#-azuwritess

Thank you 😊 (feel free to ignore. If you didn't like it)

EVERLONG -( Yan! Agriche family x younger female reader!)

CONDENSATION: The Black Agriche household had never been capable of feeling the emotion that many called love. till you except you weren't like your siblings. You had the fears that most of them got rid of when they were younger. blood, violence, death—all of it!.

WORD COUNT: 2k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: THANK YOU and happy new years!! sm for requesting; I hope this met your standards! You're like 6 or 8? I didn't specify Lante isn't present here, nor is Dion. Lante is mentioned in passing!!!! (Got too lazy to write a scene with him, okay? okay..)

BEING SOFT AND DOCILE.  It was a foreign thing amongst the Agriche family. A bloodline full of bloodshed and violence.  The walls were often stained crimson red. To some of the servants it truly seemed never-ending. The screaming and the blood, that is. 

So, to say, being born soft-hearted and opposed to everything the family stood for. It wasn't the first time. The head of the family had seen it numerous times before. In older people. Younger people, some with dark hair that the sun never reflected on, others the opposite. 

But Lante was never known to be a generous man, nor was he ever kind to his children or his wives. 

What mattered most to Lante was how useful his children could be. If you couldn't fight? Fine, you'd just have to master seduction. He found a solution to every little problem that would pop up.  

So...what would his solution be for his more softhearted children?.  Death, of course!.  He couldn't have the Black Agriche be known for anything less than violent.  

And that was how it was for an incredibly long time. For generation upon generation, Lante had never hesitated to kill pests who interfered with his vision. That was till a few years ago. And it was as if the impossible had become painstakingly possible.  

THE MAIDS had been growing restless for the past few days. Stuck in their quarters, barely leaving their side of the mansion.  

“This feels wrong...” once echoed through the then silent room. Her leather-bound shoe tapping against the floor.  It didn't make a sound, but it sent similar jitters to every nerve in her body. 

There was a murmured agreement amongst the others, all in similar clothes and sitting and moving in the same way.  

“Oh, I got it!”  Another maid stood up. The room was clustered and small, causing her black dress to thwap others in the face. The victims of that smack sent her some glares. She remained oblivious.  

“I think it’s because none of the masters have given us any orders to clean up after them,” she stated the obvious. Others let out some ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ as if they’d thought the same thing.  

The first maid that had spoken up met the standing ones.  “Yes...now thinking about it...why haven’t they called for us?”  

“Maybe they are busy?” stated one. 

“Maybe they’ve finally decided against all that violence they familiarized themselves with and ran for the countryside?” said another.  

“No, no... what?  They’ve obviously all died or abandoned the place!”  Another shook her head. 

“Who abandoned the place?” a smaller voice asked, peering from behind the standing maid, causing half the speculating maids to screech. And the other half to slump and let out a sigh of relief upon the realization of who it was.  

One of the younger kids—or, for more detail, it was you!.  Your name left the headmaid's lips, who was seated in the far corner. To which you'd given the weary maid a big smile, running towards her.  

The head maid cleared her throat. Trying to find a way to simplify what she wanted to ask without seeming too outward and possibly dying at that spot. 

Because, sure, you were sweeter and kinder than your half siblings. But, to the maids. Most of them are there by force; your kindness was a facade.  

It wouldn't be the first time someone had fallen for that kind of trick.  

And the head maid couldn't help it, not really! With your chubby cheeks and wide eyes, it was as if she could say whatever came to her without thinking about it first. 

She pursed her lips for a second before letting out a sigh and asking.  “Well, see...  I and the maids were questioning where your, uhm, siblings were? They haven't asked for us for some time. And the head chef hasnt been getting orders of food…”  The head maid voiced her worry.  

Now you were standing in front of her, and she was resting on her elbows on her knees as she was sitting on an empty crate just so she could make eye contact with you.  

She watched as your eyes lit up with the answer.  You would know that sort of thing whenever you spent a long time around young children.  

The way their eyes lit up whenever they knew the answer to something or little quirks whenever they'd lie. Like rubbing their fingers on the side of their nose.  

