the ground, even as she heard words of worry, from her own sister, directed at another.
A laugh bubbled out of her throat, shaking and grasping at the luscious pasturage beneath her, coarse and gravelly, she cackled, she wailed, she screamed to the heavens above, arms and legs flailing about, then finally beating the earth with her bloodied fists, melancholy turning to wrath, untill all of it is muddied, and much like rainfall, it seeps to the soil, and apathy takes place in her heart.
Oh, how pitiful, losing one's sister to a devil in disguise.
At dawn she awoke once more, her anguish settled not, her limbs achy still and feet filled with blisters, she wobbled through the morning night, supporting herself on the forest trees.
The mansion she reached, her shell cracked, much like a boiled egg, the yoke was wrung out of her, now all that was left tasted bland and left her starved for more.
Molto Allegro
To be or not to be, she has just experienced both in such a minuscule span of time, and she's yet to decide on which was better, thrust into existence with with but a single push, a tiny flower blossomed from the labor of love, her tiny crimson eyes unfocused, lids blinking open and closed a dozen times a minute, living proved to be an utterly new sensation for the tiny creature.
She cried not. It was said that the only moisture staining her little childish body was of the blood and liquids left from her mother's labor. Thankfully, all wiped off and cleaned with slightly dampened cloths.
But the healers around were not so surprised nor worried at her queer Behavior, her father not so dissimilar to her, and his father before him too, were known for their unusually sedate infantile nature.
A thought formed not in her mind, for she too youthful and wisdom starved, but a feeling struck her, an odd emotion that swarmed her developing mind.
Not just one, but plenty came and washed over her in quick succession, pride at how the maids took hold of her and wiped her clean of grim and vile residue, at their wonder and awestruck facial expressions.
An all-encompassing feeling of warmth and unconditional trust as she was laid atop of her mother, she who guided her small face towards her breasts to feast on, with a smile of joy as sweat poured from her slightly wrinkled forehead, even as exhaustion carved her insides out, she remained unequivocally gracious.
Then a slight tingle of fear and deep respect towards the man that towered over her, only for him to bend down and hold his index to her, perplexed, whilst still suckling on her mother's bosom she gazed up towards the giant finger, with a fist she instinctively gasped it, marveling at its giganteus size and its rough and hardened skin, a high pitched squick left her shook and still as a stick in fright.
Tears welled up inside her scarlet marbles, only to hear a quiet rhythmic huffing and puffing of air, she turns to the source, seeing the man she grasped at leaning over with a hand covering his face, and her mother's arm moving in a circular motion behind his back, comforting the tearful father.
A riptide akin to the floodgates of Pristilla bursting open filled the room, cries, shrieks and hiccups reverberating throughout, her father too ashamed to show his unmanly side, hid his face atop of her tiny tummy, softly his beard tickled her skin, as she too grasped roughly at his hair.
The family of three shared a moment of pure bless, though it ended with puffy eyes and sore cheeks it mattered not, and the newborn too cried, not out of fear, nor out of some instinctual need to, but out of the overwhelming feelings.
And she knew not what it was, she knew not what it was called, what that warm burning thing that had resided in her tiny heart, had been, nor what meaning it held, but she cared not, for this was love, and eternally grateful she would be, to be born, to exist, and be given the chance to experience this euphoric sentiment.
To be was the answer she settled on.
"Rejoice, people! A blue blood born! And a girl at that, too, may her beauty rival that of of the sage's lady, may her crimson eyes illuminate the streets of lugunica, and may the dragon be our guardian forever more, by the grace of our lilliputian princess, Emerada."
Parry, burst forth, keep your legs apart, step back, focus on footwork, never swing too wide, never block with your blade's edge.
A tiny crack signified the contact of their swords, a bit of ice chipped off hers, while his stood untouched and pristine, but it was expected, even as she almost perfectly deflected his attack with the broadside of her blade, at an incredibly sharp angle, as instructed, her weapon lacked in structural integrity, a weapon made of ice could not compare to that of metal, at least not at her amateur level.
Right as she stopped his attack, she doubled down with one of her own, a thrust of her own sword, aimed at his midsection and their closeness leaving little to no distance for him to move his own sword.
But surprisingly enough, he improvised, swiftly he side stepped her stab, and with two hands, he made use of the dullness of his training sword and grasped it tightly to forcefully parry and push her own in a rotational motion to her left and above her shoulder, leaving her head undefended.
Panicked and caught off guard, she fought off his shove, bringing her blade down, overpowering his, only for him to step back and her swing to develop fully into a downwards slash missing him, with her blade down, he didn't miss a second in delivering a lethal blow by swinging his sword above his shoulders then down to her pretty face.
Noting her terrible blunder, she struggled to lift her blade up to defend herself while she managed to bring her sword between herself and the arc of his blade, it was in such a crude angle that his blade had little to no resistance and hacking through it and breaking it in half and to keep moving to her visage.
