While crossing the cloister, Donna noticed the scornful grimaces and mocking whispers of her schoolmates. Every day it was the same song. A melody of harassment she pretended not to care about. With her eyes lowered and her step brisk, she reached the portal of the School of the Holy Maiden and entered the Avenue of Great Mestra. As usual, at that time of the day, the waters of the Grand Canal were crowded with all kinds of boats, especially ferries filled with citizens not wanting to waste their time in the Bridge of Bargains, a place where the bustle of merchants and buyers was a stopper, forcing the most urgent to reach their homes long after sunset.

Glad that neither bridge nor boats were part of her return home, she hurried into the corner onto Arus Street, a shortcut with a tight one person sidewalk with a canal that could only fit a tiny, elongated boat at a time. Arus soon ended and she was finally in the Square of the Brightness. Like every single day, the church square was full of pilgrims and the faithful overwhelmed by the daily sermons, all ready to spend their money on worthless holy trinkets or outright throw their savings on beggars and charlatans in search of divine forgiveness. Many, also as usual, crowded around the corner where Herjard's town criers sold the hardships of war against the last free colonies of Northislay as adventures of great honour and fortune. Donna gnashed her teeth at the faces of the young boys, mesmerised and eager to be taken to a far and dangerous land. Passing Dom Juan's teahouse, where many of her classmates gathered to socialise with the students from Prior Reggaldo's school, she snapped again. Unlike her peers, she preferred to spend her evenings learning instead of fooling around with boys. To that, she pretended not to care about it either.

Mother's mansion stood old and dilapidated right in front of the majestic church of Joviale. A marvel of the city that made Donna's family home even more embarrassing. The watchmaking business was bringing great profits, and Donna couldn't understand why Mother never fixed the facade, so she pretended, as she did with everything in her life, to not care. Only her studies mattered, and amongst all of them, what she enjoyed the most was the evenings with Lim. For years Donna had believed her to be a beggar leper living at the expense of his father's kindness, but after the long project of the Southerner princess, the leper put all her efforts into fixing her broken body and mind, revealing a woman of extreme intelligence and unmatched knowledge that made the most prestigious teachers at her school look like carnival monkeys.

Donna crossed the hall, paying attention to none of the servants pestering her. Neither did she stop in the library, where Mother spent the evenings wasting her time with mundane and worthless books. Father, who had recently taken to drinking regularly, was not worth her time either. Only Lim, who was surely already working on her new formula, was the one she wanted to see.

“You are ten minutes under the average time, dear.” Just as Lim was a name she had borrowed from the princess, her new mask was a doll’s countenance mimicking the Southerner royalty. A face with pretty features but simple build, who used to delay movements with their matching words. “Have a look, I almost finished the mixture.”

Excited but nauseated by the smell wafting from the steaming canisters, Donna inched closer. “What’s that?”

“A rubber-like polymer. With this, I’ll be able to simulate skin.”

“It doesn't seem too human to me.”

“The colour is not right, yet. I’ll need an artist for that.”

Donna grimaced. To her, anyone who didn't bring something important to the world was a leech. and The so-called artists, sponging off the rich’s love for beautiful things, were the worst. Mother, for example, who always complained about the large amounts of money that Father and Lim spent on their research -a goal for a better future that justified the expense,- used to spend almost the same on stupid paintings and sculptures whose only function was to inflate her ego for the simple reason of possessing them.

Lim giggled under a face that didn't move properly. "The world needs pretty things."

“First of all, stop decoding me. People will believe you are a mind-reading witch. And second, ‘things’ need to be functional, not pretty. We can return to that discussion later over biscuits and a cup of tea, or we can get to work on something more interesting.”

“Do me a test on the new leg.”

Donna huffed at a task she had done too many times for her liking. "I had changed the hydraulic pressure and oil mixture,” Lim added, ignoring the following murmur of protest. “It should work on a seven to ten percent improvement. Don't forget to write the data. There are no results if you don't leave it on paper."

Lim's new leg rested on a table full of cables that connected rubber muscles with buttons of all kind. Unlike the ones she was using now, made with the same wheels and strings that Father made for the crippled soldiers of the Great War, the new design was a unique marvel perfectly imitating flesh and bone. Donna reached for a small switch at the side, with eyes travelling from the femoral group through the peroneal group and silently repeating each muscle’s name. Her fondest memory was a day when Mother was sick and Lim sneaked her out to visit the hospital. There, in the morgue, they spent an entire afternoon dissecting a drowned man and learning all the secrets of the human body, so there wasn't one of those elongated pump sacs she couldn't name.

By activating the circuit, the big toe moved smoothly. Not awed one bit by the wonder unfolding before her eyes, she wrote down the gauge readings and dropped her weight over a stool. "Father is a feud, isn't he?"

Lim suddenly stopped in the middle of her work, something she didn't do often. "I need further development of that question," she said, sounding more inhuman than usual.

"Without you, Father would not have been able to fix that princess's legs. And I guess all the previous achievements are not his either. He's just a resentful drunk."

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

After a slight and uncomfortable immobility, Lim returned to the stirring. "Perhaps not with the same results, but he’d have done it without me. Your father may be troubled by his past, but he’s a brilliant man."

