"Mademoiselle, I think you may have had enough-"

"Please, bartender. Another."

I place another gram upon the table, and the nervous looking attendant reluctantly pours me another glass of wine. I wonder if he knows who I am. I wonder if he's scared to deny me... Or perhaps he's simply being paid to pour drinks and doesn't have the luxury to say no. Either way, another glass of wine finds its way in front of me, and despite my sluggish and uncertain hand I’m even able to grasp it.

"Thank you, bartender."

It was cruel of those guards to leave me here, and it was a cruel place to realize I have money left over from that purse Antoine had given me. It wasn’t enough for shoes, but it might just be enough for me to drink myself to death. Drinking myself to death sounds like a little piece of paradise after the day I've had. Who even cares about oaths anymore? It doesn't matter... Nothing matters.

I take a sip, the vile red liquid hasn't become any more pleasant even after five glasses, but I've at least gotten better about not retching at the taste. This is what grown-ups do, isn't it? What the world makes them do. Maybe this is why everyone can stomach the world's normal, because they poison themselves into a stupor at every opportunity... Am I broken then, for finding this so unpleasant?

Another sip, somehow this one is worse than the first, and my eyes start looking for anything to distract me from the burning river of long dead grapes in my throat... I wonder what Leather makes of fermentation, leaving dead grapes out and uneaten until they're poisonous. I'll have to ask Katarina if she ever learns Avernian. And if she doesn't eat my wine-soaked corpse after tonight.

This place I've been left in is a rather ramshackle little establishment and doesn't look to be a popular one. In a corner booth a gaggle of soot covered, exhausted children share glasses of something clear and presumably foul-tasting, looking to drink away a hard day's work in the factories. A single gendarme sits alone drinking glass after glass of something amber, apparently having much the same idea as me. And probably not without reason, given the recent tragedies that have befallen the Gendarmerie he's probably lost friends. I wonder if he's lost lovers…

Either way, it would be hypocritical to interfere.

Sitting at the bar, just a few chairs down... Is a blonde woman in a vibrant red dress. Brighter and likely far more pleasant than what is in my glass. Probably tastes nicer too... A blasphemous thought, but I was just forsaken by my goddess anyway. If I’m going to die tonight, if I’m going to hell no matter what, what’s the harm in adding to my sins?

I push my half empty glass aside and place another gram upon the bar top. "Bartender, please give that woman whatever she might like."

The bartender looks immensely confused, and more so when I point out the woman in question. Still, he drifts over to her, and soon pours her a glass of something golden and full of bubbles. The exact opposite of me, but I can hardly fault her for that. She looks like she has good taste after all.

And yet she completely ignores the drink she is offered, instead getting out of her chair to take a seat beside me. "... You know, you might just be the most polite drunk in human history. Saying 'please' and 'thank you', most folks treat people like that as if they were part of the furniture."

"People aren't furniture." I giggle, until I am suddenly struck with the mental image of Katarina and her priests making a Leather couch, producing yet another thing to try and keep as far from my mind as possible tonight. "Uhhh... In any case, surely history has some more polite drunks than me, right?"

"I dunno, I've read a lot of books and I haven't found evidence of any drunkards who were particularly polite about it." The woman grins, eyes regarding me curiously. "Ah, allow me to introduce myself. I am a historian for the Avernian Legacy Society. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, mademoiselle."

"... Are historians even allowed to look this beautiful?" I feel like if I were sober there would be a chance that thought might have stayed entirely inside my head. "I mean, I thought that if you wrote books you had to wear old woolen jackets and smell like glue. Isn’t that divine law or something?"

"Hehehe! Looking to be the most charming drunk in history too, are you?" The historian's beaming smile got a blush out of me... And yet, it doesn't seem to reach her eyes. "I usually wear 'the uniform', but sometimes I like being a girl too, you know. It's how I unwind."

"Not with drinks, but with dresses?"

"Exactly. Being away from a world that asks a lot, letting myself be inconsequential for a minute. It's peaceful." Her eyes haven't left me since we began talking... It's starting to make me feel a little self-conscious. "Just a girl for a minute, without anyone telling me how to be one, or how to be anything else for that matter."

"... If only it was so simple. To be away from the world, I mean. Sometimes it feels like it's determined to follow me wherever I go. Demanding things of me. Taking things from me."

"You'd think it'd be a beautiful dream if you managed to escape, huh." This strikes a sad chord with the historian, while her smile doesn't waver her eyes certainly do.

