Chapter 87: The Common Ending was the Bittersweet

“A play?”

“I’d like it if you all attended,” Eufemia said, “It’s tonight, at seven. Is it too short of a notice?”

Eufemia was unusually polite for her invitation, but performance was one of Eufemia’s genuine aspirations. She had taken to it as an outlet for her talents in persona manipulation, which had also manifested magically.

“Of course, I’ll go.” Nara said, “I love performances.”

“We’ll all go,” Sen said, his tone supportive and with a slight hint of pride, perhaps. Performance was an important part of Sanshi’s culture. Anything competitive was, and performance was one of the many ways for ordinary people to win an essence.

“John?” Eufemia said, peeking at his expression, “I want to hear it from you, personally.”

“Who are you kidding? I would love to go!”

Encio cracked a smile, “I’ll be evaluating your performance. Maybe you aren’t as proficient as you claim, Eufemia. I haven’t been impressed, yet.”

“Oh, just you wait, young duke. You want to bet?”

“Bet what? On my appreciation? You don’t think I’ll lie?”

“A fancy noble like you won’t like over something like this, will you? It’d besmirch your honor.”

They both knew that Encio didn’t care to uphold his honor, that was more Sen’s ideal nobility, but Encio played along.

“Very well, let the show begin, Eufemia.”

Encio of course, expected to lose. This would be a loss he was happy to take.

*****

The theater Eufemia was performing at was smaller and humbler than Sanshi’s premier concert hall. It still stood out from its surroundings, obviously a venue for entertainment than a typical commercial or residential building.

The tickets to the playhouse was far cheaper than what those of the performances in the Sanshi Concert Hall commanded. Nara had never actually paid for a ticket there either; She visited as Redell’s guest on his patron membership. Redell, as a musician himself, occasionally performed at the Concert Hall. His gold rank and status as a high priest warranted too much attention, so he mostly watched from his private room along with any guests he invited along.

Nara realized with a start that even she, an iron ranker, could easily afford the patron membership, largely helped by the dual looting capacity of their team. Any other active iron ranker should be able to comfortably accomplish one of the smaller patron tiers.

Any other activity that had a patron membership, the crafting complex had it. Before Nara had even asked, she had been added as a guest to every single membership of the crafting compound. She would show up to some fun new performance, only to be guided by an attendant to a private room like they were directing a lost child to the place they belonged. Either the crafting compound had provided an image of her face, or the businesses made it their policy to know the face of their VIPs.

Eufemia’s theater group was a hobbyist group made mostly of core users; retired, semi-active, and active adventurers; or students and apprentices still in training.

The theater hall was invitation only, and the cheap tickets was only to recoup the costs of rituals used to create magical effects for the performance. The wealthier members contributed coins to the hobby group, and the younger members were allowed to participate without paying.

In some ways, Eufemia was a patron of her theater group. In her journey with John from Nekroz, the two had to be frugal, scraping by to save for transportation. Compared to Earth, general long-distance transportation was far more expensive for ordinary people. Not completely unaffordable, but to make their trip as short as possible, they had to save as much as possible.

The dress was semi-casual. Nara looked over at John, wearing a dress shirt, slacks, and a casual suit blazer—an outfit as close as he could get to typical modern Earth dress. With his new youthful appearance and mildly enhanced beautification, he looked more like a young businessman.

“What is it?” John said.

“Nothing.”

“What is it?” John said, “You’ve been staring.”

Nara made an incredulous face. “You’re in a fantasy world, and you’ve commissioned a tailor to make custom-fitted dress shirts and slacks.

“I look like a walking-talking cultural appropriation while in a robe.”

“There’s no British Empire here.”

“Even worse. I’d be appropriating cultures across dimensions.”

Nara tried to read his expression, but she was already lacking in social intuition. Was that simple stone cold British humor?

“…are you being funny?” she asked hesitantly.