She leaned forward, waiting to hear your answer.  

“Oh well, that’s because my dad made them all go to another house!” you declared brightly.  

The maids in the tiny room shared confused glances with each other. And so the head maid asked for more clarification.  

“What—what do you mean, made them go to another house?  In...in what way?” she asked once more. Mostly because the one thing she was thinking about was that the head of the Agriche family had gone mad and murdered everyone in the house.  

And that would frankly be even more surprising, as they all thought the younger generation would get to their father before he ever got to them. Hell, they'd put money on that!  

“Wellll,” you took your time kicking your feet at the empty air.  “One day I was walking because I wanted to show Roxie a paper butterfly I made her,” you began recounting the incident.  

“And then I saw blood, and it smelled so strong, and it was everywhere, and it made me feel super duper sticky, and I don’t really like blood, so I started to cry, and it was in my face and hands, and then everything was black.” You were explaining what had happened.  With wide gestures with your hands, as kids often do, the maids in the small room clustered around you even more to hear your recollection of events.  

“And then when I woke up...Papa said he made them all go away and that they’d come back in...”  You raised your tiny hands, one finger going up, then another and another, counting.  

You proudly held up your hands, the counted number reaching up to four.  “In four days!”  The maids weren't questioning anything as much as they were thinking if the head had gone mad.  

“Well, are you sure he said this, sweetheart?” asked the head maid, smiling tentatively in a pitiful way that read, “Oh, she’s gone mad like her siblings, but you didn’t catch on.  

You nodded your head, and an indiscernible noise came from the back of your throat. You held out both of your hands.  “Anyway, can I have a cookie now, please?” 

. 

. 

. 

Four days had passed, and the quietness that had once enveloped the Black Agriche had bubbled up and died. The manor is now back to being a zoo. Children in clusters, some fighting for the fun of it.  Others are taking it more seriously.  

One was currently practicing the skill of climbing atop a chandelier, the expensive crystal wobbling side to side as the child grasped onto another clear, fragile crystal up high.  

Unfortunately for you, you'd been making your way towards a very specific item that had caught your eye. But from how far away you were, you couldn't make out anything except how shiny it was.  

Ignoring the pushing and your half sibling stumbling and falling in front of you, you didn't mind really. You weren't dumb; you understood it was just play fighting. You were so close when some warm liquid spilled onto your face, causing you to stop in your tracks.  

You whirled around towards whoever had thrown whatever they had on you; you hadn't touched your face.  You hadn't gotten a chance to look at the perpetrator, a delicate hand flying and covering your eyes. 

You raised your head. The back of your head bumping against the person who was concealing your peripheral vision. But it didn't matter.  

You'd recognize that calm voice anyway, not belonging to anyone else but Grizelda. 

“Is my face dirty?” you asked.  Thinking you just got milk spilled onto your face. But, from Grizelda’s point of view. Her smile tightened. 

“Yep, just water, sweetheart,” when the crimson liquid was anything but clear. You looked like...well, it looked like someone had just thrown up pints of blood on you.  

The brunette didn't remove her hand. Though she continued her faux reassurances. The lies fell from her mouth easily like water moving along in a lake.  

At that moment, everyone had turned their heads to a certain blonde that somehow always held the attention of everyone in the room. Roxana moved swiftly in the room till she stood in front of Grizelda.  

“What happened?”  Her voice echoed across the now silent room. Grizelda didn't say a word. Her eyes moved to the side, eyeing the two who had been fighting to the death, standing bloody and ashamed.  

The worse of the two had his eye purple, most of his blood having landed on you.  

“Aha,” she acknowledged, turning to where Grizelda had glanced at.  With a simple hand gesture, Grizelda walked away with you still in her arms, confused. 

Roxana’s crimson eyes grew menacing in a way as she inched towards the perpetrators.  

Sure, maybe they wouldn't have known that they weren't supposed to fight or show any violence when you were around. But Lante had addressed it and had forbidden it. And he had never addressed anything before.  

Not the death of his wives. The mistreatment or the death of his other children.  

So all the children knew about it.  

