In the beginning…
Her heart had been breaking.
Her guilt, and pain over the calamities that had befallen her child were too great to bear, and yet… she had to. Mercia didn’t have any other choice.
Her daughter had lost her memories, and it seemed, believed herself to be another person altogether. Mercia hadn’t been confident it wasn’t simply confusion brought about by Aureliana’s situation, but ultimately it mattered little. Mercia didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, or how to save her daughter.
And it hurt her in unspeakable ways to have to rely on her daughter’s courage in a time like this.
Because in truth, it was all Mercia’s fault. She was the one who wanted to put off the Demonic Grafting. She was the one that wanted Aureliana to bear children first. Her child was a Rank [S] Bloodline, the first Freyhell in history to reach that peak!
That achievement, brought about by all the sacrifices Mercia had made to her own Leveling and Cultivation, was supposed to have allowed her family to sit above the other, non-demonic, nobility. It was her greatest goal in life, her dream. That desire had manifested as her adult-given Talent [Steel Heart Convictions]. The crystallization of her ambition.
And it was that very Skill that was threatening to shatter within her right now.
She had had four children, and now? She had four failures. How awful is that? To think of your own flesh and blood as failures? Mercia was being as heartless as her own mother had been to her, but that cold, angry part of her couldn’t escape the thought. All four of her children had fallen short of her expectations. Of all of her grand aspirations. Another crack furrowed in her convictions.
Mercia deserved to suffer for having pushed them so far, but now she wished desperately that she hadn’t made it her children’s burden to bear. She had shamed and failed her oldest, drove off her second, refused the only possible treatment for Aureliana until she was desperate enough to ruin her own life, and her youngest?
The Seers had told Mercia that her womb would no longer be able to concentrate the Blood enough for another child of high Rankings, but she’d pushed for it anyway. Taken every measure she could, believing there was still a chance, and yet… her youngest, and now last, child only had a Bloodline Rank of [D]. It was unheard of amongst the High Nobility, and it—like everything else—was Mercia’s fault.
She sobbed in Aureliana’s arms, desperate to unburden her soul, but Aureliana didn’t remember her. Telling her the truth would only fuel the simmering anger Mercia saw in her child, and she was already quite aware of Aureliana’s feelings. Mercia didn’t even need her Skills to read the overwrought emotions dancing across the young girl’s features with every stray thought she had.
And if Aureliana knew how much her own mother had failed her? Would she ever forgive me? Mercia thought. Do I even deserve it? However, if there was to be even the slightest chance of turning this tragedy around then Aureliana would have to trust in her. But Mercia would have to do better. She needed to be the mother she should have been from the start.
She should have been using her Skills to indoctrinate her child, and shape the development of her Beliefs to prevent such tragedy. Mercia’s arrogance in thinking she could raise a child without, was her truest failure.
With a sigh and one last trailing sob, Mercia extricated herself from her daughter. The poor girl was almost certainly dazed with hunger—she was staring blankly at the bed table, seemingly lost for what to do. Mercia moved the bed-top tray further away from her daughter, just past her nightstand. Standing up, she stopped to note her daughter’s latest fantasy book and heirloom mirror in the process.
It tore at her to know she didn’t even realize the value it had to her, or her family.
“A… red gem? That was what the red light was? Ugh…” Mercia turned back to see that her daughter, watching her move absentmindedly, was fixating an irate stare at the small mirror. Now what is all this about? Mercia pondered.
On one hand, it was adorable how her daughter’s face scrunched up in childish fury over the object, but on the other, Mercia was at a loss as to what the mirror would have done to have garnered her ire.
“Is there something wrong, Aureliana?” she asked.
“Er… no, I, ah… I just saw a red blinking light when I was waking up a-and thought it was… er, a… ah… you know, it was a…” Her face scrunched up even further as she struggled to say something.
It wasn’t the first time this day that Mercia had seen her daughter struggle with a word, but what truly confused Mercia was that her Skill [Sense the Unspoken] couldn’t pick up on what eluded her daughter.