“It you found it humorous: I am. If you did not, nooo, not at all,” he said, completely deadpan. He waited a moment, then his face split with a wide grin, crinkling his eyes where happiness had etched crows feet before essences smoothed his wrinkles.

Nara grinned.

*****

The group entered the theater, presenting their tickets to the apprentice that temporarily served as the usher.

Theater and performance was popular enough in Sanshi that normal could make a real living with it. Famous performers could afford even the expensive essences, if they didn’t have a set already.

(Although, it was nowhere near the amount actors of Hollywood were paid. Sanshi pay was more middle ground, with a greater number of performers earning a nice living, and only a few earning a spectacular amount. Enough wealthy patrons and wealth would trickle down. Or rain down, as tips for a performance well done.)

Nara didn’t like the seats provided, so she stored the one in her seat and conjured her own, impossibly comfortable chair, earning a mildly disapproving look from Sen. When other essences users did the same, removing the provided chairs and placing them in a dimensional storage box at the side of the theater, Sen could only sigh in resignation.

Performances were largely written by normals, with a few written by hobbyist essence users. Thus, their grasp of essence user culture and the breadth of their abilities was rather weak. Plays stuck to more grounded themes, except for reenactments of grand battles, most famously the plays depicting Sanshi’s establishment. Essence users in plays were depicted as those with great power, without delving into ability details. Certain royal families permitted even satirical depictions of their families, while others did not. In general, the Shian Union did not care, allowing reenactments and satirical plays. To those of the Shian Union, if your reputation was low, you deserved the ridicule.

Just to be safe, playwrights would often use real kingdoms and families but use fictional names, although it could be guessed who the characters were based off of. Even in Erras, ‘This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental’ applied.

The play was named Of Blood, Thorns, and Roses. A princess of a ‘fictional’ kingdom abandoned her position, running off with a little known iron rank palace guard apprentice she had fallen in love with. She had a fiancée, but did not love him, choosing to run off with her lover. She was young, barely an essence user herself. All members of royal families became essence users as soon as they were able, regardless of whether they trained to become a combatant. The benefits were just that great.

She and her lover sired a child, at first, their love with strong. But slowly, the mother fell out of love. She missed the privileges royalty enjoyed, and her lover was not a very good adventurer, missing the majority of the training that the royal guards would have provided. They lived rather poorly.

The mother was at fault too; a young woman that had been spoiled all her life could not properly support her lover as his partner. While she had essences herself, she had no real life skills, and did not exert herself to learn life skills. What she learned was too little too late.

The husband died in the midst of a contract. Iron rank had the highest mortality rate of adventurers, when they were still physically weak, and mistakes were common and costly.

The mother returned to the palace, her young child in tow.

The child was illegitimate, but illegitimacy wasn’t a particular issue in Erras. Unmarried high rank royalty often had many lovers, some of which they may choose to have a child with, with the consent of both partners.

The young princess grew up treated politely and with gentle affection, and enjoyed all the benefits as a member of the royal family. However, the person she most wanted affection from did not give it to her. Her mother saw her child as an ugly stain in her life, a choice she had made in ignorance and childishness: A failure of her duty and lineage.

Eufemia, playing Princess Elissa the returned royal, had married her original fiancée. She felt that her daughter, Lorine, would interrupt her new budding relationship with her new husband, Duke Alois. A reminder of her thoughtless betrayal.

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However, Lorine was treated kindly by Duke Alois. His unconditional love and affection dug at Lorine’s heart, a resounding ache of her of what her mother would not give.

She sought companionship in one of the apprentice chefs within the palace, a kind lad named Cheney. He treated her to handmade delicacies when she was feeling down, enjoying snacks and conversation together in the quiet recluses of the palace.

Lorine came of age, and she was assigned a fiancée, the son of a powerful family within the Kingdom, a young man named Regis. Regis was friendly and polite, and regularly visited Lorine, but he could not compete with the bond that Lorine had already forged with Cheney.