No blood in front of the girl.  No violence in front of the girl. Nothing that can even signal aggression in front of her.  

And the rule was going as smoothly as you could expect from a bunch of children who grew up surrounded by violence.  

“Go see Father,” Roxana said simply. Their appearance would signal why they were standing in their father's office.  

If it ever got through his thick skull, Roxana could only hope as she went to find Grizelda. The blonde had expected silence. Not the familiar screeching of Jeremy from the other side of the door.  

She pushed the wooden doors open. The scene made her soften almost. Grizelda is sitting next to you on an incredibly huge bed.in probably the pinkest room in the entire house. 

Jeremy had his arms on his hips as he stood proudly, chest puffed and all as he proclaimed a bunch of things from the few seconds it took her to get from the door frame to besides her younger brother. 

“Next time I see that twerp, I’ll beat him up!” he exclaimed, making you laugh. It was probably all staged. Just so you wouldn't notice the tissues of blood as Grizelda wiped the remnants away.  

It wasn't love. Though it was a close feeling to it. Agriche children don't have that emotion even if they all grew up privileged.  

It was taken away from them a long time ago. Not you though never you.  

Your eyes brighten as you take in Roxana, her name falling out of your mouth in what can only be described as a squeal. Jumping off the bed in a hurry to hug her legs.  

“I made you something!” you exclaimed, carrying the same excited tone Jeremy had just seconds prior. Fishing out the gift from one of the folds of your (very) expensive dress. Lace and ribbons and whatnot.  

In the palm of your hand was a crimson butterfly. Made from paper the same color as her eyes.  

It was poorly made. The edges were crinkled, and some of the blood from the earlier incident had spilled onto it somehow.  

But the blonde didn't care. She crouched down to your eye level, her hand outstretched to take the gift, which you so graciously plopped into her awaiting hand with the sweetest sound that most definitely made her break into a smile that bordered on creepy.  

Causing your laughter to die and Jeremy to slap his hand over your eyes.  “Roxy...stop that; you’re going to scare her,” Jeremy whispered loud enough for her to stop but low enough so you couldn’t hear.  

“Do you like it?” you asked, swiping your brother’s hand away.  

“Yes, thank you,” she replied, ending her words with your name leaning in to peck your cheek. Making you smile.  

And looking at your smile. It made Roxana feel as if just looking at it would bring that feeling of love back into her heart. It made her want to wrap you in a blanket and shield you away from all the violence you already despised.  

The blonde knew though that if she told her other siblings, her father, her mothers. The entire household. They would agree with her. 

CONDENSATION: To a sick Sabina, you were the starry-eyed kid who had saved her when she was too sick to even get up. She calls you her shooting star. Little does she know you, in fact, did come from one!

WORD COUNT: 3.8k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: got carried away but i really like how this turned out! song for the header is fallen star by 'the neighbourhood'

THE ANCIENT GREEKS BELIEVED THAT their fate was written in the stars. That they were tied to destiny in a cosmic and mythical way. They believed in the Moirai, or the fates, who cut and measured lives. Also believed that the stars were thought to be a part of the fabric they'd woven.  

And it is widely believed by the ancient civilians that the stars were divine beings or connected to gods. Like, say, Astraea, the goddess of innocence. She became the star-maiden constellation Virgo.  

Or Orion, a famous hunter, who after his death got turned into a constellation. And it is famously known that the king of gods. Zeus often placed mortals he favored among the stars. 

Nonetheless. When a sick Sabina, who at that point was still sick and bedridden. Strands of raven ink 

 hair sticking onto her forehead. Her bleary eyes were trained on the midnight sky. The world had long since gone to sleep. The stars are twinkling. And the moon shining up so high, making itself the main attraction for those who still weren't asleep.  

The duchess smiled faintly Her head was propped against a pillow one of the maids had put for her before leaving. knowing how much she despised being helped. Even though she was powerless and weak due to the illness that had overcome her. 

The night was her friend. It didn't pity her. Didn't worry about her like Tristan did. Standing next to her everywhere she went. refusing to leave her side. The duchess knew her husband meant well.  

But he still irritated her with his nagging.  

