Apologies for the unprofessionalism. I’m still attempting to get into the swing of things. It is surprisingly difficult starting up a radio--

What was that sound? It sounds as if a crack was reversed? As if something was destroyed into existence. Dreamers there--

THERE APPEARS TO BE A PROBLEM, DREAMERS. IF YOU ARE CURRENTLY EXPERIENCING THE FEELING OF HAVING YOUR LIFE IN THE PALM OF A CHILD’S HAND THAT IS BECAUSE YOU ARE. METAPHORICALLY AT ALL TIMES, BUT JUST THIS ONCE, POSSIBLY LITERALLY.

FEEL FREE TO PANIC AS THERE IS LITTLE YOU CAN DO. ATTEMPT TO PANIC AS STILL AS YOU CAN TO REFRAIN FROM HARMING YOURSELF. CURL UP INTO A FETAL POSITION AND KEEP YOUR TONGUE BEHIND YOUR TEETH. IF IT MAKES YOU FEEL BETTER, REMEMBER THAT WE ARE IN GENSOKYO AND DEATH IS MORE OF A SUGGESTION FOR ALL. THANK YOU.

THIS MOMENT OF METAPHORICALLY LITERAL EXISTENTIAL DREAD SHALL PASS AS ALL THINGS DO.

FOR NOW. THE FORTUNE.

----------------------------------------

Today was not a good day for the Scarlet Devil Mansion.

Her light pink dress had been scorched, the red ribbon on her matching mob cap had gotten lost somewhere, and her blue hair was frayed at the tips. Remilia didn’t even want to think how scuffed her wings were. And that was just the damage to her person. That wasn’t even getting into how many repairs the mansion would need or, and fuck God specifically for this bit, the effort needed to recover the Scarlet Family’s reputation.

Today was not a good day. If she wasn’t the Lady of the Scarlet Devil Mansion, she would say it had been a downright absolutely shitty disaster of one. Unfortunately, she was, so Remilia Scarlet, Eternally Young Scarlet Moon, kept her thoughts unspoken and private and settled for helplessly watching the battle going above her mansion.

The Dirty Little Secret had escaped, and what was worse, was that there was an audience for their failure. That damnable Fool with A Voice had called for visitors bearing tribute as ‘housewarming gifts. While the thought was appreciated and it made her feel nostalgic for the days where the Scarlet Family were Lords in Europe, the timing could not have been worse.

Flandre, her dear little sister, had been… curious ever since the Transmissions had begun. Before, she had put up a token effort to escape, breaking the doors and making a ruckus as she left every so often. Sauya was typically enough to deal with her and Remilia had only needed to be there to apply the seal. If she didn’t know better, Remilia would have said that this was her sister’s way of getting attention.

Her attempts at freedom had been token, but with the transmission… curiosity had taken root, and worse, inspired cleverness in her sister. Flandre had broken free while Remilia had been off teas-- Visiting the miko and done it with finesse nobody had expected. By the time Sakuya had notice, Flandre had already broken several important seals tying her power down and more importantly, her to the mansion’s ground. As it was, the only thing keeping Flandre in the vicinity was the little vampire’s battlelust and the current battle with the Miko.

Down on the ground floor in the gardens, Patchouli and her Little Devil Servant had run themselves ragged, helping Meiling corral the panicking populace, shielding them from her sister’s deadly play. They had attempted to throw up a storm to discourage visitors, but idiots truly were universal and there were fairies and yokai and, oddly enough, a few humans attempting to visit the house when Flandre had escaped. Infuriatingly, none of them had left either.

Flandre escaping from the basement would’ve been bad enough but the audience was staying to watch. Because God forbid that He deigned to give his creations an iota of survival instincts or sense.

The galling thing was that she had to discover all of this from the broadcast. She had been having tea with the miko, enjoying the thinly veiled annoyance as the shrine maiden had to endure the rules of propriety and serve her tea. Then she had heard that a storm had enveloped her mansion.

Holding her spear, Gungnir, loosely in her non-injured arm, Remillia was regretting forcing herself on the miko’s hospitality as the miko was, against all odds, slowly but surely overpowering her little sister.

She did not know whether to hope for the Miko's victory or defeat. Defeat would mean the death of the miko. Flandre, dear Flandre, was a child and had a child’s penchant for destruction and the terrifying ability to follow through with devastating permanence.

If Miko died, Yukari would not raze the Mansion. Razing would imply something would be left. No. Yukari would Gap them out of existence and whispers would be all that remained.

Victory though… Victory could mean the death of her sister. The miko was dutiful and honor bound to her mission, keeping the peace of Gensokyo. Her sister’s power was… was not something that could stand. Absolute, instantaneous destruction was something she herself would have sealed and destroyed long ago if it wasn’t her sister.