Her eyes closed at that, but thankfully, the blade stopped right before touching her nose, though dull it might be, it does not change the fact that a slab of metal struck at one's face was not a pleasant thing to experience.
"Round four." He called out to her.
His blade back at his side, holding it with one hand and the sheath behind his back with another, slowly he pushed it in till the hilt clicked into its resting place.
She dropped the half blade in her hands, to the ground it went, and in a few seconds, the mana started to fade away, and the ice melted into a puddle.
With eyes closed and her right hand outstretched and opened, she worked on materializing another weapon. Though she has gotten better at it, it still has taken a while to carve her fancies into ice.
In her mind, a whip took shape, something a little less common in the battlefield but still could be lethal with enough force.
But she knew she could not quite make that yet, her ice could not form itself into a rope-like shape, it had to be soft to do that, and though possible it might be, if her hardened crystallized blades could not hold a candle to the most common of swords, then what of a soft snow shaped spine of a whip? No, it just could not work.
But then, a thought crossed her mind, chaines, surely that could work, small pieces of structurally sound ice crystals shaped into place, though it wouldn't compare to a real chain, it would suffice, why sacrifice rigidity for flexibility when one could have both.
In her hand, the weapon started coming into existence, a light blue handle just a little longer then what her hand held into, adorned with a simple circular hilt, though useless for a ranged weapon she thought why not, finally chains came together, woven from ice each one inside another till it was almost three times the lengths of her arm.
She was proud of how it came out, though crude in some parts, some of chains were bigger, and some smaller, but it wasn't too big of a problem, but now she felt like something was missing, didn't it feel a little too light?
She thought of a way to fix it, maybe attaching a tiny spike at the end or a blade, since it was already a little different then a whip, why not get more creative, but then again she was just a novice in using it, perhaps she might risk harm to herself a lot more with that added, so she just went with an infinitely condensed ball of crystal ice at the end of it, it was just a bit bigger than her fist so it caused no issues.
As she readied her weapon, even as her generous opponent kept his sheathed, she was taught to take any and every advantage given to her, so she waited patiently till the familiar clack of wood came, then she striked.
Almost on instinct she snapped her hand forward, the chain whipped and whisped in the air, reaching her opponent at a terrifying speed, with his right hand reaching behind his back to unsheath his sword, he had very little time to defend himself against the strike, forgoing his blade he brought his left hand forward and tilted his head to the side and away from the chain.
The chain wrapped itself tightly against the man's left hand, leaving his wrist feeling ice cold, though a little proud at her strike, she almost let a sigh that she missed his face, but she had not the time as he did not stop there.
Quickly he brought his right leg forth, and with his left slightly bent, his right hand let go of the hilt of his sword and brought forward to tightly clutch at the chain, leveraging his chained left and pulling with his right hand.
She clumsily stumbled on her steps towards him, only letting go of her whip when she regained her footing, but it was too late.
As he pulled her closer, he worked himself into her side then her back, making the chain wrap around her neck and taking hold of the other end with his right, swiftly he twisted himself, his back against hers, the chain crossed on the back of her neck and quickly tightening but with a little slack left, she fit her hand in, barely leaving her room to breath.
As her hand barely grasped at the chain, it tightened even further. Then, before she even knew it, her legs were off of the ground. He bent his body, making her go onto his back and then quickly flipped her over his shoulders and onto the ground with a prominent thud.
Being in the air left knots in her stomach, but thankfully, the ground came closer than she thought, though a little painful. It was a comfort to have their training mark its end.
She stayed put on the ground, staring into nothingness and lamenting on her progress only to hear a small sound of something dropping on the dirt next to her.
Subaru stood over her, taking off the belt tailored to house his sheath and leaving it tumble down lazily on the ground, then working on his left wrist to untangle the chains trapping it.
They've been going at it for days now, and although she has gotten better and better with each passing day, it still disheartened her to lose a fight so quickly so ruthlessly, so one-sidedly.
He stepped closer to her and knelt down, with a hand offered to her, and a gentle but awkward smile, it was evident that her feelings of inadequacy lay in plainview for him to see, slightly ashamed of it, she turned to her side ignoring his sympathies.
A sigh came, she quivered at it, feeling smaller than ever.
"Emilia, you're getting better at it, what did we say about moping about and feeling sorry for one's self."
She knew, she understood it, it couldn't possibly happen overnight, but still it didn't change how she felt.
"I know, it just feels like my piffling efforts have amounted to nothing, nothing at all." Quietly, she responded her face downcast.
His eyebrows arched at her sudden bout of melancholy.
"Piffling? Who even says that anymore, and it's not like it was a fair match at all, if it involved magic, I would've been done for in a few seconds, don't feel disheartened." His jovial response came with a comedic jab at her unusual verbiage, but otherwise just reassuring her worried self.
