In the dark of the night, Isemeine pulled the sheet back again and rose from her chair. It's time, I suppose. She folded the sheet into a small square and set it on her short-lived place of rest with a sigh. Her hands reached up and began to unwrap the scarf that she'd wound around her neck earlier. Its soft, slightly rough fabric came away slowly, reflecting her hesitation.
She held it in her hands, then pressed it to her chest. Perhaps I shouldn't. There's no guarantee my acquiescence will yield any benefit for Carl. She worried at her lip for a short while before she folded the scarf up and set it atop the sheet. The last to go was the tie which she pulled from her hair. She'd donned both accessories earlier, thinking to wear them for one last time before her departure.
Her hand lingered as she held the small piece of cloth over the chair. No, I'll keep this one. She clenched her sweaty hand weakly around the hair tie and brought it back to her side. Surely she'll permit me at least…
She knew that her sister was unlikely to permit her any comforts.
Emma hated her, though she knew not why.
Isemeine trembled. She sniffled one last time, then forced her composure to return. I'm no longer a child. I've led us into her clutches, and it's my duty to accept responsibility. Surely once I've made myself available for her torments, she'll ignore Carl. Please…
She set one reluctant foot in front of the other, moving quietly and carefully towards the stairs. Perhaps she's changed. Perhaps… Perhaps after so much time away, she's had time to consider her actions and temperament. Her feet took the stairs one at a time, both coming to rest on each step before accepting the next one in her descent towards her fate.
And if not, then it's… It's what I deserve. Spoken in ill-humor or not, her name of Devil Princess seems to have been accurate. After being assisted and cared for so many times, I've brought no benefit to Carl. Even the gift I'd planned to give him was forgotten in my excitement to race yesterday. To have my own fun. She clutched the object in her left hand. Not that I was even capable of creating any component of it myself. No, Isemeine Charus never creates anything by her own efforts. She's only capable of using others to get what she wants.
Her vision grew blurry again as she reached the last step, and she paused a moment to wipe her eyes on her sleeve. Yes, this is just as well. I'll not be capable of troubling anyone else so long as I'm under Emma's watchful eyes. She turned at the bottom of the stairs, beholding Carl one last time.
Isemeine drifted closer, listening to the quiet sounds of his breathing while he slept. More tears leaked from her eyes, and she fought back the powerful urge to throw herself against his chest and weep.
To use him once more.
Many were the times recently that she'd fantasized about what her life would be like were she to have a man like Carl as her father. She'd grown increasingly enamored of the idea, even treating him as she'd imagined she would treat a father who had truly cared for her.
She'd used him as nothing more than a manifestation of that fantasy.
Tears fell from the cheeks of the disgusting, scheming girl as she looked upon the dark shape of the man who was not—and would never be—her father one final time. Her lips trembled, but she made no sound. She took the gift that she'd made for him and set it on his chest, where he might find it when he awoke. He was clever enough to discern the item's use, she knew.
She wished she could be there to see what he thought of her idea, but then, it'd only been her idea.
She'd spent no time of her own crafting the thing. She hadn't cared enough to do so.
No, all she'd truly cared for was herself and her foolish pursuits.
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Emma had always known her ideas were foolish. She'd said so on any number of occasions. It had simply taken Isemeine time to understand how correct her eldest sister had been.
She scrubbed at her face again to dry it. On a whim, she leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the top of Carl's head. Thank you so much, Carl. Thank you for everything. I… I hope you'll return to your family without a wretch like me weighing you down.
She looked on for a moment longer, her heart feeling like it was struggling to continue beating under the weight of her anguish. Then she could look no more, lest she begin wailing as she'd done for much of the day, the sheet balled up and pressed to her face to avoid further burdening Carl with her tears.
The fourth princess of Charus Kingdom turned towards the door and shuffled forward. She had no wish to leave, but sparing Carl from her sister's twisted machinations was the only thing she could manage on her own.
It was the only action she could take to prove that she cared.
Her eyes could barely see in the darkness, and she was suddenly glad that no steamcar was present to block her passage.
It'd been such a foolish concept anyway.
She reached the door.
Her shaking hand reached for the handle.
Another tear dripped down her cheek, then another.
She grasped the cold metal.
Her head began to turn back for another look over the darkened workshop which she'd briefly considered her own, but she forced herself not to.
It'd never been truly hers.
She'd only used it.
Before she could have further thoughts, she pulled the door open and stepped through with her eyes squeezed shut.
Isemeine shuddered.
She'd done it. She was certain that Emma would have agents observing the workshop, and it wouldn't be long before…
She opened one eye, then the other.
She frowned, her confusion overriding her sorrow as she looked around.
She was once more on the second floor of the workshop, standing next to her chair.
"What…" Have I gone mad?
"You are treasure, so you can't leave," whispered someone nearby.
Isemeine jumped, clamping a hand over her mouth in order to avoid shrieking.
The ceiling above her opened in a long rectangle, and the dim light of a moon poured through. A small black sphere rolled forward along the floor in front of her. "Hi. I'm Subodiosa, one of Carl's partners in dungeoneering."
Isemeine stared for a time. Has this stone…just spoken to me? She slowly knelt down and grasped the stone, but it wouldn't move even the slightest bit.
"Don't worry, I'll make sure you're comfortable," whispered the stone which had claimed its name to be a Stadalite word meaning 'annoying'. "If you got damaged or injured, you wouldn't be as good of a treasure!"
At last, her mind caught up to her present. Isemeine shook her head. "No, I must depart this place. I—"
"No," the core said quietly, its voice now noticeably that of an older woman. "You will not leave."
"But—"
"You. Will. Remain. Here."
Isemeine stood and rushed towards the stairs, her mind finding itself wrapped in a new turmoil. After several steps forward, she was again next to her chair, having somehow been moved backwards.
"Carl put me in charge of guarding his treasures, and you're one of them," the stone said, rolling closer. "If you leave our dungeon, something might happen to you, and we can't have that. The treasure must be protected."
On that night, Isemeine Charus made the acquaintance of her first dungeon core. She pleaded with it, she attempted to strike bargains with it, and she even employed various methods of trickery in her desire to leave the workshop, but none were successful in the least.
At last, her mind exhausted, she dropped back into her chair.
"That's better," said the dungeon core in an approving tone. "If you need anything at all, you can talk to me whenever you like. I'm everywhere inside the dungeon."
Though she hated herself even more for it, Isemeine couldn't help but feel an overpowering sense of relief.
She'd tried as best as she was able to surrender herself to her sister, but she'd been thwarted, and she was unable to leave the workshop.
At the same time, as she shivered and wept her way through the euphoria that the cessation of her imminent fear brought, she knew that she'd never had any wish to see her sister anyway.
Emma terrified her.
And now, it seemed, she might never have to see her again.