Mercia had never known that Skill to fail so spectacularly. It was usually a powerful tool to read between the lines of a speaker to understand the context to what they were saying but leaving out. Yet with Aureliana here, it was like the word she was looking for didn’t exist. The best Mercia got out of her daughter was the sense that it was supposed to be a… scrying device of some sort? Did she think it was a modern CSSM?
“N-never mind, I guess…” Aureliana gave up in a huff, and Mercia ran a hand over her daughter’s head, brushing back some of her wild hairs. Her daughter almost twisted away, but stayed still at the end. Mercia appreciated it, even if she could tell Aureliana was only doing it to humor her.
“Thank you, Aureliana. I needed that hug.”
“Oh… ah, y-yeah…” Aureliana looked away, blushing slightly. Mercia got the sense that she wanted to be alone, which wasn’t unusual for an introverted child who grew up with only a few family members and servants nearby.
Mercia sighed a bit melodramatically, the kind that her own mother would have smacked her for, and said, “I’ll give you some time to recover, okay darling? I’ll also have some real food brought up from the kitchens—snacks like this won’t do. If you need anything until then, just summon the Harlot, alright? Do you… do you remember how to do that?”
The look on her daughter’s face was close to outrage at the Harlot’s name, torn over the return of her realization she was hungry, and then ashamedly silent before she lightly shook her head to the question.
Mercia nodded and said, “The Harlot has a manifestation circle just outside your door. If you call for the ‘Harlot’s Horde’ then one of her apparitions will appear, okay?”
This clearly confused the hells out of her daughter and she said, “Harlot’s… Horde? What… what is that?” Why do I sense an image of orcs from her words? Her daughter was, without a doubt, different since awakening. Almost more than just… a new personality.
“The Harlot is this mansions’ primary servant. She’s a succubus that can duplicate herself due to her Skill at, oh… um, actually never mind how she does it. If you need assistance, just call for her and she’ll come to your aid, okay?”
It irked Mercia to speak so plainly, but she was exhausted and didn’t care to call on her Ki to smooth her voice out. She could have used Aura, or other Skills, but… this might be the last time she treated her daughter sincerely. Let her hear her mother without Skills, at least for now, Mercia thought.
Aureliana’s eyes darted back and forth as she processed the information, torn between fury, confusion, disgust, guilt, confusion, and then an odd realization crossed her face, part revulsion and part… intrigue?
Mercia had to resist a frown—she hadn’t thought her daughter would have picked up that the succubus could duplicate herself for carnal activities, but it was clear from her expression she’d either figured it out, or gotten close enough.
Perhaps… letting her read all those romance books had been a poor choice. Mercia had been assured by the Curator of the Brightmeadow Archive that none of the books contained inappropriate content. But if not from those books, where would such thoughts have come to her innocent daughter? Could her new personality be based on one the characters she had read about?
Mercia sighed—it was a mystery for another time. She had far more to worry about then her daughter being aware of sexual functionalities. It just bothered Mercia to have to deal with this when Aureliana hadn’t even bloomed into womanhood yet. She supposed she was only a couple years off from it anyway, so she resigned herself to having ‘the talk’ soon… assuming they made it past the court’s review the next day. She did spend Ki this time to suppress her anxious grimace, lest it confuse her daughter.
Mercia gave her daughter a kiss on the forehead, succeeding only because Aureliana was too distracted between thoughts of disgust and intrigue to stop it, and said, “I’ll be back later after you’ve eaten and rested some more. I love you, Aureliana.”
She got a small grunt of acknowledgement, but hesitated before leaving. She turned, and then reached towards the nightstand. The fantasy book on it was one of Aureliana’s favorites—something to do with a pirate and the retrieval of some wizardly tome. Or was it a romance? Did the pirate instead find the wizard’s apprentice and fall in love?
Mercia couldn’t recall, and made to grab the book before she stopped. Reading it could provide insight into her daughter’s mind, but… with how things have changed it would do little good, she thought. Even if her new personality was based on someone in the book, it would be just that. Based on. It was all a fabrication in the end. A derangement in her mind, turning Mercia’s daughter into a stranger.