Donna appreciated the lie and put on her expression of indifference. Father was not an exceptional man. Maybe he could have been, but his waste of time for a love that was as forbidden as heresy, had made him a bitter loser. She had already grown up enough to realise it. Neither Mother, who insisted on pretending that nothing was happening, nor all the servants who treated her like a child, couldn’t hide it any longer. From the first moment she realised it, the hero turned into a shame: Not for what he could feel or for whom, a matter that didn't bother Donna at all, but because of how he drowned himself into mediocrity. She was not going to let emotions sink her into the pit of nothingness as he did. She was going, like Lim, to reach grandioseness.

Distracted by a judgement over a defeated man who had managed to transform the admiration of a little girl into the disappointment of a young woman, Donna started clicking buttons randomly, shaking Lim's leg in a funny way. “I'm not letting you come here to play with incredibly expensive equipment like it's a child's toy,” Lim said. “Empty your mind of absurd ideas and concentrate on work. Or else, better leave it for today and go read mystery novels with your mother.”

"That's a great idea." Donna suddenly lifted off the stool. Mother minced at the leg, grimacing before holding up a napkin to cover her nose and mouth. The wrinkles between her eyebrows grew deeper as she softly spoke. “Your father is sober enough to work, and he requires a steady hand for that watch. Go now.” Donna braced herself for a complaint, stopping immediately at the raise of a threatening finger. "I said, now."

The same way she crossed the school’s cloister, Donna left the room, closing the door but not moving away. When the doorknob clicked, she leaned to eavesdrop, defying her mother's wishes in secret. The conversation, muffled by the door, could still be heard perfectly. “But don't get me wrong, if you continue with the foolish endeavours to brainwash my daughter, I'm going to spread the word that my husband's assistant in Linee is still alive and hiding under the guise of whatever you're made of. It won't matter how well you hide, and how many times you change your face. A freak like you will be easily found.”

“Your threats don't scare me, Lady Messana. Besides, no matter how hard you try, I'm not the one who pushes her to come here every day. Donna is as intelligent as she is stubborn. And the more you try to take her away from me, the more she's going to want. Let her learn, it doesn't hurt to know more than just making clocks.”

"There's nothing wrong with watchmaking! It is a highly regarded art." Mother said.

“That's not what I said. We can continue to argue over tea and biscuits about whether she has to spend the rest of her life just making watches, or I can use that precious time in my work, so I can leave before we grow old." Donna chuckled, amused by Lim using her own words.

“You help me with him too. That was our deal." Mother came to the door and a sudden knock shook the wood. "And you stop spying and go help your father!" Donna stepped to the side, trying to remove her shadow from showing at the gap under the door while Mother's steps returned to Lim, who was now speaking in a tone that was hard to decipher.

“And as a scientist and former friend,” said Mother, with a volume that heralded a storm. "I want you to put common sense to both of them!"

Donna, knowing both of them well, decided it was a good time to leave. Mother, knowing that her irrepressible bad temper was as intractable as it was embarrassing, would not stay there much longer, and Lim would not let herself be yelled in her laboratory. The talking was over, and so was the gossiping.

The corridors felt emptier and colder than usual, and the way to the watchmaking room was longer than ever. Father's studio, more chaotic than ever, was filled with junk and tools swallowing the work table. As Donna started tidying up the mess, Father stammered curses at a small piece reluctant to enter its corresponding hole. "Need help?" She said.

"No. I'm almost there.” He replied, shrinking further over the small pocket watch. “And stop moving my things, Everything is where I want and every time you come, I can't find shit afterward." Before a disdainful handwave, Donna dropped a tiny screwdriver over the table and strode outside. After releasing all her anger on a door that resounded loudly, she dragged herself towards a window, considering why she still had a love for such a pitiful man. Through the window, the church's rose window, surrounded by a kaleidoscopeof white, red, and green marbles, reflected the sunset light over the bustling square, still filled with penitents seeking salvation. Sighing under the overwhelming beauty, Donna tried to keep her eyes from watering.

“I thought you were not interested in the beauty of things,” Lim said from the other end of the corridor. With the cane, her rudimentary legs were no impediment to walking with ease and she reached the window side with less time than Donna had to regain her composure. “The church has a purpose. And I’d like to be alone, thanks.”

“Your mother and I have reconsidered the terms of our deal,” Lim said.

Donna's heart sank. “Don’t tell me you are living!”

“Yes, but just for a while. I have to go to Ventfort and your mother has agreed to let you come with me.” The knot in her chest grew heavier, not because of the despair of losing her only friend and mentor, but to the mention of the place where the Father’s burden lived. A man she wanted to meet for years, but didn't think she was ready to do so.

“Why should I? Unless you want someone to punch Mark’s face, which I’d gladly do, I don't think I’m of any help there."

"You may be interested in the work he's doing. I've heard he's made some remarkable, yet disturbing progress."

“And what’s that idiot’s work about?” asked Donna, already hooked, but trying to appear disinterested.

“He studies the inheritance traits of each individual, and by the looks of it, he has found a way to modify them.”

Donna fidgeted. "Modify human traits? You mean he could change how people look? That's impossible."

“I'm afraid it’s not just appearance but much more. That's why I have to go. Enhanced humans could be great tools or terrible weapons, so it’s imperative we supervise his project before he makes a mistake that we could all pay dearly. What do you say?”

Donna dusted off her uniform jacket and, without making any effort to contain herself, released her words with an explosion of excitement. “When are we leaving?”