No matter what... I won't die again.

----------------------------------------

Delilah looked down upon her elder sister, bewilderedly holding Penelope's distressed, half-mad, teary clear blue gaze.

She had never in her life seen Penelope look so desperate.

Delilah had not known one could feel so horrified and pleased at the same time.

Indeed, she did come here to make her despicable, monster of a sister beg, but… She didn't actually think it would work so easily...?

My speech… She thought. I stayed up all night rehearsing it… This reflection left a bitter taste in her mouth.

But none of that mattered now. What did was that she needed to find a way out of this chamber before this crazed sister of hers dragged her into deeper waters. Penelope hadn’t yet made her proposal, but what she would ask of Delilah was all too obvious.

“I am NOT going to break you out of this place.” She declared, trying to shake Penelope’s hands off.

“No, not that…” Penelope clasped Delilah’s hands tighter, making Penelope’s sleeve fall a tad, revealing the skin of her wrists.

Delilah’s eyebrow twitched as she caught a glimpse of deep red liquid in an oval shape on it, emerging from what seemed to be a morsel wound.

This wench really is insane… She couldn’t help but sneer.

Penelope scanned the opulent bathroom with a glance before leaning closer towards Delilah. “Listen, I need you to lend me cash.” She murmured.

Cash?

“What?”

“COIN!” Penelope hissed, frantically looking over to the door at the sound of a light knock on it.

“My lady," Alice, Penelope's lady-in-waiting, spoke out behind the door. "The guards are ready. We must depart shortly.” She said in that monotone voice of hers.

“We shall be there in a moment," Delilah sighed as an answer.

What a mess.

Delilah couldn’t help but scoff, shaking off her sister’s dry hands and fixing the skirt of her beige, haute couture Marbret gown that she had sewn especially for this trial hearing.

“I cannot help you.” She expressed, solemn. “One,” she held up her index. “It is hopeless; you cannot buy your way out of a sentence from the Crown Prince. Do not be ridiculous.”

Delilah let her arms drop back down while she walked to the sink.

“Two,” she said, opening the tap and wetting her hands in the warm water gushing out of it. “I simply won't throw my life and reputation at risk for you... I know we may be sisters in name,” she closed the tap and turned around. “But are we?” She faked a wince.

Penelope stood back up and brushed her clothes.

“And most importantly,” Delilah met Penelope’s gaze with an amused stare. “You must be aware that I would never venture into such a terrible investment, dear sister.”

Penelope didn’t deserve Delilah's help. A part of her, a very microscopic one, wanted to help her out of the sheer pity she felt towards her idiotic, good-for-nothing sister. But not even Delilah's gracious heart could muster up the generosity she needed to have to—

“You owe me this much,” Penelope said.

Delilah cocked an eyebrow.

“Huh?” She sneered. “Since when?”

“Since I saved your life,” Penelope stated, staring right into Delilah’s soul with an empty, freezing gaze. “I, your good-for-nothing, idiotic sister, am the reason you can stand here acting so haughty.” Delilah stiffened. “You owe me at least a couple thousand Keps for that day...”

A nerve bulged on the corner of Delilah’s forehead, staring at her sister in fury-induced awe.

This woman’s audacity never failed to surprise her.

“You insolent little bitch…” Delilah grinned through gritted teeth. "That was more than a decade ago. And you have the audacity to use it against me in this situation?"

Penelope extended her palm with a faint grin. “Yes. Pay up.”

~

Alice was living one of those days where time felt like a lie.

Her thoughts were a prison to her soul, and though she was used to such a feeling, it was especially torturous today.

All she did and everything she saw felt passive and unremarkable, even to herself. She could not recall her breakfast or whom she spoke to and of what.

Yet Alice couldn’t help it. All of it was eating at her conscience; a compound of regret, despair, and utter, unfiltered rage. Why did her fate constantly betray her this way? Why was it her greatest enemy?

She slid in between the dozens of guards and people clouding the corridor leading up to the bathroom where she needed to be.

“Have you heard?” She recognized a maid’s whisper. “About Alice!”

“No, what about her?”

“You know she has been Lady Ashdown's lady in waiting since, essentially, forever.” Hannah, a maid from the left haul and Alice’s loudest most inconvenient existence spoke in whispers. “Well, I heard she is accompanying the lady!”

“Goodness! To prison?!”

“Yes!”

“Oh dear… But how could that be, she isn’t involved at all, is she?”

“No, but you know... Ladies-in-waiting are Korpa's blessing on nobles, so it must—”

Useless gossipers. She thought, redirecting her mind to the worrying dialogue she heard beyond the bathroom door.

