----

All treshna are tresne, but not all tresne treshna.

- An old Anisan saying

----

Aidann de Rella.

The Duke Rella’s eldest son.

Aidann hadn’t been born with the ability to feel emotions, he concluded.

Regret. Hate. Longing. Admiration.

Aidann couldn’t feel any of it. This was a fact.

Of course, he could feel the little conscience tugging at the back of his head, reminding him that, possibly, what he was doing was wrong.

But he never listened to it. It only got in his way.

It started with a dragonfly.

The Rella garden was lush, full of blooming foliage and flowers. Butterflies, bees, and dragonflies were common among the bushes and blooms.

When he was young, Aidann was strolling through the garden, evading his maids, when he saw a dragonfly. Aidann was gifted with natural reflexes, so he caught it. It had been an experiment.

Would he be able to feel pity for it?

He grabbed it with his five-year-old fists. Looking at it trembling in his left hand, his right hand reached out towards the gossamery wings. It was pretty, a shimmering metallic green. Fairy-like wings. Delicate. His fingers closed over one of the thin flaps. And, as easily as he was tearing paper, he tore it off. The dragonfly immediately started trembling more, in pain, or fear, Aidann didn’t know which. After all, he couldn’t feel any of it.

Ah. This is what they call, wrong, isn’t it?

Aidann titled his head at the vibrating dragonfly.

He couldn’t feel a sliver of emotion. It was just a wingless dragonfly.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Nothing more, nothing less.

He was tempted to crush it in his hands. So he did. His chubby fingers folded over the insect. When his clenched fist opened, Aidann blinked.

The dragonfly’s body had crumpled, and stopped vibrating. It was dead.

Five-year-old Aidann had known something wasn’t right.

It’s just...dead.

He was disappointed.

The experiment continued when the assassin came.

The hooded figure had climbed into his room at night. The maids usually kept watch, even during midnight, so Aidann was never alone. He was woken by a scream, on his fourteenth birthday.

Aidann opened his eyes and saw the maid dead on the floor, a figure with a knife over her.

The maid’s face was contorted into a gruesome scream, blood pooling out from under her body. The same scarlet liquid was reflected on the assassin’s dagger, and speckled throughout the room.

Oh. The carpet’ll get stained.

Aidann looked up, into the assassin’s eyes under the moonlight, the figure against the translucent curtains. The eyes were hollow, like a seer of death, but contained confusion at Aidann’s calmness. The scene, complete with the dark bloody streaks against the walls, reminded Aidann of a painting. The stillness, the curves of the artistic lines, even the colors.

I should draw it later.

The assassin was caught later, but his father and mother had gradually realized that Aidann’s behavior wasn’t ordinary.

“Monster.”

That was the word that Aidann heard most, from his parents.

Once, he had run away. To a small town, named Rook.

There, he had met a child only one year younger. A small girl, by the name of Renee.

Of course, Renee had discovered his identity when Aidann had been taken back by the guards. But Renee hadn’t treated him any differently.

Huh. How peculiar.

That peculiarity had driven him to keep meeting with her, to see if the girl Renee would treat her any differently.

She was a test subject, of sorts.

Aidann once had pushed her into a river. Renee had forgiven him.

He kept pushing her boundaries, to see just how peculiar she was. She had fallen harder and harder.

Until they grew up, and one day she confessed.

How unusual.

Aidann had blinked.

He had known from a young age that he couldn’t feel the same love that Renee had for him. Her confession was more of a pet, somewhat, confessing her love. It was intriguing, so he had accepted.

Renee had then burst into tears, and Aidann realized that he was now expected to say words he didn’t mean, to slip on a mask, to be tender and caring. When Renee was sad, he was expected to be there for comfort. When Renee was happy, he was expected to be happy for her.

So that was how relationships worked.

Aidann got better, and better, and Renee fell deeper, and deeper.

Until one day, his father addressed the issue.

“That commoner girl, you’ve been seeing.”

The Duke Rella frowned.

“You should stop. You don’t even feel anything for her. Stop playing with the commoners. Toys should be put away, in the end.”