And I'd really prefer to not ruin this woman's night, maybe the whole world is too heavy a topic... "So ummm... What are you working on at the moment? I mean, you're a historian, I presume you're writing a book, or-"

"Oh, I'm not the kind to get credited in academic works. Academia's a little more wooly than you might think." She gestures a hand over her form, and I suddenly remember how unfair and stupid literally everything is. "I'm more a researcher than anything, pouring over old documents and finding old artifacts. And recently, I've been looking into anything and everything to do with a little thing called 'The Heart'."

The Heart again. That accursed, awful... Atrocious Heart again! I wish I knew where it was so I could break it. I wish I even knew what it was so I knew how to break it! Our continent has turned into a Leather grove all over this stupid myth…

The Historian tilts her head, and I realize I haven't said anything. "I'll take your silence as my cue to keep talking. Hehe, it's quite a sad story that led us here actually, a bit of a tragedy from everything I've read. You see, The Heart is a gemstone, a nice shiny rock. And according to what the papers say, that was enough for the High King to entice half of La'an into invading us. It all seems a little silly on the face of it, doesn't it?"

A rock? ... I've killed thousands , tens of thousands... Because of a rock?! I want to slam my head against the desk, I want to strangle the Magyar Emperor, I want to drink more stupid dead grapes.

"So many people are dead... Over a shiny stone? ... How are we all this stupid?!"

The Historian gives a sad little chuckle, and reaches out to pat my head. "There there... We've always been this stupid. Wars are gigantic things, but the petty egos of kings and tyrants have often allowed them to have very small causes. Just ask the Trojans if Helen was really worth it in the end."

"... What's a Trojan?"

"A punchline for historians and nothing more." And clearly a good one, going by The Historian's amused little hum. "But in any case, this stone isn't just a pretty pebble, far from it. The Heart is a special thing, one which can give whoever holds it the power of a witch. And a very special witch in particular... Jeanne the Magnificent."

"How? How can a rock do that?!" I always believed that 'the science of magic' was a ridiculous phrase, but this is just absurd, surely.

"See, that's the part of the story that most people don't know. The tragic part." Her smile is gone now, The Historian tries to deliver the tale in as neutral a tone as possible. "You see, The Heart is named rather appropriately. It is not merely a stone, but the actual heart of Jeanne the Magnificent herself. Turned into a thing, an object... All for the sake of love."

Love? ... I should be skeptical that love can turn a woman to stone, but... "... Go on."

"I assume you know the tale of Jeanne the Magnificent, who united the nations of Western La'an and managed to force the Magyars out of Germany, established the Confederation of Princes, and then disappeared from the face of Lutice just as she seemed ready to crown herself Empress of a new Empire in the west, right?"

"Of course, who doesn't?"

"Well, it's the disappearance that this story explains. You see, Jeanne had caught the eye of a certain someone through her deeds, and with her witch's power. The goddess Velvet herself, if you could believe it, came down from on high to meet Jeanne... And the Savior of La'an fell instantly in love."

Velvet... Her Majesty mentioned something about this, in relation to the Gina Silk paintings, a human lover of Velvet. Is this it? Is Jeanne the lover those paintings mourned?

"Now, Velvet was more than happy to accept Jeanne's affections, so long as she was presented with the right gift. Jeanne offered her gold, fine art, land, horses, anything Velvet's heart desired, so long as Velvet would be her queen... But Velvet had a different price in mind." There's a pause as The Historian collects herself, enunciating the next few words carefully. "Velvet wanted Jeanne to give her heart to her. Only then would they be together forever."

"Her heart... Her literal, actual heart?!"

"Jeanne agreed, and Velvet carved the living heart out of Jeanne... And in Velvet's hands it became a gemstone, one which still held Jeanne's magic within it. Jeanne died, naturally, but some small part of her would live on still, as eternal as the gods themselves."

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

... I offered Her Majesty, my personal goddess, my life. I told her I would die for her... Would I do any different than this? ... If I wouldn't then why does this idea upset me so much? Why does it seem so cruel, so utterly abhorrent, if I would have done the same?

I can't say for sure, but my mouth refuses to say nothing. "That... That is utterly terrible, Mademoiselle Historian!"

"The worst part is that Velvet didn't even keep it."

"What?!"

"She cast it away, hiding it somewhere in Avernia. You see, she never cared for Jeanne, she never wanted her heart. She simply wanted to prove it was possible to extract the powers of a witch. That way she and the other members of the Pentatheon could have their most loyal witches die for them, make them into good test subjects. Jeanne's love and devotion amounted to nothing more than becoming a science experiment for an uncaring goddess."