So she left it alone, too embittered by the thought of reading it. Instead she grabbed the mirror. Her daughter likely didn’t remember how to use it, and Mercia didn’t trust the way she had been glaring at it.
As she left her daughter’s room, she found one of the Harlot’s instances waiting outside the door. As Mercia closed it gently, the succubus spoke, “Shall I visit the kitchens, Your Grace?”
“Hm? No, Harlot, that’s fine. I’ll head there myself.” Mercia gave a small wave of dismissal and the maid nodded in acknowledgement before fading away into stray motes of Essence.
Leaning against a wall, Mercia placed the mirror in her Storage, and then took a few moments to comport herself. The light that spilled softly into the hallways spoke of the good weather outside, something she’d have loved to enjoy given its rarity in these parts, but she couldn’t bring herself to move forward just yet. This week had been full of sorrows and triumphs in equal measure, and it weighed on Mercia still—today doubly so.
However, before she could finish mustering her composure she heard the door opposite of Aureliana’s open, and a small face poked out. Catella, Mercia’s youngest child, looked anxiously at her. “Is… is she alright, mother?”
Mercia hesitated before nodding solemnly. She struggled with what to tell Catella, as she knew how sensitive she’d been. The poor girl had been traumatized having found her beloved older sister in a pile of self-made gore, screaming in pain, even while unconscious.
Over the last week, Catella had been leaving gifts for her sister, mostly small pillows as the two had a love for them. But she’d grown desperate, loud, and almost violent at times as the situation unfolded. As the end drew near, Mercia had had to banish her from her sister’s room, which had torn at them both.
“She’s recovered from her surgery, but she’s… still hurt. Her mind is… hurt, Catella.”
Her youngest’s eyes teared up before she said, “W-what’s… what’s that mean? Is it like Wounds? Can she be healed… l-like with her heart?”
Mercia met her daughter’s eyes sadly. Catella was bright and cheerful, but not… bright. Mercia activated a few Skills to help recover enough Ki to infuse her words with extra meaning. To help her daughter understand.
She might as well get used to doing it after all.
“She’s suffered what’s called insanity damaged, Catella. It isn’t like other types of damage, darling. It’s…” Mercia hesitated, searching for the right words, “It’s a damage to one’s mind, in a way. Specifically, to their integrity, as a person. You remember the Virtues, right? That Which You Are?”
Catella nodded, remembering with Mercia’s aid. “Y-yes, That which you must be, that which you must have, and that which you must offer. Integrity… that’s one of Virtues which you must have, right? Honor, Integrity, and Reputation… but what’s that mean for this?”
“Integrity is about following your beliefs, what you believe about yourself or the world. Insanity… it twists that. Those that suffer its damage have what they believe in or believe about the world warped. It creates derangements, conditions of madness. Sometimes it’s small things, like…”
“Like Sofu and… tomatoes? Right?” Huh, she remembered that one all on her own. Mercia smiled.
“Yes, good Catella! Just like your grandfather and tomatoes. It seems silly, right? He can’t see them, taste them, or perceive them in any way. It’s because he doesn’t believe they exist. He can’t. It’s one of the derangements he has because of his insanity damage.”
“Does that mean… Aureliana can’t see them either?”
Mercia shook her head, “I don’t know. It’s possible, but unlikely she’d suffer that same condition. Your grandfather cultivated his madness. It makes him strange, and some of his derangements are more… terrifying, but it’s the price he paid to break past the Level Six barrier.”
Catella’s face scrunched up in confusion, but Mercia didn’t blame her for not following one of the stranger, more difficult issues pertaining to the Level Barrier. Mercia would be lying if she said she fully understood it, and no amount of pushing through Skills was going to overcome that. Her own ignorance limited her, as she hadn’t broken past that barrier herself, and had a ways to go before she’d even get there.
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Well, if I ever decide to push past Level Four at all, she thought. She’d held back to focus on her family, and wasn’t sure if she’d grow any further.