A pause.

“Alright.”

The last time Aidann had seen Renee, he had made up a sob story about how the Duke was separating the two. Lying really was quite easy. At least, he had thought so.

But this time, she had figured it out.

“You’re lying, Aidann.”

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

How did she know?

“You were never sincere, were you?”

Renee was angry.

Why?

In the end, they separated.

And he was back again. He hadn’t turned over a new leaf. He hadn’t decided to change out of nowhere. He was just...bored? Was that the word? He had nothing to do, other than fight for the position he had little interest in. So he had returned, to the familiar Rook. And he was faced with an angry slap.

And an unfamiliar gaze.

As Aidann embraced the crying Renee, he met the gaze of a graceful-looking administrator. A regal air.

Aidann had always been adept in reading people.

A knife.

That was what the girl reminded him of. An assessing gaze so sharp it could cut glass. A dagger-like aura, that could pierce through everything, even his lies. Dark hair, pale Resilian features. And those eyes...he had a feeling she could tell. She was either of the same kind, or similar - her face was somewhat familiar, as if he had seen her in a letter, portrait, or history book somewhere.

After consoling Renee with another bout of false words, he said he would return tomorrow.

And she did. But, the next day, she approached him, at the gala. The knife.

Aidann was holding a glass of wine, lounging at the corner. He had collected several stares, but he didn’t mind them.

Insects.

“You...are hiding.” Her words were simple, but not.

“You could tell.” Aidann’s voice was cold, emotionless.

‘It’s almost refreshing, to take off the human mask.’

“You hide behind the mask of a human. You’re an interesting person.”

“You are too, knife.”

“Knife?” The girl laughed. “I suppose you could call me that.”

Her demeanor changed, relaxing into a lazy aura that contrasted with the knife-like mask she had donned earlier, but the threatening feeling didn’t disappear.

“A knife, after all, has two sides,” she mused.

She turned towards Aidann, leaning against the pillar like he did, and stared.

Aidann tilted his head.

“Are you going to tell me not to hurt Renee?”

“If you’re going to hurt her, then hurt her. If you won’t, then don’t.” The girl shrugged. She met Aidann’s eyes. Hers were cold. She said, almost to herself, “I’m over the right line right now. Huh."

A pause.

"Interesting. The lines have changed... "

Another pause, and softer, " wonder what I look like right now.”

“You have lines, too,” Aidan observed.

“Mines may be different from yours.” She smiled. “I can cross back and forth, unlike most. I prefer not to deal with people with different lines. Like you. Your lines don’t matter to you.”

“Mmm. I guess so.” Aidann turned. “You can enjoy things.”

“Yes, I can enjoy things,” she agreed.

A pause.

“What’s your real name?” he asked, curiously.

“My current one?”

“I said real,” Aidann replied, sipping his drink.

“My real, or a real?” After observing his irritated expression, she laughed. “Varra. That is my name. But do call me Ingrid Signia.”

“Varra.” Aidann mulled over this new fact.

He reached a hand out, towards the knife...no, Varra. He never liked physical contact, but he felt curious about whether she would actually prick him. Surprisingly, she felt normal. A bit icier than the average person, and a bit coarser than Renee, but normal nonetheless.

Unusual.

He said, shaking her hand, “Call me Aidann de Rella.”

“All right then.” She sipped her wine, withdrawing her hand.

Aidann paused, again.

“You said you wonder what you look like when you cross your line.” He blinked, looking at the sky. “You look dangerous.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Do I look like a knife?”

“No. More like the person who wields it.”

“Huh.”

She didn’t sound offended. Aiming a playful punch at his shoulder, she smiled.

“Good to know. It’s scarier when you know that monsters are human.”

A decision was made in her eyes.

Like she'd backed off.

For some reason, the smile unnerved Aidann.

----

Two years passed since her first arrival.

Commoner Evan would be two years old by now.

It was Novarra’s twenty-first birthday.

Birthdays weren’t anything special here on the Anisa continent, but Novarra wanted to celebrate hers regardless. She had never been a particularly patriotic person, but after getting used to Rook for so long, she wanted to keep at least some Earth traditions.