One day, Elissa spotted one of Lorine’s escapades with Cheney, and she realized Lorine faced the same decision she once had.

“Lorine,” Eufemia said, voice thick as suppressed emotions churned darkly beneath her carved expression, “my dear daughter.”

“I’m not your dear daughter, mother. Since when have you ever treated me dearly?” Lorine’s bit out bitterly, “You cannot claim such a privilege now.”

“You do not understand the choice you are making.”

“I know, here, my life has been determined for me! You had chosen your own fate, why can’t I?”

“It will end in tragedy,” Eufemia said, voice rising with authority, with knowledge, “What skills do you have? What have you made of yourself?”

Lorine scoffed. “I’ve heard your story mother. Your mistakes. I’m not like you mother. I can cook!”

Eufemia scoffed back, just as righteous, her attitude unfortunately inherited. “You can cook?” She swiftly grabbed at Lorine’s hands, turning them over. Essence users would not develop callouses, an inaccuracy of the play: “Look at yourself. These delicate, unblemished fingers. Tell me, what does your little lover’s hands look like?”

Lorine scowled back at her mother, but Eufemia gave her no chance to continue. “What do you do, stir the pot while your lover does all the hard work? The ability of two men while you stand around praising his skill and enjoying his exertion? Do you think cooking is easy? That you can do the same thing your lover has spent years perfecting?”

(Nara thought, after all, a princess cannot understand the madness of a line cook. At worst she had worked a concession stand; She never wanted to clean a greasy hot dog roller again.)

“You don’t understand me, the effort I’ve put in!”

“Oh, I know, daughter. Do you think none of us see you frolicking in the gardens with your cute friend? Do you know he returns later at night, while you are asleep and comfortable, to practice his skill that he could not with you? You distract him. You don’t help.”

Lorine flushed, her face a mixture of fury and embarrassment.

Eufemia searched her daughter’s eyes, seeing the mix of rebelliousness, sadness, bitterness, and longing.

“My daughter,” she sighed, releasing her daughter’s hands gently, which limply fell to her sides, “Lorine, I will help you.”

Lorine looked up at her mother, her eyes murky whirlpools of confusion, wariness, and hope.

Elissa’s relationship with Lorine had already been ruined, with her own hands, as she had done before with her future with her first lover. Her passiveness, her willingness to be spoiled, to stand back and watch.

She did not reach forward to caress her daughter’s face. She could only love her in the way she wanted to have been able to with her dead lover, by offering her support.

“Lorine you are royalty. You have learned much, of governance, of political relationships, of economy. This will not help you. You do not have the ingenuity: I know this. Master a skill. Any trade. Seek it, the family will not deny you. If you can achieve competency, I will ask that they all let you go, that your engagement with Regis is called off.”

“Otherwise,” Eufemia leaned in, almost imposing but her expression and voice was suffused with tones of melancholy, “Your story will be the same as mine. Remember this, the only genuine advice I can offer you. As you’ve said: You know my story.”

Lorine flinched from her mother’s knowing gaze.

She leaned back with a bitter smile. “Then you know this advice is not given in ignorance.”

There were several inaccuracies in the premise. For one, even essence users that intended to become administrators in powerful families were given basic combat training at a young age. In Erras, combat (personal) power was political power. Royal families could not do without. In most royal families, the throne could only be inherited upon reaching gold rank, and that was the least of the requirements.

For adventuring families, to achieve gold rank was to become a cornerstone of the family. For smaller families, even silver or bronze was enough.

Of Blood, Thorns, and Roses was a poignant play with many endings. The most common and popular ending was the bittersweet—Lorine could not achieve competency to her mother’s approval in any area and eloped with Cheney anyway. Cheney was a great cook, having completed his training compared to Elissa’s dead lover. However, Lorine felt stifled in their small house within the city. She longed for the delicacies always within reach, the sprawling palace gardens, the spacious halls of architectural artistry, and the libraries shelf-to-shelf with rare tomes.

