There she sat. At a fine marble table, with a porcelain cup in her hand as she stared out the window. Her demeanor was not exactly as I remembered; she was graceful and noble, but the tiny cracks I had seen last time were gone. Her frame was so small and fragile; like she would shatter like porcelain if dropped. Her luscious, black hair, tightly bound into strict curls by colourless bows, provided a shocking contrast to her worryingly pale skin. And her eyes - her eyes full of a pale, cold lavender that reflected nothing.

She was, in every sense of the term except literal, a doll.

My heart lurched when I saw her; whether with fear or excitement, I could not tell. I wanted nothing more than to run forward and throw my arms around her; to warm those pale cheeks with my own, to fill her slowly dying soul with enough energy to rise again. I could scoop up her tiny frame into my arms and run out of the mansion - no, better yet I could run to Rhinestadt’s office and run him through the heart with a sword. I could be a knight in shining armour, save the damsel, and win the day. Like… like the hero of a story. Like someone who would always get what they want.

But I wasn’t a hero. I had lied, cheated and stolen to get where I was, and I would have to continue to lie, cheat and steal to survive. I could hardly save my own soul, let alone Lady Violette's. I had family, responsibility, a life here in a world that was just as real as my previous one. Regardless of whether I obeyed Rhinestadt or not, they… they had to come first, above all else.

Miss Camilla stepped forward and bowed. “My Lady, I have brought you the proprietary members of your personal guard. Please let me know if they are to your satisfaction.”

Violette’s cold eyes turned towards the three of us, to which we quickly lowered our heads to avoid eye contact. I could feel her gaze pouring over the three of us in silence, one at a time until she came to me. I held my breath as she looked me over - would she recognize me? Did she even remember me? The gangly, awkward carrot-top who fainted at her baptism? Was-

Was I even worth remembering…?

Her gaze rested on me for a moment longer than the others, before turning away to look out the window again.

“They seem fine.” She spoke in a quiet, unfeeling tone, like she was remarking on a pair of shoes.

“Very good, my lady.”

I must admit, I felt a stab of pain as I heard those apathetic words. I hadn’t expected for her to remember me; at least that’s what I told myself. But as I keenly felt the sting of her indifference, it became clear to me that I had been clinging to a hope I wasn’t even aware of.

Miss Camilla looked us over with a sharp glare.

“Introduce yourselves to your Lady.”

Beet Barbie started with a military salute.

“Squire D’Antoinette, at your service my lady.”

Edward gave a deep bow.

“My name is Squire Decathy, my lady.”

“Please call me Squire Freya, Lady Violette,” I said with a clumsy curtsy. “Though I am currently dressed as a maid, I shall serve you to the best of my ability as your knight.

Violette only gave us a vague nod as we finished our introductions, to which Miss Camilla offered her a bright yet stilted smile in response.

“Very good. If you have no objections, we will be using the guard schedule arranged by your father.”

Another vague nod.

“Is there anything else you require, My Lady?”

Violette shook her head, still showing almost no interest in us or her surroundings. Watching her, I suddenly grew keenly aware of how cold I was; the room itself felt more like a tomb than a living space - cold and lifeless, yet filled with gold and wealth that its owner could never enjoy.

My heart sank into my chest as I couldn’t help but wonder - was I too late? Had Violette’s soul already been long lost to the crushing loneliness of this enormous prison? She looked like nothing more than a husk; a husk ready to be filled with hatred and vile by the man she called Father.

The tragedy of the situation bore down on me, forcing me to clench my jaw to keep my emotions in check. Miss Camilla ordered us to leave, though I could barely hear her voice as I stared at Violette’s feet, dallying. Filled with anger. Filled with the frustration of futility. Filled with sadness.

“Go.” A voice broke through my thoughts, softer than I had ever heard before. I looked up in shock as Violette stared at me; no, through me. I was practically naked before her tired eyes, and in that moment I knew she remembered me.

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“Go. Leave while you still can.”

She wasn’t dismissing me. She was asking me- telling me to flee. Not from the room, but from the manor - the Duchy, even. She wanted me to flee without ever looking back; without repaying any debts I felt were owed, or throwing myself into the fire for her. She wanted to be abandoned - no, she wanted me to abandon her.

And upon realizing this, my soul was filled with joy.

Because despite her words, despite her tired resignation and her soulless eyes, she cared. An odd, baseless care for a strange girl she hardly knew, and who was endangering herself for a hopeless cause. But the cause wasn’t hopeless; not anymore. Violette; the small, frightened girl who cared for a commoner was still in there, slowly suffocating under her father’s yolk. If she was still there, then I could still save her. No, I would save her. I just had to figure out how to without losing what I already had.

----

*WHACK*

“Ow!” I couldn’t help but yelp as Miss Camilla landed a heavy blow to the side of my head. We were back in the basement kitchen, having endured a very tense and silent walk back.