Regardless, Mercia continued, “Currently, we’ve identified a few of her derangements. She’s suffering from amnesia, possibly… er, a changed personality, and ignorance of her condition.”
“A-amnesia? She doesn’t… she doesn’t remember us?”
The look on her daughter’s face was enough to break Mercia all over again. Crack. A fissure splitting in her soul, a Talent beginning to shatter. But she couldn’t fall apart. Not right now. It was wasteful, normally Talents were permanent techniques, a power you had forever.
But this Talent had broken already. It was only because of the continuous expenditure of energy that Mercia had kept it together. Functional. Kept herself from slipping into madness. If she let it go, perhaps she could fix her mind. It wasn’t too late. She’d just have to… stop caring about the one’s she loved most.
Power always came at a price.
Her children needed her. Catella needed her. So… she’d just have to draw deeper. Push the price down the road, and pay it tomorrow. She was weak, and vulnerable, but she could go just a little bit further. For them.
Mercia reached down into her Core, and sang. The resonance of beauty gave way with a fluttering laugh and rose up to her, surrounded by dancing fireflies that trailed glittering embers. With it, she drew out a crystalline distillation of pure energy. Her Mana—who she was distilled from pure Essence. It was a precious resource, long to recover, but she needed it now.
She poured her Mana into her Talent [Steel Heart Conviction], and recalled into her mind the image of her family, once whole, hale, and happy, that dream which she sought and sacrificed for, and the power of that belief, that drive, suffused her. Her emotions, tumultuous as they had been, cascaded into raindrops, breaking in an instant against the iron will that fortified itself in her soul. She’d lacked the emotional conviction to draw on her Talent before Aureliana helped her.
Her hair straightened. The bags under her eyes disappeared. All her Fatigue was wiped away, her temporary Status Effects were removed, and even her clothes sparkled from the flux of Essence. She glowed in the hallway like a beacon in the night as the light of determination returned to her eyes, and steel filled her voice and posture. She was renewed, like the start of a new day, and even her Ki pool shot back up, generating an incredible amount of energy in a moment that lasted only a breath’s span.
Catella couldn’t have detected the expenditure of Mana from her mother, she lacked the necessary Skills or energy to power them to the extent she’d need, but likely could have or should have noticed all the myriad changes happening to her mother right before her eyes. Or at very least commented on the radiant glow that forced her to blink.
But… she didn’t. Mercia loved her daughter, but Catella was… well, Catella.
“She has forgotten,” Mercia continued, “but all is not lost, darling. Life will be difficult and other families will target us. The world will be against us for what she has done, but we will carry that price together. Your sister has survived the unthinkable once, twice, thrice over now. We won’t give up so easily, so hold your head high, daughter. Our love and faith in each other will remind her of who we are.”
It was overkill, giving a speech to her own daughter. Mercia could have simply used her Skill [Know My Words] or possibly [Override Understanding] to steer her daughter’s thoughts. But even if she was determined to begin doing so, she just… she knew what it was like to grow up in a home where a parent relied on shaping the Beliefs of their children through Skill rather than their own capabilities.
She still didn’t want to do that to her own children, not if she could help it. No matter how much it meant they failed her… or how much it meant she failed them. Another crack in her convictions, brought about from her continued indecision. Another contradiction. Conviction could not be pursued with half a heart.
Catella nodded sagely, drinking in the words before Mercia added one last part, “Don’t mention the word ‘insanity’ around your sister. She could get… violent about it, okay?” Catella gave one last meek nod before Mercia hugged her, pulling away only briefly to clean the snot running down her face with a handkerchief.
“When… when can I see her?”
Mercia paused to think, and then said, “Give it until tomorrow, okay love? Your sister is having a tough time today and needs to be alone for a while.”
Catella didn’t look pleased, but gave acknowledgement, nonetheless. She also ended up taking the handkerchief with her as she went back into her room, but Mercia was fine with its loss. Catella needed it more anyway, and the scratches on Mercia’s face were mostly healed.
Mercia only hoped that tomorrow would go well. If not, then she’d be holding Catella while they buried yet another Freyhell in her short lifetime.