Like her mother, Lorine had grown up spoiled, and struggled to adapt to the ordinary life that most lived. She did eventually adapt, settling into a normal life as an ordinary civilian.

Cheney had a safe profession and earned enough for a stable and uneventful living. Lorine worked too, as a low-level government office worker. The literacy rate in Erras was moderate (not as tragically low as medieval ages, nor as high as 1st world countries), and Lorine’s ability to read, write, and organize information—much like John—had monetarily valuable applications. As her life stabilized, the two could afford a nicer house and fun outings, but Lorine felt herself still drawn to the splendor of high society.

Cheney and Lorine had been together for over thirty years, and she had a daughter and a son. Without the money, they could not rent a birthing pod from Fertility, having to suffer the toll of pregnancy twice, even if the physical effects were later magically healed.

It was their thirty-fifth anniversary, and Cheney and Lorine had purchased tickets to the city’s main performance hall, enjoying the performance together in the lower seats.

Lorine did not know what had compelled her, but she looked up to see her mother in one of the box seats, high above her. Her husband was with her, along with two children, a son and another daughter.

There she was, pristine and unageing, dressed in royal fineries and luxurious jewels. Noble families had the capitol to raise all of their family members to silver rank through monster cores.

Elissa’s beauty was preserved, like a rose that never wilted. That which should have been fleeting, a breath of spring, never drifted to winter.

Lorine hand subconsciously reached for her face, the wrinkles that had begun to form. Her own mother looked younger than her.

Elissa never looked down to notice Lorine, although a silver ranker definitely would have noticed. Another inaccuracy of the play, a reflection of Elissa’s disapproval, or a statement that she had already moved on from her daughter when she had ignored the condition set for her?

There was no narrator to voice Lorine’s thoughts. Did her mother’s appearance foster regret within Lorine? Was it a steadied acknowledgement of her own choice, choosing her love over a life laid out for her? Did she long for a reconnection with her father-in-law and the palace staff, which had treated her with affection?

Lorine made no attempt to contact her mother.

Perhaps both found resolution in their paths. Lorine’s story had not ended the same as her mother, raising two children in a loving family, even if her beginning was a struggle, she had managed to avoid her mother’s mistake of waiting passively, and the unfortunate separation of death. If nothing, she did learn that. She may still miss the luxury of royalty, but would make the same choice, knowing what she must give up.

Elissa was content with her own duty and new love. Not nearly so passionate as the one she had as a young princess, but steady and respectful. She had offered her daughter a hand, and she had rejected it. She wasn’t a good mother, but to her, she had done her duty to her. She let her past finally fall away and raised her new children with strict attention.

The audience stood up, uproariously cheering and applauding. Spirit coins were tossed up onto the stage as compliments, a couple of gold coins from rich members glinting past. The coins would later be split between the apprentices and auxiliary staff as a bonus. They were all paid by the patron members like Eufemia, but nobody turned down a bonus.

Nara had been sucked into the play the entire length. She realized she had not even looked over to the rest of the party to see if they had been too.

Eufemia was brilliant. Lovestruck princess turned regretful mother turned noble duchess. Nara cheered loudly: the idiot friend in the stands that made you embarrassed when they screamed your name.

“Eufemia! That was awesome! I really enjoyed it.” Nara said, praising Eufemia in excitement.

“I am an awesome actor,” she said, eyeing Encio expectantly.

Encio smirked, “I didn’t know you were so looking forward to my praise.”

“Give it. I’ve been waiting.” She held out a hand, like praise was something physical to be given out and passed around.

“You are a brilliant actress.”

Eufemia threw her arms out as if basking in the moonlight, “I am brilliant.”

“When you’re not covered in monster guts,” John said.

Eufemia raised her chin up, defiant, “Even when I’m covered in monster guts.”

“A woman covered in blood is definitely someone’s kink,” Nara said rather thoughtlessly.

John stared at her.