...If her sister, her little sister, her monstrous little sister died, she… Remilia didn’t know what she would do. Mad, powerful, dangerous, Flandre Scarlet was a monster, but she was hers and Remilia didn’t know what that meant except she didn’t want to lose.

The Miko, now assisted by the wannabe Witch, had long discarded the spell card rules and was actively attempting to completely and utterly suppress her sister, thoughts of mercy completely abandoned. Flashes and beams of light flared from the witch’s mini-Hakkero as the sky was filled with glimmering scarlet chains of Ofuda and Needles summoned and controlled by the miko.

Her sister, her foolish, impulsive sister was still laughing as she threw power and crushed things with reckless abandon. It was still just a game to her, one that she thought she could still win.

It wasn’t one she could though. In her brief bout against the miko, Remilia had learnt why the Spellcard rules existed. It wasn’t to protect the Miko from youkai. It was to protect the youkai from the Miko. The Miko was skilled and powerful. What really terrified her was the Miko’s trump card, Fantasy Nature. It was not a simple dodging ability. It was… It was absolute, purest freedom. Freedom from anything and everything by becoming one with existence itself.

Flandre’s ability was absolute destruction but even she would find it difficult to destroy all of existence. Reimu Hakurei, Miko of Hakurei Shrine, could and absolutely would destroy Flandre to preserve Gensokyo.

Praying, Remillia drew upon her worthless power of manipulating fate. Manipulating fate was a power every living thing had. It was choices, an infinity of choices built up over time that solidified into what was called fate. Her manipulation was small. She could induce small, simple nudges here and there in the past, present, and future to shift the odds just a bit to her liking. It was so minute to the point where it felt less like fate and more like faith that she changed something.

Kneeling down and ignoring the fact Remilia hated the Catholic Church with a passion, she drew upon that detestfully familiar position of weakness and bowed her head, praying for Fate to change.

As if to spit upon her actions, Flandre’s immense presence grew as she grasped all of existence in her hand. Or, at least, it felt like it. Absent-mindedly, Remilia hysterically giggled at the realization that perhaps Flandre could destroy everything in a single grasp. Her little sister’s power truly was absolute destruction, crushing an eye that embodied things and concepts.

Regardless, she redoubled her prayer, desperation coloring it.

This time God seemed to piss on her actions, having the ever cool and calm Fool with a Voice begin to panic, describing a process for which the lesser denizens, feeling the full weight of Flandre’s power, for which to panic under.. The portion about the tongue was helpful.

...She gave up. Scowling with unshed tears in her eyes, Remilia stood up from her knelt position and crossed her arms. If she were to die, then she would die standing in defiance. How foolish of her to rely on God’s whims.

As the battle reached a climax, a race to see whether Flandre could close her fist faster than the Miko and the Witch destroy her, the fool cried out, “FOR NOW. THE FORTUNE.”

At least there would be good music for the end. Remillia smiled. It was oddly kind of the Fool to choose a song that matched her sister so well. Closing her eyes, she swayed to the music, letting go of worry.

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

...Something was wrong. She still existed. Opening her eyes, she was surprised to find her sister sitting on the edge of the mansion rooftop, swinging her legs freely and without care. Remillia looked up and found that the Miko’s sealing barrier had a massive hole torn through it, evidently where Flandre had escaped from. She was surprised that her sister hadn’t capitalized on the shock that feat had created and killed the duo.

She was even more surprised when the witch signalled to her partner to stop fighting, floating down on her broomstick to hover next to her sister. Clearing her throat, the witch asked, “Are we not fighting?”

“Of course not!” Flandre pouted, crossing her arms with a huff, ”Not when the Fortune’s on!”

The miko sputtered, doing an admirable job of personifying Remilia’s confusion, “But--”

Cutting her off, the witch nodded, “That makes sense, want to get snacks while we’re listening to it?”

“Yeah!” Flandre smiled, “I like snacks. Miss Sakuya makes really good scones.”

“We should have some then,” the witch cackled, turning her head towards the doorway through which Remillia’s maid had just stumbled through. “Cough cough hint hint.”

Maid outfit burnt and scalded, her headpiece just a bit off-tilt, Sakuya Izayoi, her beloved and most loyal servant, battered and bruised from fighting Flandre, did not drawl, something becoming of a Perfect and Elegant Maid, but most certainly replied with a healthy dolloping of sarcasm, “You said cough cough.”

Shaking her head, the witch raised her hands and sighed, “Where’s the scones, Sakuya? You wouldn’t want this adorable little thing to go hungry, eh? Or me? Or Reimu? Or Remilia? Or Patchouli? Or--”

Ignoring the asinine listing, Sakuya looked towards Remilia for guidance. Ignoring her beseeching eyes, Remillia glared back before nodding sharply at her to follow the Witch’s command. The Fortune had somehow gotten her sister to calm down and this witch was capitalizing beautifully on de-escalating the situation, somehow befriending her sister..