She pushed the thoughts aside. Watery eyes from how bad her throat ached shifted to look out the open balcony. Once more admiring the inky sky. Once more, taking in its twinkling stars.  

They shone so, so, so brightly. She focused on one specific star. One that stood out to her in her vision. 

It looked the same as the others. Faint and barely there amidst the other incandescent things. 

Maybe she was too sick? She tried to reason with herself. Because of the particular celestial body she'd been looking at. Seemed to... It seemed as if it was inching closer. At rapid speed.  

Her eyes widened. One of her clammy, pale hands was digging into the white table nestled next to her bed. 

The realization of how weak she was caught up to her. “Fuck,” she cursed, her voice hoarse from disuse. But as she stared at the floor of the once dark room. The beaming light from the shooting star was blinding. Coming closer and closer by the second.  

Everyone almost always says that when you spot a shooting star. You should wish upon it. Whatever it may be, realistic or not, achievable or not. It may come true.  

If so, if the myths were true. Sabina closed her eyes. The faint images of her family were flashing in her brain.  

Lloyd, Vincent, and Tristan. As well as the newly arrived guest, Sabina had been hearing her name whispered among the maids. “I’d like to meet her too,” she thought out loud. Her wish was now obvious, loud, and clear in her hazy brain. 

“I wish to get better,” she rasped out, hand still on the white side table in a way as if she wanted to will her body to get better. 

Just so she could live out the rest of her days with her family. Even though she barely spent time with them. Even though she hated how much Tristan and Lloyd pitied her rapidly deteriorating state. Or the maids' pitiful guilty glances thrown her way when they thought she wasn't looking.  

So, stupidly, she was so hopeful that her wish would come true. The light was almost blinding at this point. The room once cloaked in darkness was now blindingly and flashing white from the beaming star falling upon the Valentine mansion.  

The sick duchess closed her eyes. Once more envisioning her cursed family she'd grown to love, accepting the fact that she was now one foot into death's cold dark door. Only waiting to put the other foot in.  

She still remembered the day that she held Lloyd. Mewling and crying for the first and only time as her body began its long journey of giving up on her. He was so pale. With the smallest hands she'd ever seen. Tendrils of sticky hair still stuck to his head. The maids were moving rapidly, the midwife yelling out orders that fell deaf on Sabina’s ears. Eyes trained on the babe in her grasp. She had never truly experienced feeling the weakness that was settling on her sinking into her body as one of the maids quickly took her son away. For all she knew, it was the last time she'd ever held him. The illness settled that day.  

 She was never truly able to hold a baby Lloyd ever again.  

And yet to anyone that asked about her pregnancy. Boasting about it was all she ever did.  

When Sabina opened her eyes. She wasn't greeted with darkness, nor was she sent into hell. Her chest felt so much lighter. Hands gripping the sheets and then ungripping, checking if she was still alive.  

what the fuck

She blinked a few times, making sure what she saw wasn't fake. That she wasn't delusional or that she'd died and now she was a ghost with others haunting the mansion.  

But the vision in front of her never truly left. Her cheeks were warm from the tiny hands pressed against them. The hands belonged to the brightest and most glowing child Sabina had ever laid her eyes on.  

And it wasn't figurative either. The child in front of her was, in fact, glowing. Surrounded by this pale white or yellow halo. It encircled the little girl. Wrapping her up as if it were keeping her safe. Her face had patches of stars shades lighter than her skin color, as if she were born with them.  

The mystery child's cheeks were puffed out as if in concentration. The duchess felt the heaviness that seemed to have settled in her chest when the illness took place practically disappear as if being popped like a bubble.  

Rapidly her illness was fading away. She could breathe normally now. Not having to take long, deep breaths because it physically hurt her to breathe. The pain shooting up into her body usually makes her double over and vomit red crimson blood.  

The keyword was usually. This time when she breathed, it felt like fresh air. As if she were seated by her favorite tree. Inhaling its sweet scent as the petals gently landed on the floor.  

It was as if her wish had come true. She didn't even know she had closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she witnessed the child's action. It was so endearing to the duchess, causing her to break out into an infectious grin. 