“I said stop moving!” Lady Delilah hissed.

“I am fucking trying.” Lady Penelope retorted through gritted teeth. “But my arm is not a damned stick. How about you be more gentle!”

Alice had walked out of hearing range for that useless gossip and into the bathroom, forgetting to knock.

Having already swung the door open, she sheepishly knocked and made her way in.

"My lady,” she looked up at the two, a part of her still surprised by the sight she was witnessing. “Would you like me to help?”

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In the middle of the bathroom, Penelope was on her knees, her right arm held up. Delilah was standing in front of her face, red and out of breath. The fabric on the sleeves of her Ladyship was pushed down to her shoulders, leaving her right arm bare. Lady Delilah had one hand on Lady Penelope’s left shoulder, and the second on her arm, pushing down a golden bracelet so it would join the four others sitting on her upper arm.

Lady Penelope's arms were whitened by the tight golden bracelets they carried. Her left upper arm carried seven total, while the right one held four for the moment.

Both women were looking at Alice now.

“Her nonchalance worries me.” Lady Penelope said to her sister, without turning around to look at her. "And what to do, she knows now."

“It is nothing new. That maid of yours had always been a source of dreadful sentiments for me. But no need to worry, her lips are sealed. She is your maid, you idiot."

“My maid?” Lady Penelope asked, she paused for a second, then turned back to look up at Delilah. “Matterless. Continue. Alice, or whatever, come help us. We have no time.”

Alice stepped forward to join in and help her ladyship complete their peculiar mission, but a certain realization fell upon her suddenly, making her stop in her tracks.

A long line of shivers climbed up her spine as she locked eyes upon Penelope Ashdown’s body.

“Argh, can you be less of a cow while you do this?!” Lady Penelope shut her eyes, her head lowered as she muffled her pain.

“Shut your mouth, I am focusing.” Lady Delilah pushed another bracelet down her arm, teeth gritted.

Something was missing in the space Alice was in.

She could tell, even through the immense noise in which she was imprisoned.

A certain voice was absent. No, it was no longer existent.

Her eyes widened the more she felt that absence, the longer it lasted. How could she not notice all this time?

That woman...

“Argh!” Both women grunted, parting from one another.

Penelope let her arm drop and fell back to sit, out of breath. “Finally.” She looked up at her sister, smirking. “The transaction is done.”

... Who in the world was that woman?

~

Outside the Royal Court of Justice, the waist-high, silver metal barriers were barely enough to suppress the people’s outrage; in fact, the commander in charge of Area Management had to send over three Central Forces squadrons to help suppress the people’s outrage while they stood in mass alongside the roads leading out of the Capital; the same roads today’s criminal, Penelope Ashdown, would be taking on her way to Suttone.

It had taken fifteen minutes for the news of the prince’s sentence to spread, and even less time for the roads leading to the city’s exit to spawn all residents with a single thought in mind.

Our first Life Sentence in a while. Let us see her off properly.

Jonathan, a man in his thirties whose hairline was receding and who had left his flower shop unsupervised to attend the event was snickering, anticipating the little entertainment he could get from watching another fool be brought to her knees against his country’s justice system.

The sun was at the highest point in its clear blue sky when the large wooden doors to the Royal Court of Justice swung open.

The few dozen people, alongside Jonathan, who somehow managed to make it inside the Royal Court’s very gardens and onto the route to its exit were fighting the knights’ panicked embrace. They jumped up and down in an attempt to take a clear look at the people making their way out.

The attorneys were the first to appear, wearing the Royal Court's signature brown cloaks and holding files under their arms. Behind them, a handful of familiar faces emerged. The Pureheart family, followed by Countess Vielle and her bruised son, both looking as grave as ever and lastly, a handful of guards, in full bronze armor, hailing a designated, peculiar carriage to their side.

“That’s her!” Jonathan yelled, holding down a knight’s arm.

“Stand back!” Another knight ordered to Jonathan's right, gritting his teeth as he, similar to his colleagues, tried harder to push the people off the path.

“Penelope Ashdown!” The crowd was yelling. “There she is!”

Jonathan saw it over the knight’s shoulder. His eyes glistened at the sight of a golden head of hair. Walking out with a guard on each side of her body was a woman in a worn-out grey dress. Her wrists were shackled in heavy metal, and her feet were bare.

“What a sight!” Jonathan grinned in satisfaction.

“You despicable witch!” A woman behind him called out, catching the culprit’s attention as she headed towards the designated carriage.