"I... Poor Jeanne! To have been so hurt, so betrayed by someone she loved..."

The Historian raises an eyebrow, scrutinizing me closely. "It's surprising you would say as much, Mademoiselle Pollineux. Most folks I imagine might say that she deserved it, she willingly gave up her heart and as such must face the consequences."

"Well, most folks clearly have no hearts to give! ... Being in love is a scary, vulnerable thing. For it to be abused like that, for someone with a clear head to hurt the ones who don't, for the one with power to exploit the one without... It's evil!" I'm not even sure I'm making sense, but the words spill out regardless. "It's so easy for love to hurt, even without deliberate exploitation!"

"Hehe, don't I know it..." The smile the Historian gives me is not as intense as her earlier charmed beams, and yet seems more present.

"You can't escape the world where these things happen. Because in the worlds beyond, these things happen still. Even the gods are cruel like the world is. And no matter where you are, the space around you wants to make you more cruel."

"... It wants to make you a grown-up. Their kind of grown-up. A kind of grown-up I don't think I can be."

"And yet, you can't just not grow up... But that only leaves one option, doesn't it?"

"An option? I can't not grow up, but I can't grow up like this. What option does that give?"

"Simple. Be your kind of grown-up on your own terms, and force the world to change itself around you. That's what I believe."

"... Do you really think I can do that?"

"Serena, I believe you can do anything."

I must be blushing, my cheeks feel horribly warm, this can't just be the wine... Is she trying to flirt with me?! I giggle. I try to stop myself from giggling, and I giggle more. Surely I must be making an utter idiot of myself, she’s sharing a stupid sad story and here I am giggling because she said something nice about me... I really am broken.

Well, she might just like broken people, because my stupid little laugh seems to genuinely endear me to her. "Hey, I'm being serious! I know you'll make for a fantastic history to record one day. Mademoiselle Polite, Charming Drunk."

"... Well, you needn't just record it, you know."

I suddenly feel very small... But admittedly I'm not used to being actively flirtatious. The closest I've come to being romantic is figuratively falling into place... Or occasionally literally. But this girl is pretty, and she looks nothing like Her Majesty and that might be healthy for me. Maybe I can hold off on dying for a little while longer. Just a little while perhaps…

"Hehe, Serena-"

"You could be... Part of it. If you wanted to be."

She looks almost pained, even as she grins mischievously. "Trust me, you don't want me in your story, mademoiselle. I'm not exactly known for causing happily ever afters."

"Then this could be a first for you, right? You won't scare me away that easily, Mademoiselle Historian. I've faced scarier things than a beautiful girl in a red dress."

"... You certainly have..."

"And besides... If I can change the world just by being the kind of grown-up I'd like to be, I think I'd be very happy to make it into a world that's better for you too while I'm doing it."

She looks genuinely touched, an emotion she buries with a chuckle, casting her eyes away from me to focus on my glass. "You're drunk, Mademoiselle Pollineux. It would be wrong to accept your kindness. It would be taking advantage, don't you agree?"

"... I trust you."

"Heheh..."

Mademoiselle Historian slips free from her chair, takes a step towards me, and kisses me quickly. If I had blinked, I may not have even realized... And then she slips past me, giving a final little smile from over her shoulder as she leaves.

"Live long enough to meet me again, Serena. Tell me a story next time."

And then she’s gone... And suddenly I feel more sober than I had when I was brought here. She was happy to see me, she’s happy to perhaps see me again! She used my name... Wait, did I ever tell her my name? ... I mean, she might have read it in some newspaper somewhere, but even so, something feels odd…

She didn't tell me her name either, come to think of it... "Excuse me, Bartender? That woman who just left, the one in the pretty red dress, did you get her name?"

The Bartender gives an utterly incredulous look, clearly very confused. "Mademoiselle... You were speaking with a young gentleman, weren't you?"

"I... No, she was definitely a-"

"Admittedly he did look remarkably good in that red dress of his, but he was a gentleman. He told me that himself in fact."

I blink, hadn't she talked about liking being a girl? This is confusing; she was so clearly... Wasn't she? ... I've drunk too much, I'm clearly getting confused, I'll ask them about it when I live and see them again. When I change the world.

I slip out of my chair, and magically I even stay on my feet. Not a bad start I think, maybe I can even get home like this. I step, I step, I realize I am counting my steps as each one is a conscious effort. But it's fine. I'll wake up tomorrow. I just have to get out of here. I just have to walk the streets of Alesia exactly one time without the entire world being stood on its head.