Sabina’s heart practically melted at the same time as her brain worked to figure out where this mystery child had come from. At first she thought it would be the work of her husband, Tristan. But for the split moment she'd looked up to look around the room. 

She didn't find the worried duke standing next to her with his black hair and the weariness and worry etched into his expression as he looked into her crimson eyes.  

A kind of vulnerability he didn't show around anyone but his wife.  

So, she had concluded. That. She'd come from that beaming shooting star. The one she thought would kill her.  

Instead. That bright celestial object was now seated on her lap, staring at her as if she had no idea how the world worked.  

Sabina found the girl so...so...so cute? She couldn't think of another word to describe it. With her puffed-up cheeks, the scars shaped like stars itched all over her form. And that wide-eyed starry hope that nowadays you only saw in children.  

“God, you’re cute,” Sabina blurts out. And maybe an old traitorous part of her thought that this was indeed fate.  

. 

. 

. 

BEING assigned a job to fulfill one's wish was truly tedious and, to you, really tiring. Truly you'd rather play with the clouds or catch astray stars and put them back where they come from.  

But nonetheless, a wish is a wish. Your name had come out of one of the assigner's lips. An old woman in billowing robes the color of cream and gold. Immediately recognizing her as one of the main assigners who gave you and others like you jobs to do around the mortal world as she crouched, placing the files in your tiny hands.  

“I know how much you hate doing jobs like these,” the woman started. In your eyes, she looks unbearably young like this. As if she was trying to reassure you. Like one did with their own children.  

“It’s fine,” you replied, feet kicking at moving wisps of white beneath your feet. Trying to catch some other sound from the nearby attendants also getting assigned. They were all older. Usually, younger people like you didn't get assigned to materials like this. 

But you neither had a mother nor did you have a father to take on the jobs. And the stars weren't as forgiving as mortals. So, you were made to take on the hardships children weren't familiar with.  

It wasn't as if your body was built for it either. Stars didn't have a need for sustenance, or at least you were told adults didn't need any. And you were too skinny.  

“Barely any meat on these bones,” the old lady muttered, her hand on your forearm, causing you to turn your attention back to her. Immediately flinching at the moment, taking a step or two back away from her. Feet barely making a sound against the clouds beneath your feet. The chatter of others and the rustle of paper and pens were louder than anything else.  

You hadn't been paying attention to what she had said before. Lost in your own world. She still had that smile dancing on her lips as if she did.  ‘She was probably trying to encourage me,’ you thought. And you weren't wrong, as that was what she usually did.  

The old woman stood up. A slow movement, as if if she moved too fast, she might fracture her body. Her clothes rustled by the movement.  

“Anyhow,” she replied. Your name fell out of her lips once more. “Don’t forget.” She turned around; you could barely make out her facial features as she turned. “In the end we are all made of star-stuff.” She shrugged, turning her head and giving you a wink.  

She looked impossibly young in that moment. No older than thirty, maybe. But before you could dwell on the moment, you were being ushered to go fulfill your job.  

. 

. 

. 

  “AND where did you say this child came from?” the doctor asked. You'd been around for less than a day. Remembering exactly when a tall man with a raven head had barged into the room frantic. And had looked at you as if you were a pest. 

You weren't!. At least to yourself you weren't. And quite frankly, this was your best job ever. Gone was the bedridden, too-pale woman. The sickness that once clogged and cloyed the room with it had disappeared. Leaving the imposing, elegant woman who had (thankfully) gotten you out of the jail cell you'd been thrown into once the man had gotten his hold on you.  

Bluntly, your hatred for the man was festering more, gosh! Who knew dukes could be such prudes!. It wasn't as if you were going to kill the woman. You just made her feel better...permanently!. 

“Around and about,” Sabina answered vaguely to the doctor’s question. Her eyes were trained on you. Curious and protective in a way you weren't able to decipher. Upon closer look. Sabina was truly really beautiful when she wasn't on death’s door.  

‘I did this,’ you thought. Boasting to yourself. This wasn't the first time you'd healed someone. But it was the first time you had healed someone as sick as Sabina.  