Turning on her heel, Sakuya sighed, “I shall get you your scones.”

“Yay!” her little sister and the witch cheered in unison.

Looking around surreptitiously, she saw that the panicking crowd down in the garden had already relaxed and were even… lining up? To give gifts? Meiling was examining each one before handing it off to Patchouli and her servant, Koakuma, to sift through and organize. Evidently using her powers of time, Sakuya had already arrived downstairs and beun setting up tables and various platters of food in a strange parody of a housewarming party?

...Not a strange parody, they were having a housewarming party. Or a welcoming party. Remilia Scarlet was just a tad bit frazzled, forgive her for not being able to remember what type of party this was.

Evidently, the scones would not be ready soon.

Remilia felt oddly float-y, She couldn’t help but giggle at the thought that the scones would be a bit late. Today was… quite strange. She had gone to the Hakurei Shrine to tease the miko, returned to find an audience watching her mansion’s downfall, briefly grieved over her sister’s near-death, and now there was a party going on in her garden.

Oh, and she was still alive. With a surprising amount of nothing lethal to occur in the near future. Remilia had already checked with her power. Double checked to be sure. And then a triple just for ease of mind. It was really quite strange to bound from the various extremes of emotion in such short time.

Off to the side, the miko floated down to hover next to her sister and the witch, dragging a hand across her face, “Marisa, what are you--”

Ignoring her friend, the witch hopped off her broom to sit next to Flandre, swinging her legs in unison with the little vampire, “Hey, Flandre. Why were you doing the whole… splode-y thing?”

“It’s fun!” Flandre giggled.

The miko scolded, “You really shouldn’t--”

Cackling, the witch cut off her friend, “I getcha. It’s like fireworks and Danmaku.”

“What are those?” Flandre asked, wide-eyed in excitement.

“Fireworks are big explosions in the sky! Colorful ones!” the witch mimed explosions with her hand, blowing through her mouth great *wooshes* to mime. Throwing an arm around Flandre to pull her into a one armed hug, the witch winked as she madea finger-gun and mimed shooting, “Danmaku’s that, plus fighting!” trailing off, she muttered, “...I’m sure if we rigged some fireworks though, we could have a danmaku battle with fireworks.”

“Ooh! I heard about fireworks!” Flandre clapped her hands, “Do some now!”

“It’s not the right time for that! It’s the best at night, ze~” the witch cackled before grinning madly, “We could do Danmaku though.”

Remilia had been slowly finding herself calming down, metaphorically attaching herself to the world again. Upon hearing that suggestion, she found herself literally and metaphorically falling down in despair. The witch had been doing so well too. Why in God’s shitty asshole would she suddenly turn Flandre’s attention back to fighting?

“What’s that?”

Ignoring the frantically shaking heads of herself and the miko, the witch answered, “It’s a game, me and Reimu made up.” squeezing her sister in for a tighter hug, the witch booped Flandre’s nose, causing her to giggle, “Only rule is that you don’t do anything permanent, so you can’t do the splodey thing. No killin, ze~?”

“But the splodey thing is the best part,” Flandre pouted

The witch nodded in understanding, “Making stuff explode is really cool, yeah, but you can only do it once though. No replayability, ze~”

“Huh?”

Looking down, the witch smiled softly, a contrast to her previous madcap grins. Her voice softening, the witch explained with a surety and certainty that was out of character from her usual demeanor, “The best part about Danmaku is that you can always do it again. Win, lose, tie, you can always do it again. Make better spell-cards, be flashier and prettier, fight better next time, Danmaku is all about expressing yourself to your opponent! It’s showing off and being flashy! And it’s always going to be better the more times you do it.”

Eyes sparkling, Flandre clasped her hands to her cheeks, “That sounds cool!”

“How about me and Reimu show you a match after we eat?” the witch patted Flandre’s head, “Me and her fight to show you how it’s really done. And then we help you make Spell-Cards!”

Watching her sister bounce in excitement, Remilia couldn’t help but smile as her sister had a positive interaction for the first time in… centuries. Frowning, Remilia grimaced in guilt as she realized that, yes, Flandre had been locked in the basement for centuries. ...In her haste to protect the world from her sister and her sister from the world, Remilia realized that she had imprisoned her for centuries.

...How many of those had she visited? Remilia looked at the witch hugging her sister so casually, so easily and found herself jealous. Jealous of a human.

Undeserved jealousy because Remilia couldn’t even remember the last time she tried to even speak to her sister, initiating an interaction. Every previous time had been her sister trying to attack her, but… was that not her sister simply trying to play with her?