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“Ah, Duchess Freyhell! I, ah, is everything alright with the young Miss?” The man before Mercia spoke with deep tones, the kind that resonated in his chest like a roar lurking just beneath the surface.
She smiled warmly at her daughters’ Chef as she stepped into the room, but spared a dark glance at the Harlot leaning over a counter suggestively. The maid usually kept an instance of herself in the kitchen to flirt with the Chef, if just out of desperation since Mercia wouldn’t let her feed. At Mercia’s glare, the Harlot made a polite noise, quickly curtsied, and poofed out of existence with a tiny flash of Essence.
“Yes, Chef Duan, she’s fine. Still weak after surgery and from the backlash, but Rahm has assured us she’ll make a full physical recovery.” Chef Duan nodded thoughtfully, understanding her undertones well enough that Mercia felt confident she didn’t need to activate any Skills to drive her point home. He frowned as a few stray motes from the Harlot’s previously manifested form tried desperately to float over to him. He tried to wave them away as they made to cling on him.
Making little progress, the Chef scratched at one of his triangular, orange furred ears before saying, “Errrr, sorry, one moment, Ma’am. I need to clean this up so there isn’t any leakage into the young Miss’s food.” With that, he picked up a clear, crystal-tipped wand to begin cleansing the area of errant Essence. The tiny motes gave tiny screams of tiny rage as they were sucked up and banished from the area. Mercia shook her head in dismay at the succubus’s persistence.
Her indecision wasn’t helped by her uncertainty as to what was appropriate to tell the chef. She debated a few different scenarios, but ultimately decided that given how unstoppably gossipy the Harlot was, there was a good chance that the Chef already knew most, if not all, of Aureliana’s conditions. Just in case, Mercia activated her Skill [Discern Intentions] and verified what she had guessed.
He was currently only concerned because Mercia had come in person—he must have known everything else. She noted she was burning through her Ki rapidly, even after her recovery, and as it would be considered gauche to flare her Aura, she activated her Skill [Preeminent Courtier’s Focus] to cycle the world’s Essence she’d saturated with her Skill use. With it, she began to recover the Ki spent on her Socialize Techniques, and would be recharged in a few minutes.
After the Chef was done cleansing the area—unaware of the help he got from Mercia’s Skill— he said. “If she is well enough physically, does that mean I should stop desaturating her food?” The thought must have finally come to him, and his tail flicked side to side in worry. Mercia frowned slightly, before realizing the Beastkin was likely concerned his tenure at the Freyhell Estates was coming to an end.
“Soon she’ll be well enough to eat regular food, but for now I wanted you to make a meal of only a quarter Essence Saturation. It should be more than enough for her system to process.”
“U-understood, Your Grace. Will that be all?”
His pupils were dilating widely, a clear sign of anxiety as they were normally slitted. Mercia decided to alleviate the poor man’s unspoken fears. “Please do not trouble yourself Chef Duan. Just because she is able to consume Essence now does not mean you’ll lose your position here.”
The light dusting of hair covering his body had almost been standing on end before relaxing at her statement. He laughed ruefully, his bigger belly shifting in the process. “Ha ha, oh, that’s good. That’s good! I suppose I may need to pick up a few more Skills now that her diet’s changing though.” He gave a toothy smile as he shook his head up and down energetically while a hand stroked at his short, whisker and beard covered face, occasionally popping out a claw out of reflex.
Mercia couldn’t help but give a small smile at his joy. She had a soft spot for the Tigerborn, if only because she quietly wished there were a smaller, lap sized monster of similar qualities she could tame. A non-sentient version, of course—she wasn’t an Hovallonian after all. “It may be useful, so if you need funding to seek the training let the Overlord know and we’ll approve of it. Your Profession should be more than flexible enough to handle it.”
The Tigerborn would’ve likely purred had he still the capability from his youth and said, “Perrfect! I will speak with my wives about possibly training some of our children to work temporarily as I pick up a few more Skills than. You know my youngest, Rinrin, just picked up his second specialization?” He beamed in the way only a proud father could. Of course, it was his only son—males of their kind being rarer—so it was only natural.