Sabina was beautiful in a way. She looked like a black swan in your opinion. A divine being blessed by Aphrodite. With her dark hair, it fell almost to her waist. And the prettiest eyes that reminded you of red roses. You'd never seen such eyes look at you with so much reassurance in your short-lived life.  

Tristan eyed you. And then he eyed his wife. Letting out a tch before grabbing the back of your dress. Holding you like an 's' and going from side to side. Eyes trained on the marble floor as you tried to maneuver your way out of this grasp. 

Has this man never held a child before? 

The voices around you blurred. You saw the shadow of the duchess fall upon you, the doctor stammering out more questions that Sabina answered with so much vagueness it was astonishing, honestly.  

And with each question, Tristan was just getting more irritated. The blood rushing to your brain just as quickly.  

“I don’t understand why you’re protecting this child. If it’s a thief, then so be it!” Tristan quipped. Voice dripping with agitation. He was probably also frowning, but you couldn't confirm that. 

“Because I can,” Sabina replied, moving closer as if just seconds away from slapping Tristan’s hand away. But not following through with the movement, as she realized you'd just plummet to the cold floor before anyone could catch you.  

“If it’s because she’s a girl, I told you we already have one, and she’s far better than this glowing creature!” He tried to reason. His words hurt. Glowing creature, for fuck's sake! You'd saved his wife's life.  

“Don’t call her that. If I wish to keep her, then so be it; it shall be my responsibility, not yours!” Sabina argued, crossing her arms.  

He let out an exasperated sigh. As if just having this talk and her being angry with him after just getting better physically pained him. “Well, what if she’s an outsider? A spy? Sent by the emperor! She could harm you then! And you could end up dead!” he spat out.  

It was petty, and you knew it too, for you to still be upset that he had called you a growing creature. To be fair, you were one. But still you were a toddler! What kind of grown man does that to a toddler?!. 

Blurry tears clouded your vision. Tiny sniffles now filled the hostile air. Your lips quirk downwards and into a frown.”Gosh, adults were just so mean and ungrateful,” you thought somberly.  

Hiccups came out before the tears began dripping down your face and onto the marble floor. The doctor had long excused himself. As to not get slain for witnessing this conversation in the beginning.  

If looks could kill, Tristan Valentine would have been six feet under the moment Sabina had glared at him as she heard the tiny sniffles coming out of the toddler. 

“You made her cry!” Sabina's slender arms swiftly picked her up from how he was holding her. Her head was now buried in the crook of her neck. Fat tears bubbled down her chubby cheeks.  

“I—” Tristan was at a loss for words. Not a single child he'd ever had cried in front of him. Maybe when he wasn't in the room, sure. And maybe it was because he was just oh so kind that they would cry from happiness.  

“Whatever thought you have in your brain, I will be keeping this child,” Sabina declared. And she had declared a lot of things in the past. Just not with the same intensity that she had in that moment.  

Tristann sighed. Not able to get a word in as she stormed out of the room. Slippers slapping against the floor, the wooden door slammed shut with a loud bam. Making the maids nearby physically jump. Watching as the duchess walked back to her room.  

Back inside, Tristan sighed, rubbing his temples. “God help me,” he groaned, moving swiftly and slumping against the leather chair of his office, head tilted back. Strands of his hair had stuck to his cheekbones.  

He felt the doors creak open, assuming it was Sabina, though he knew that after every argument he had to be wrong. Never her. 

And usually it was never her that was wrong. Just what was so special about that child that made her want to keep her?. The doctors and healers he had called in had all called it a miracle from the stars that she had gotten better from what they had called an ‘incurable illness.’  

But Tristan wasn't like that. Surely it wasn't fate. That made no sense to the duke. 

Anyhow, pushing his thoughts aside. His eyes followed the creaking of the wooden door. It was, in fact, not Sabina.  

“Who dares to enter the duke’s office without knocking?” He asked, voice sharp, still not witnessing the figure emerge from behind the wooden door on the other side.  

But, once he saw the tuft of pink hair. He relaxed ever so slightly. His daughter. Or so he called her; it hadn't been more than a few weeks since she had arrived at the Valentine mansion.  