Roughly, dangerously, but every time Flandre had escaped the basement, she had tried to find Remilia first. She could have left, could have escaped, but… Flandre still tried to reach out for her. ...And the only time she got to see Remilia, Remilia was sealing her away.

Not sighing, Remilia didn’t deserve to grieve over a mistake of her own, the Scarlet Mistress of the Manor turned to quietly leave, planning to walk through the mansion’s floors by herself to join the garden party. Perhaps Marisa could be a better guide than herself and Remilia could use the silence.

She paused when she heard a soft voice hesitantly ask,“Can Remillia help?”

Turning around, Remilia looked at them sitting at the edge and froze when she realized the witch had twisted her head around and was watching her. Remilia couldn’t help but be thankful that Flandre was still looking down at the garden, and more importantly, away from her sister’s shame.

Eyes meeting, an unspoken conversation was started between the Mistress and the Witch. It wasn’t much of a conversation as Remillia was… scared of what she was in the human’s gaze. Was she being judged? Or was she judging herself with the human’s eyes as a reflection?

Things thought, things unspoken, things inferred, it was a strange communication that they had for the briefest of moments.

Then the witch broke off the gaze first, giving Remilia a strange mercy. Looking at the head of her sister who hadn’t noticed the interaction, the witch grinned, “You’ll have to ask her, ze?”

Twisting her head around, Flandre looked at her with her eyes mostly clear of madness, a first for them in how long? Looking down at her hands, down at the garden party, up at the miko, side to the witch, Flandre fidgeted for a bit before wriggling out of the witch’s one-armed embrace and walked towards her sister, hands behind her back.

“...Do you…” Flandre looked at her feet, kicking them and shuffling a bit, “Do you want to make spell-cards together?”

Swallowing thickly, Remilia opened the emergency fan she kept on her person to hide her expression and said with surprising poise, “Of course, I will.”

When she felt a pressure around her neck, Remilia almost attacked, defending herself. Instinct built up over centuries almost forced her to retaliate, pushing her sister away to gain space.

Almost.

Biting back her fear, Remilia returned the hug. It would take a long time to repair, no, to build up a relationship again with her sister, but somehow, the madness and ecstasy of destruction had alleviated from dear Flandre and Remilia would fight herself and her own instincts if it meant she could have a sister, her true sister, once again.

“Why don’t we go down and join the party in the garden?” Remillia murmured, “I’m afraid Sakuya won’t be able to make scones as we have impromptu guests, but she will have some excellent dishes for us to sample from.”

“New people!?” Flandre squealed, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Remilia smiled softly, “Do not hurt them! We are the Scarlet Family and we must uphold our hospitality and reputation well.”

“Basically, don’t splode them, ‘kay?” the witch chimed in “They can’t play as rough like us, ze?”

Nodding, the former Dirty Little Secret jumped off the roof to glide down, trailing behind an, “I won’t!”

Letting the cool wind blow over her, Remilia didn’t know why, but today suddenly felt… remarkably good. It had not been a… Remilia blinked as she realized something important. She was the Head of the Scarlet Family. No one else could command her. Funny how she forgot that. Smiling to herself, Remilia freely admitted that today had been an absolute shit day, deciding that propriety could go fuck itself today. Today had been the absolute worst. A fuckup of epic proportions of which God Himself wished he could visit upon her.

Also Fuck God. That felt remarkably good to mentally acknowledge. Remilia resolved to do that more often.

It also felt like a day to try new things though.

And first things first, gratitudes were to be admitted.

Facing the witch, Remilia inclined her head, “Thank you, witch.”

Acting like the country hick she was, the witch rolled her eyes, “I have a name, you know, ze~”

Cocking her head, the Vampire Mistress couldn’t help but smile at the witch’s brazenness, “So you do.” Shaking her head ruefully, Remilia Scarlet curtsied towards a most extraordinary Ordinary Witch, “Thank you, Marisa Kirisame.”

For helping defend her mansion. For helping calm Flandre down. And for showing this silly vampire that it was still possible to connect with her dear little sister.

“All’s in a day’s work,” Marisa waved her off, “Just let me borrow some books.”

“The Library is Patchouli’s domain,” Remillia rolled her eyes, finding delight in such a hick way of sarcasm. She should really try out more plebeian ways of communication if such an act felt so light and airy.

Stepping off and spreading her wings to glide down and join the party as Mistress of the Mansion, Remillia called back, “...But I will turn away from a few thefts every now and then.”

“I’m only borrowing them,” the witch refuted with a huff. Summoning her broom to her hand, Marisa sat side-saddle upon it to drift down, pumping a fist, “Still! Awesome, ze~”

Muttering, the Miko, or Reimu Hakurei, Remillia supposed, followed along obediently, drifting like a sad Ittan-Momen, “...You know what? Forget it, I just want to bring home some leftovers.”