And all of it sounded so sweet, so nice, but she could not take it as anything but a veil pulled upon her, though not maliciously she understood, but still it annoyed her, that if she were to use magic she would be a match to his skills? As if, his first cloud of yin magic, or just shamac, has proved to be beyond debilitating in a fight.
She remembers so clearly how he was accidentally pushed to use it during one of their mock battles, profusely he apologized later on, and she honestly has not even felt the need for it, but she forgave nonetheless, lest he be drowned with guilt, but that was not the focus, it was how she felt during it, blind, deaf and numb, she was absolutely no match for him during such a state.
But, she's being a brat isn't she? What even was the focus of all of this, to improve? Or to feel sorry for oneself? And how ungrateful of her to take words of encouragement and twist them into something so shallow and hateful, shame on her, if puck ever heard of this he...
No, bad Emilia, she's doing it again, she's promised to be less harsh on herself, she's not one to break them is she? She sighed to herself, and with a smile, she took his offer and held onto his hand.
Thoroughly relieved, he replied to her with a smile of his own, pulling on her hand in hopes of bringing her up, he's once again reminded of the otherworldly elven strength, with a startled, "huh?" He falls down atop of her.
Was she being a little mischievous? Probably, did she care about it? No, not really, she pulled him to a tight hug, bringing his face to her chest and wrapping her legs around his, and her arms around his back.
Laying in their sides, entangled and entranced with one another, she gazed down at her bosom where his head rests, a small redness covered his cheeks, and his once fearsome eyes now opened in surprise, she found it utterly amusing.
"H-hey? Emilia-tan, isn't this a little too close?" Quietly and unusually mute he inquired.
Softly, she giggled to herself, "Each day, you shall grant me a wish for my perilous training regiment, you promised, didn't you?"
He quietly grumbled to himself, "Perilous, seriously who even says that anymore?"
With a pout, she responded at his teasing, "Subaru better keep his words, now I reeeeeealy want you to close your eyes."
And so he did, though obviously nervous and equally excited, but she knew not the extent of that, she just grasped at his slightly sweat stained body and relished in the stillness of this moment.
Her legs moved slightly, trapping one of his between them, she felt tremors pass through him, she ventured some more, her hands, her fingers grasping at his face, he shaked and writhed ever so slightly, desperately holding himself together in her hold.
Finally, her hand rested at his cheek, his face flushed red like a tomato and she couldn't get enough of it, she softly stroked his flesh, tracing his jaw and finally leaving her fingers atop of his lips, they twitched, his eyes almost opening, to stop her probably, she guessed so, with a low whisper she hushed him.
She loved those little moments, this meekness of his that was only meant for her, her power over him, intoxicating it felt, what did it all mean, she's yet to figure that out, perhaps that was the feeling of making a new friend? Or perhaps there was something else? Something more?
But never has she felt so safe, so content, to think that life could be so simple, that she could just lay there like a child on the dirt and ground besides him, holding him.
It wasn't long before sleep took her away.
Beatrice wasn't one for taking interest in watching choreography of any kind, more so of the violent kind, though much could be said of the master's leniency on his student, not that she didn't understand why, that wretched man had a tendency of being terribly obvious on the most asinine of things, like his apparent distaste for the clown, and his carefree attitude on how he knew both the mage and puck.
And it's not as if his leniency amounted to anything anyway, the battle was nothing short of a one-sided slaughter, that even the blank faced oni besides her had to wince at time from the harsh hits delivered to the little elf.
And as it all came down to an end with a reverberating clack of the two wooden clappers held by the Pinkett, the tired pair settled down on the ground pathetically, and both Beatrice and her new maid companion saw no need to stay and watch any further, they both sought a cup of much needed tea back in the mansion.
Forgetting the two beasts in heat embracing each other shamelessly would take something stronger than just tea.
As shameful as it might be, Beatrice can't help but treasure moments like this sitting down sipping on tea alongside the snake tongued maid whom she has grown close to.
And as she looks at the Pinkett and she knows of the many things in her mind as her brows furrowed, the matters with her sister, the mysteries of the raven haired man, and the inconsistencies throughout, and some part of her wishes to help her sort it out too, even she is drowned with questions.
But she shall help not, and for once she was fine not knowing all, she'll humor his obsession with his secrets, that was honestly all fine by her, as strangely as that seems, she was at peace.
Like kindred spirits they both relished in the silence and quietness that followed the harrowing storm known as Natsuki Subaru, for a maidens heart could not bare many encounters with such a man.
Even as she was seated looking over an empty book, she can't help but feel a smile creep up her tiny mouth, her heart no longer cast into a pit of despair, no, she felt quite...empty?
But not the bad kind, not numb, nor emotionless, not a husk or a thing to be used, no, she was content for once? She was glad to be alive, and almost a little excited for what the future held for her.
Damn that man and his way of words, one cannot just light a flame inside her heart again and act like it was nothing worthy of praise.
Truly a good for nothing, hmph!
"Beatrice-sama! Nee-sama! A d-dragon...A dragon is coming!"