I make my way back home- back to the Rosierte's home. I know I don't deserve it, but maybe they might still let me stay for my last night in Alesia before my deployment tomorrow... Weird, their third story window is open. I guess it'll be nice and cool up there, that's convenient. I stumble up to the door, and struggle with the doorknob for a moment. The door opens, but not because of me.

"Serena?" It's Celeste, standing in the doorway... I feel like I've somehow found new ways to be unworthy of her, appearing before her like this. "Are you okay?"

I try to stand tall and dignified. I fall into her, and I wonder for a moment if I'm about to weep. She hooks her arms under my shoulders and drags me into the house, kicking the door closed behind her. I don't deserve her. I don't deserve to be held up like this. Not after-

She drops me onto a small couch, seating herself beside me. Auguste, who had been sitting by the fire, is suddenly on his feet, looking around for the first aid kit.

"Is she hurt again?"

"Well, she hasn't been shot... She needs water. And maybe something to soak up whatever she's been drinking."

"Right!"

Auguste heads to the kitchen with some amount of urgency. I guess I've caused them all enough panic in the past that they treat everything to do with me urgently, even if it's something as simple as bringing me some water.

Celeste takes my hand in hers as we sit together, and to my shame I cannot bring myself to run away. "Serena, what happened? You look like you've been crying, and you've definitely been drinking..."

... I know she'd understand... I don't deserve to be understood. Not by anyone but especially not by her. I deserve nothing less than to be thrown onto the streets, where I can finally be punished for my shamelessness.

"Serena, please say something... I'm worried about you." Celeste sidles in a little closer, why is she still so kind to me? "... You can talk to me. Please."

... Whatever her reasons, whatever's making her want to help me, my guilt simply isn't strong enough to keep me in check any longer. I cry. I feel as if I might fall into her and cry forever.

"Her Majesty... The Queen... She... She threw me away!" My eyes are burning, all that stability that the Historian had given me was just enough to bring me to this moment, and now I am breaking apart again. "After everything I've done, I... I know I don't deserve her but... But it hurts! It hurts so much!"

Celeste wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me towards her, something I can't even begin to resist. "She hurt you... Serena, you think so little of yourself, of what you are worth. I honestly think she's the one who doesn't deserve you. And if I ever meet her in person I'll tell her so!"

In between my drunken stupor and ugly crying I can barely get any words out, but some words refuse to go unsaid. "... I don't deserve you either. I never did, but after what I've done to you-"

"Serena..."

Celeste strokes my hair, squeezing me closely. I can smell her; she smells as lovely as always. And I think I finally realize the reason she is so utterly irresistible to me. She was never anything like Her Majesty, but she is so much like Katje. She is a beautiful, wonderful woman, who is entirely human. Entirely there…

And somehow still willing to talk to me. "I will admit, it was a bit of a shock. But you were bleeding, and delirious, and these things happen! I don't blame you, I'm not upset! ... And honestly... Had I another life, one where I met you before Auguste. I think we might have been something..."

... I stop crying. I stop crying out of sheer confusion. Surely she couldn't, she didn't... Was she even...?

Before I can get too far inside my own head Auguste returns with bread, cheese, and a large pitcher of water. Celeste, with her usual gentle smile, prepares me a morsel, and offers it to me from her hand. And in my now completely perplexed state I accept it... She takes a morsel herself, as does Auguste, both with a smile. I'm honestly thankful, it would be strange to eat it all myself... It might be a far cry from my first dinner at the Rosierte household but... We are eating together again. Here at the end... Oh gods, I get sent to the front again tomorrow.

We finish our little meal in silence, and Celeste helps me to my feet. "You should probably get some rest. I hear Alesia's gotten tired of trying to kill you and wants to let Samnia have a go."

I give her a little affirmative nod, I'm not sure what else to say.

"Then I guess we're leaving you in their hands. Pasche and Xena and Katarina... They'd best keep you safe, or they'll never be invited to our table again." Auguste gives a little chuckle, patting me on the back tenderly. "... And you keep yourself safe too, okay?"

"R... Right... It's a promise."

"Very good. Now, do you need my help with the stairs?"

"No, I think I can manage it." I begin to make my way to them, before turning to face Auguste and Celeste. I think I might be smiling despite everything. "Thank you. For offering me your home and... Making me feel at home. I could not possibly begin to repay this kindness, but I will try every way I can. I promise."

They say nothing to that. There's nothing to really be said. It's not quite goodbye, but we can all see it from here. I make my way up the stairs, open the door to my room, slip inside, close the door, lock it...

And hear a very familiar voice coming from my bed.

"Good evening, Sir Serena."