It was clearly an invitation to insight small talk, which was a bit personal on the hired staff’s part, but Mercia’s husband was strict on the policy that no servant should fear speaking to their master. She repressed her sigh and resigned herself to staying a little longer. Besides she could use the distraction, and in many ways… she was jealous of how he had succeeded at creating a family where she had failed.
“Congratulations are in order then. If I recall, you’d told me before he was interested in one of the Combat Classes—which direction is he heading then?” Mercia didn’t recall all the details, but it was still impressive for the son of a lower Bloodline family to pursue becoming a Powered Core.
The older Tigerborn practically bounced in place as he replied, “He picked up a Close Combat specialization from his work with knives in the kitchen. Combined with his Athletic specialization he’s hoping to become either a Corsair or Skirmisher by the winter! He might really succeed at becoming a Powered Core!”
[Sense the Unspoken] confirmed what she suspected, however. He wasn’t mentioning his son’s struggles Cultivating his Core. He was only on the fast track towards gaining a Profession, which would leave him a Non-Powered Core forever. Unfortunate, but that was the fate of most NPCs.
Mercia hid her thoughts, and smiled in reply saying, “I assume that means he’s looking to pick up a stealth or ranged oriented specialization for his third choice?” Chef Duan nodded and she continued, “if he instead went for a social specialization, he could pursue the Rogue Class.” He might also be able to make connections to get him more than Skill tomes, she kept that thought to herself. It wasn’t her place to tell the man how to raise his child, she would just hint with a bit of good advice.
His eyes widened in surprise at the suggestion, “But isn’t that one of the Genteel Classes? Rinrin was hoping forrr… more of a combat oriented role.” His smile grew sheepish, likely because most Tigerborn tended towards more ferocious Professions or Classes.
Mercia waved off his statement. “It is, but most people fail to realize that a Genteel Class does not exclude combat roles. Rogues may be known for their dashing qualities and winning personalities, but subterfuge and cunning fighting styles go hand in hand with their… lesser known capabilities.”
Duan looked surprised at her information. He wasn’t going to question her knowledge of the more ‘social’ classes, not when she was a Level 4 Courtier and he was only an NPC. “I, ah, mean no offense, Ma’am, but this isn’t… anything to do with the forbidden Classes is it?”
“That’s quite insightful Chef Duan,” Mercia said with feigned shock, stroking his ego, “Yes, there are a few techniques that Rogues use, especially with knives that are reminiscent of Assassins. However, Rogues are a sanctioned Class and are one of the primary roles used to thwart such villainy.” Didn’t the schools teach the lower classes this? Perhaps I need to speak with Constantine about this, she thought.
He looked relieved and said, “That’s good. Good! I’ll let Rinrin know about that option then. His mothers and I would love it if he had more options in his life other than purrre combat after all, and if he succeeds at becoming a PC, then all the better! Maybe it will help him when a squad targets the poor kid, ha ha!”
Mercia chuckled with Skill-created mirth before adding, “Has he been pact-bound into a pride yet?”
“No, he’s still too young for anything formal like that. Perrrhaps in a couple years he’ll be forced into it, but his mothers and I agree he needs time to grow.” He nodded, as though this simple concept were the wisdom of the ancients. Given how aggressive female Tigerborn could be, Mercia supposed it could be a serious challenge to protect their only boy. Then again, Tigerborn familial structures were… better left unexplored for a Demonkin like her.
“Well, I wish you and Rinrin the best of luck regardless of which direction he takes. Until then, I suppose I might see a few of your wives and daughters among the staff while you train?” He nodded, so she continued, “Very good. It’s always nice to have a few fresh faces around. For now, I shall be taking my leave. Please have the food for Aureliana done as soon as you are able as I’m sure she’s hungry.” Mercia flashed a quick [Perfect Smile]. It was forced, but held up.
“As you wish, Your Grace! I think I’ll make her favorite, huzzah!” Chef Duan boomingly agreed as Mercia’s Skill-empowered smile suffused him with renewed vigor. He began to hum boisterously as he set about his work and Mercia turned to leave him be.