“I hope you die in jail!” The crowd shouted, fighting the overwhelming knights’ power as they successfully pushed them off the roads.

Jonathan wanted to sneak a look at the criminal’s expression. Was she crying? Was she angry? Just how satisfying could a caught criminal’s expression be?

“Heh,” His eyes widened, having caught a sight that sent chills down his spine. A pair of chillingly clear blue eyes stared right into his soul. “What a bunch of lifeless fucks.” The woman mouthed.

“Why…” He stepped back, letting go of the knight whose body he was pushing against. “Why is she smiling…” He trailed off. “Crazy bitch!!” Jonathan yelled, throwing himself at the knight in front of him to try and get past his siege.

That cursed bloodline of hers must be the origin of her arrogance! How infuriating!!

However, the knight pushed back with a light arm motion. But as gentle as he tried to be, Jonathan’s body was flung to the ground, backward. Looking up, disoriented, he met a glare from the redheaded knight he had been trying to tackle.

Once his eyes met the blood-red color of the knights’ eyes, it finally dawned on Jonathan.

The knight, unlike all of his colleagues, wasn’t wearing any armor. How couldn’t he notice?

“S-Sir Yonge—” Jonathan was pale, eyes widened. "I—!"

~

Inside the courtroom, the man in the mysterious cloak who had been dozing off sitting at a desk beside his attorney for several hours by this point was finally called to the stand. It was his turn to be prosecuted.

When he had come to, everyone else had left, following behind the ‘wicked woman’ whose trial had just ended.

It was Caesar’s first time seeing the Royal Court of Justice in so much chaos, so filled with people. Naturally, he was curious to know what sort of crime the woman who was prosecuted before him had committed to solicit so much fame.

But his hopes were let down before he could even hear of her crimes.

He had already been suspicious since that good-for-nothing Kendrick would be taking over the judge’s seat instead of Cross-eyed Marshall, but watching the red-headed victim walk in, he simply scoffed and threw his hood over his head.

“Don’t sleep in the middle of a damn trial.” Robin, his attorney hissed.

“I prefer to keep my brain from rotting.” He adjusted his face mask and leaned back, ready for a sweet nap. “And no one will know, trust me.” He reassured her, closing his eyes.

“If you sleep I will walk out again.”

He couldn’t let his attorney, Robin, abandon him again. The last time that happened, he had to play attorney and defend his own case like a clown in front of Cross-Eyed Marshall.

That bastard still makes fun of him for it.

"And I'll tell your grandfather about this." She said, making Caesar's eyebrow twitch. Caesar promised the Duke to stir out of trouble for now...

“... Fine.” Caesar grabbed a pen, a sheet of paper, and tried his hardest not to doze off.

Now that it was his time to shine and get prosecuted, he was patiently standing at the culprit deck while his attorney went to shake hands with the defendant’s attorney.

Only a couple of people were left in the public stands, which was bothersome, but it couldn’t be helped. He had to take the mask and hood off.

Caesar’s fingers ran through his neck-length, finely cut black hair while he scanned the court.

“Why isn’t he here yet?” His black eyes landed on Robin, who was walking back, brushing up her eyebrows with her fingers in an attempt to ‘get into the proper mindset.’

Caesar stifled a chuckle, looking away before she caught it.

“He must be seeing the Crown Prince off.”

"Oh," he cringed. "I pity him." Caesar remarked.

"You offend a great deal of people by being so inconsiderate, Mr. Ferdowse." The defendant's attorney, who seemed like another stuck-up senseless man remarked, fixing his glasses.

I should have a talk with him after the trial... Caesar thought. How funny would it be if he was as easy of a target as his client.

“The judge is here!” A man announced. “All stand! His honor Marshall Lefthay will be the judge for today's trial.”

Caesar pursed his lips, watching as an old man with a crossed left eye made his way to the high bench centering the room. The old man sighed, organizing his papers and putting on his tiny glasses.

“Be seated.” Cross-eyed Marshall ordered, searching for the culprit’s name in his papers.

But as soon as he spotted it, Marshall threw the papers down and leaned back in his seat, looking down at the culprit as he took off his glasses.

“… For fuck’s sake, Caesar…” He articulated, making all attendants either bite back a grin or gasp in surprise.

Caesar nodded, his sharp canines showing through the slightly embarrassed grin he wore. “Interesting word choice…” He nearly let out a laugh.

Well, it was understandable.

After all, this was his second time standing in this court in front of Judge Marshall this month.