Like the years before, Varra travelled to the bakery on Ritzer Street that she frequented.

She was greeted with smiles, and ushered in with a warm welcome.

“Is it a custom of Resilia to buy a cake on this day every single year?” the old woman, Ginna, who ran the bakery, questioned. She was smiling.

Novarra treated her well, and vice versa; Ginna was almost like a kindly grandaunt to her.

So she was honest. Or, at least, the closest to honest she could be.

“It’s a habit of mine,” Novarra confessed. “I eat cake every year on the day I was born.”

“Oh.” Ginna sounded interested. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-one, now.” The former heiress smiled in return, transferring her gaze from the old woman’s face to the cakes on sale. Ginna’s cakes were always delicious. She couldn’t help drooling as she looked at them.

‘The honey-peach one? No, I had that last year.’

She skimmed over the mouthwatering peach cake, moving onto a round, e sesame one.

The cake was decorated in a Resilian style, with flaky yet firm crumbs overlapping each other in a flower-like shape, which was coated over a rich, caramel-drizzled sesame exterior. Novarra had a sweet tooth, and after sampling countless cakes from Michelin restaurants as an heiress, she had the feeling Ginna’s cake could match up to it. She was already drooling even more.

Ginna laughed lightly. “It seems you’ve chosen.”

Pulling the cake out from the shelf, she started wrapping it.

“I’ll give you a ribbon today,” Ginna added, “since it’s a special day for you.”

Novaarra didn’t care if she seemed childish, clapping her hands in joy as a golden ribbon was wrapped around the bag, and tied into a knot.

After chatting with Ginna for a couple more minutes, Varra beamed while tugging her cake along.

It had been two years since she’d first arrived in Rook, no; two years since she’d first transmigrated into this world. Two years hadn’t been enough to forget Earth, but it had been enough for Novarra to consider Rook a sort-of home.

What would it have been like if I had been born here?

Without the fights with her father, the two-faced relatives, the luxury she had been born into. Her life had never been peaceful. Every friend had approached her either for her money, looks, or talent.

She had been born lazy. All she wanted was a peaceful life, in a small town, like Rook.

In a way, her wish had been fulfilled. Even if she hadn’t started out that way.

So I had to survive before I could live.

She looked at her surroundings.

Peaceful cobblestone streets, with pastel-colored storefronts and lamps that exuded a simple air, and parents with the children as well as people with their friends. It couldn’t be said that she couldn’t have seen these sights back on Earth, but they were rare. Here, Novarra could relax without worrying about someone being ready to stab her in the back. It was as if a weight had been removed from her shoulders. Maybe her morals had changed, but she was content.

Such a waste of my first nineteen years.

She still wanted to return, of course, somewhat - but her return to Earth had gradually moved downwards on her list of priorities.

She could breathe.

I can breathe.

The suffocating cage she had been in on Earth had been removed.

Novarra could never be herself, she knew - after all, how could you be yourself if you didn’t know who you were? But this was enough.

“Good morning, Administrator!”

“You look like you’re having a good day, administrator?”

“Have a wonderful day, Administrator!”

Well wishes that were sincere, wishes that followed her all the way home.

The vacation house that had been secretly constructed, Novarra realized, was now ‘home.’

Even if the well wishes were to another part of her true self, another part was still herself right?

“Belluse.” Novarra smiled, sincerely. “Let’s sing. Oh, and bring the candle, too.”

Belluse fetched the wax candle, gently sinking it in the middle of the cake. Varra had taught her the words a couple years ago on a whim, and Belluse had sang it quite well.

“Happy birthday to you...”

Novarra had always celebrated her birthday with cake

“Happy birthday to you...”

But she had usually celebrated birthdays alone.

After she turned two years old, Navven had stopped showing up.

“Happy birthday, dear Novarra...”

Novarra was still human, most of the time.

She teared up, which caused Belluse to halt the song in worry.

“Your Majesty, are you alright?”

Novarra finished it herself, “Happy birthday to me...”

She was twenty one.