She wasn’t sure where she was off to now, but thinking of returning to see Aureliana so soon didn’t seem appropriate. Things were… tense with the stranger wearing her daughter’s face, and in spite of Mercia’s instincts telling her to stay by her child’s side, her more logical mind told her to give it more time. Smothering her child now, when she didn’t even know her own mother, would only serve to unstabilize Mercia’s heart, and Talent, as well as strain their relationship further. Could she even be sure it wasn’t her own guilt driving her forwards, in any case?
Eventually, she opted to visit the Estate’s gardens, and in the light of the evening sun, she quickly lost herself in the weaving, twisting paths as she walked past well-trimmed bushes and flowering beds. The occasional streams and ponds nearby teamed with Koi-devils that popped their adorable, bulbous heads up to look at her. Their scales flashed brilliantly as always in the light, but despite the groundskeepers assurance that they were tamed and wouldn’t bite… Mercia left them be.
They could beg for treats and pats all they wanted, but the damn things could strip a person down to their bones in seconds out in the wild, and Mercia had heard too many stores of ‘tamed’ monsters going rogue. As such, she found it hard to trust anything she hadn’t tamed herself. A small mote of ambient essence floated past her, catching her eye before it was blown away from a sudden, unexpected gust of wind.
Her enchanted hairpins kept her hair from whipping about as a winged guardian landed next to her. The sound of heavy steel impacting the stone walkway rang out, as the being’s dark full plate settled noisily with the landing. Mercia turned to look upon the entity. Their crimson wings flashed backwards as they approached her, long scarlet hair catching in some of the aftershocks of their own breeze.
“Ah, Mercia, I was hoping to speak with you. Is my Master returning today?” The fiery being’s red pupils studied Mercia as she collected herself. She didn’t care to deal with her husband’s familiar, if for no other reason than because the Demon only respected her own master.
Mercia resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose as the smell of dried burning blood emmitated from the creature. “No, Neriah, Constantine will not be back until tomorrow. I’d have thought the Harlot would have let you know, or did she forget to gossip about anything important while you had her chained up?”
It was no secret to the denizens of the Freyhell Estates that both demons… exercised their frustrations on one another. The impossibly beautiful features of the Overlord twisted in a grimace as she spoke, “That whore rarely listens for anything that isn’t exciting to her foul tastes. Still, thank you for letting me know. Also, I have heard your Hellspawn has recovered from her pathetic failure, so congratulations on not birthing a complete disappointment. One out of four is almost acceptable.” She smiled sadistically.
Princes preserve me, thought Mercia. Speaking with this insufferable Fury instigated many a wrathful feeling in response, but Mercia’s poise held. She didn’t care for the borderline derogatory term of Hellspawn or the flippant disregard for Aureliana and her family, but demons such as Neriah were not known for empathy or compassion. She also suspected it was the demon’s way of flirting.
“Thanks.” The smile Mercia gave was not a [Perfect Smile]. She couldn’t manage more than a mangled grimace. “Did you need anything else you overgrown Harpy?”
The eyes of the demon were dangerous as she replied. “No, Lady Mercia.” A few flowers nearby wilted from the heat pouring off from the two of them, but Mercia still had superiority in a few regards. She waved her hand dismissively and the Overlord scowled and flew off. She must have used a Skill on takeoff because Mercia felt one of her hair pins finally give way and a bit of her hair go loose. She closed her eyes and stamped down on her rising irritation before her horns popped out unseemingly.
“Blasted Hellbitch…” She muttered as she flicked her wrist and the hairpin shot back to her hand, glowing with heat. Sitting down on a nearby bench, she fixed her hair. She was unwilling to summon or wait for a servant to do it for her. She’d come out here to rest in the good weather while she thought, and it wouldn’t do for someone to stumble upon her looking even more disheveled then she was.
It was only then she heard the strangled cry of shock from one of the gardeners and looked around to see parts of the garden had… caught fire. She let out a long suffering sigh.
Mercia was having an awful day.
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