But Aria Cortez (or Valentine) was perhaps the second person ever to have made him care about their well-being. 

The duke didn't say anything. His demeanor eased as he beckoned her over using one hand, to which the pink-haired 

 The girl had strolled towards him and was now at his side. Big doe-pink eyes meeting his, a smile blooming on her face.  

She pulled out a card from the brown satchel she carried with her everywhere. The paper rustled inside as she tilted her head downwards to find the paper she had written.  

“Why were you fighting?” She wrote, showing him the paper. Her handwriting was loopy. The paper was tinged brown from use. He made a mental note to buy her some new paper. 

“Just adult discourse,” he said vaguely. His hand now rested on the armchair, his fist holding his face as he gave her his full attention. Something he rarely did. 

Aria didn't look convinced; her brows furrowed in a way that made it visible that she didn't believe him. Trying to gouge the truth from him.  

But Tristan was used to things like this. And didn't relent as he continued staring at her. Blinking every few seconds.  

Aria, in defeat, pulled out another paper. Grabbed a pen off of his desk using the tip of her foot. Creasing the tip of the shoes, the maids would surely weep after seeing it.  

She turned the paper towards him after she finished writing. “I heard that there is a new child here besides me. Is that why you and the duchess were fighting, Father?” She wrote asking not  bothering with niceties.  

The duke made a disgruntled sound that sounded like a yes. The pink-haired child tilted her head in curiosity before tilting her head back down to write something else.  

It was in smaller handwriting at the corner of the paper. “When can I meet the duchess and the child?” His daughter sure was full of curiosities.  

“The duchess isn’t in a good mood... And the child won’t be staying long,” he answered, voice muffled by his palm.  

Aria's lips quirked into a frown. God, why was every woman in his life upset with him today?. 

. 

. 

. 

“Come on,” Sabina cooed, her voice muffled as you were hiding beneath the blanket. The duchess had learned your name just last week. And she had to say it did in fact really match you.  

But it seemed no matter the amount of words, she would tell you to get rid of Tristan, calling you a glowing creature went in vain

. As it was the only thing stuck in your brain as you hid beneath the silk, white cover, you looked like a lump in the middle of it with how little you are. As if a misplaced pillow. 

Sabina could drag you from out, but where's the fun in that? Considering you would get more upset if she did that. Her soft hand patted the top of the blanket, trying to make it look like a comforting gesture.  

“Come on, star child, I’m sure he didn’t mean it,” she tried to convince. “My husband just says stuff without thinking. I’m sure he will love you if you two just sit with each other.” Tristan had, of course, apologized to Sabina like maybe a week ago.  

But, when he tried apologizing to you, you wailed so loud he immediately shut the door and didn't try communicating with you ever again.  

Sabina sighed. Head rested against the mattress. Fine if you wouldn't go to the duke. Then she would just bring him to you!. 

With the brilliant idea that had bloomed in her mind, she pressed her lips against the comforter atop of where your head was. “I’m going to go get something and come back, okay, baby? “Don’t move.” She stood up swiftly, crouching in pain for a second or two. Before her slipper began their sound against the carpeted floor.  

Moving out of the room. Suddenly it was all quiet. You peeked out of your safe haven to make sure it was true that she was gone. 

But in your vision was the old woman now sitting next to you on the bed. It had dipped in her barely there weight.  

She smiled her signature smile. “Ready to go home, starchild?” she asked. eyes twinkling with amusement at the scene she had just witnessed. But for the first time in any mission, you didn't want to go home.  

Because no amount of tears or future missions would make you forget how happy being with Sabina was.  

And in a few years, looking back. Those would be the best memories of those two weeks you spent with them. They would be the best days of your life. 

The moments after you'd vanished. Sabina had managed to drag Tristan to apologize. Your name coming out of her lips in such delight would've made you giggle if you had heard it. 

“Where—” The words died on her lips. She didn't need to investigate as her heart broke. She hadn't even known you that long, and she believed that it was fate. That you'd be the child she finally raised. The child whom she had grown to adore in such little time.  