“Who taught you your manners?! Not only did you ignore my call, but you told the Lady your first name?!” snapped Miss Camilla, her eyes blazing with anger. “Servants must only give their last names to their master, unless specifically requested!”

“I-I don’t have a family name! I’m just a commoner!”

Miss Camilla paused, her eyes narrow with suspicion. “Plenty of commoners have a last name! What makes you so special?!”

“We-we don’t have family names! My family- we just pick a generic second name! Richter! It’s like Smith or Fletcher; they’re just generic names that anyone can use! They’re not passed down…”

Miss Camilla raised her fist for another beating. “So just use one of those!”

“I-I,” I stammered awkwardly, acting shy and embarrassed. “I didn’t want to sully the Lady’s ears with the name of a commoner. It would bring her shame in the future…”

Miss Camilla paused again, thinking. “Hmph… I suppose it would tarnish her reputation to have a ‘Squire Smith’ by her side. Still, I don’t like it. Not one bit.”

“Relax, Camilla,” interjected Cassandra. I looked at her in shock; what was the world coming to for Cassandra to tell someone to relax? “There are far greater things to worry about than a mere squire’s name.”

“Easy for you to say,” snapped back Miss Camilla. “You just have to mindlessly swing a sword around, instead of worrying about the Lady’s reputation.” She sighed. “Though I suppose I can let this go. As you say, there are plenty more things to worry about. Like the girl’s attire,” she added with a painful pinch of my sleeve.

Cassandra answered her with a wicked grin. “Yes, I have some ideas about that. I’d like a proper maid dress made for her, as well as Marianne. In addition to etiquette, I’ll have you train them as maids, and Edward a butler.”

Edward and Beet Barbie turned to her in shock, though neither of their reactions were as extreme as Miss Camilla. Her face turned a bright red, and I could almost see steam come out of her ears in rage.

“Ho- What- How could that possibly be?!” she sputtered, struggling to form a coherent sentence. “I am in charge of the servants! That was our agreement! I am in charge, and I will never agree to tainting the fine art of servitude with a trio of smelly, disgusting children who want to play soldiers!!”

As delightful as it was to watch Miss Camilla turn into a boiling lobster, it paled in comparison to seeing Beet Barbie react to being called a “smelly, disgusting child” by someone so deeply ingrained in the class system she loved so much. It wasn’t the usual rush of purplish red; no, this time she was deathly pale, her eyes wider than a cat high on catnip and her mouth parted uselessly into the perfect imitation of a wailing ghost. Miss Camilla was an authority figure of noble stature herself; like Beet Barbie (or in this case, Ghost Barbie), she had come to serve the Duke on her family’s behalf. Watching Miss Marianne trying to recover was like watching a gardener step on his own rake, or an arborist saw off the branch she was sitting on.

“You are in charge of the servants, yes. But I am in charge of the Lady’s security,” replied Cassandra as Ghost Barbie opened and closed her mouth like a dying fish. “And I want her bodyguards with her at all times, including those when it is inappropriate to have a uniformed guard standing next to her.”

“You can’t- No, this is certainly unacceptable. I will protest to Duke Rhinestadt if you continue to press this matter!!” cried Miss Camilla. “Besides, this was not in the terms of our agreement!! You clearly said you would not interfere with the servants!!”

“Oh but I’m not,” answered Cassandra as she stepped forward, raising her arms to trap Miss Camilla between her and the wall. “I’m merely doing my job, as instructed to by Duke Rhinestadt. Do you really think he’ll appreciate it if you barge into his office, whining about some agreement you and I came up with in private?” She lowered her voice and brought her mouth in close, though not enough to keep it hidden from the stunned squires and I. “Do you truly, deeply, think he cares who stands at the Lady’s side? Come now, Cam; think carefully before you throw another one of your fits.”

A moment held between the five of us; a simmering tension of enmity and something else between Camilla and Cassandra, and the tension of extreme awkwardness between the three of us squires. We all stood as still as mice, each terrified of attracting the attention of the cats that were pinned against the wall. As for Cassandra and Camilla, they stared deep into each other’s eyes like a western showdown; their weapons as looks of anger, intimidation, and- well, something just as intense. One could practically taste the pressure between them; all one had to do was slip out their tongue-

Miss Camilla broke first, turning her gaze to the floor.

“Very well. But I will train them as I see fit, and if they fail to satisfy then I will rip that maid outfit off myself. Understood?”

“Understood,” Cassandra backed off with a rare smile of genuine pleasure. I shivered at the sight; I wanted the old grumpy stone faced Cassandra back. Happy Cassandra was starting to scare me.

“Good,” snapped Miss Camilla as she turned to the three of us, her facade of friendliness long destroyed by Cassandra’s intrusion. “After you’ve finished waving around swords, come here each day. I’ll beat proper servitude into your bodies if I have to. Understood?”

“Yes, Mistress Camilla,” we stammered in unison.

“Hmph. Now get lost.”