“What? A powerful woman is attractive.”

“She’s not wrong,” Aliyah offered her surprising support, “Powerful women are very attractive.”

Sen eyed her warily, as if attempting to glare was to instill public decency into Aliyah so she’d not pin Eufemia to a wall and traumatize a child.

Aliyah rolled her eyes. I’m not going to do that.

“You were very in your element,” Sen said, breaking eye contact from Aliyah once he was assured she’d be PG-13, “It was a high-quality performance.”

“Did you make a recording?” Eufemia asked Nara.

“Yup. One for me, in the language of my word, and one for you, in the language of the Shian Union.” Nara placed a recording crystal in Eufemia’s hand.

“Thank you. I want to show my father…and my mother. If I get the chance.”

“When you get the chance,” Sen said confidently. “You will.”

When Sen said it, with his odd charisma, it felt like prophecy.

Eufemia smiled, quietly grateful.

“By the way, what are the other endings?” Nara asked Eufemia as the group walked back to their respective apartments through the night.

“Oh that? We were debating which ending to perform and went with the classic one in the end. The next popular ending is the romantic rose ending.”

“This ending wasn’t considered romantic?”

Eufemia smirked, “Regis works hard to win over Lorine’s heart while she’s training. His persistence and his thoughtful gifts causes Lorine’s heart to waver between the two. Lorine realizes she’s like her mother and enjoys the privileges of royalty too much to elope. With a man that loved her, the decision was made easy.”

“Cheney was kicked to the curb, then.”

“He’s a commoner apprentice. If this was realistic, everyone would have told him to shut up and not ruin a good thing. He’d be given a generous sum of hush money and a recommendation to a fancy restaurant within the capitol, fulfilling his dreams as a professional chef. Lorine would finish her training to prove to her mother she isn’t incompetent and works as an administrator for one of the royal family’s businesses interests. The two begin to mend their relationship, and the royal family enjoys the benefits of a union between one of their princess and a powerful noble family within the kingdom.”

John frowned, “Rosy and sickeningly sweet.”

John was an optimistic guy, but he liked nuance in his entertainment. For his children, he’d give them the sweet ending. It was what he was striving for now, a tearful yet joyous reunion.

Eufemia laughed, “That’s why it’s unpopular. Avid playgoers think it’s unrealistic.”

“And the other ending?”

“Tragedy, of course.”

“Lovely.”

“Sometimes, Lorine dies in childbirth. Or, one or both of her children die as iron rank adventurers. Cheney could end up stabbed in a back alley after returning home late at night, or dead in a monster surge.”

“Elissa wrestles with feelings of regret and guilt over her dead daughter that she held a tenuous and complicated relationship with. Her two children, if their alive, are taken in by the royal family, but Cheney remains an unwelcome guest, especially to Elissa. He was the man that had enchanted and indirectly killed her impressionable daughter.”

“The two children are granted top of the line essences and training, and Cheney sees the world that Lorine had to give up for him. He concludes that he should have let her go, if he loved her. Especially since Regis was as gracious as Alois, treating the two children his own.”

“He sees the two children become successful adventurers that eventually move into their own paths, such as high level guild officials. He’s provided monster cores by his children and is raised to silver rank. He struggles with feelings of depression and inadequacy his whole life, eventually becoming despondent. No longer responsive to them, Alois instead ends up as the loved father of the children.”

“That’s awfully depressing,” John said, relating in some ways to Cheney as a father himself. His wife wouldn’t, but he felt a pang of fear for the hole he had left behind.

“The dead-in-childbirth ending is the next most popular ending, after the classic one.” Eufemia said.

“What is wrong with you people?” John said. “That’s horrid. I know I wanted complexity, but was the next best option really tragedy?”

Nara laughed, “Don’t pretend as if Earth doesn’t have it’s share of tragic plays.”

“The old-English dulls the pain,” John said, “It’s hard to tell whose having a psychotic break through all that prose.”