Had vanished. And a stupid part of her hoped. That the next time she saw a shooting star, she wished upon it. You'd show up again.  

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I forgot how much I loved writing for them. loosely inspired by the song "Maybe This Time I'll Win" from the Cabaret musical!

SUMMARY: being neglected by your father was something both you and your sister were so intimately familiar with. But what happens when all of a sudden? Claude begins paying attention to the princess, but you're still left in the dark?

“I'm not jealous,” you mumble to yourself. Eyes trained on the scene in front of you.  

You were seated at a wooden desk in the library. The wooden table pressed against glass panes that overlooked the garden of the palace.  

You’d gone there to quote on quote. ‘Study’ your book opened in front of you. Sticky tabs and highlighters were particular and stood out against the rather plain pages. But you weren't paying attention to any of that.  

Instead, your optics were directed at the scene in front of you, far beyond the confines of the glittering palace. Down in the lush garden of the Palace. With its prosperous ground. Trimmed grass. Flowers of every type and color surrounded the two.  

You lean against the table. The familiar lump growing at the back of your throat. Your dad. Claude De Alger Obelia. With his tyrant rule. Mostly known for when he murdered the entirety of his harem. And would've killed the baby a dead dancer had given him if it wasn't for the baby's name.  

The baby is now a grown teenager. And very obviously loved by her dad. Your sister. Athanasia. Or how you just called her Athy when no one was around. The father and daughter were seated in a shaded area beneath a willow tree. Smiling and laughing.  

‘Why wasn’t I invited? ‘I’m your daughter, and I’m your sister too! ’ you thought bitterly. Before shoving the thought down, guilt is gnawing at you more than the jealousy ever would.  

This has been happening more often than you'd like to admit. Their forgetting to invite you is starting to outweigh them inviting you. Sure, maybe. They'd forgotten.  

But you'd been the one to comfort Athy more than the emperor ever had. You were the one who wiped her tears after she had gotten pushed in the water. You'd pushed for her to do all she's doing now.  

Maybe...maybe you were in fact just meant to be forgotten.  

With a huff, you stood up, closing the book you hadn't spared a glance for. Picking it up. Your dress swished at your feet as you walked out. Faster than usual speed-walking, really. As if running from the scene you'd just witnessed. 

“It’s fine; they’ll just—I don’t know—they’ll invite me next time? ” You muttered to yourself. Feet taking you anywhere, you weren't looking up ahead, eyes trained on the floor beneath your feet. Thoughts are piling up as every other circumstance and excuse comes up as to why they didn't invite you to their tea party this time. Or the other twenty times.  

You stopped. Ears catching onto the maid's gossip before they see you. Your name being mentioned in low-toned whispers.  

“Poor girl... I mean, really, it's not like the crown princess or the emperor is really trying to hide it! ” She gasped in that fake tone you were oh-so-familiar with.  

“I know, oh my god! Did you see what they did last week? They had to—I'm not even joking—sneak out just so she wouldn't ask them,” the other maid piped in. Adding more fuel to the fire.  

Fuel that was making your heart ache. Which you realized had been aching for weeks. Just feel heavier. The lump in your throat is now worse than before. Water is pooling from behind your eyes, making your vision blurry. 

This time when you walked, you made sure not to make the sound of your heels visible. Just so you wouldn't jostle the gossiping maids.  

‘Maybe I’m just too much? ’ You tried to justify your voice still being low, whispering low. Trying to figure out where you went wrong. Sure, you always knew that your sister was closer to your father than you ever were. And you knew that your father was closer to your sister than he ever was to you.  

And yes, the favoritism was there. But it wasn't like you hadn't noticed them. Nor had you ever pointed it out.  

For all it's worth. Athy was the only sister you'd ever had. And Claude, maybe he wants the best father figure in the world. 

But truth be known, he was the only father you'd ever known in your life. “Maybe I just need to sleep it off.”  

You said that part out loud. Once in the confines of your opulent bedroom. Now alone. You removed the shoes you were wearing. And sliding into bed. Unshed tears staining your pillow. Before sleep finally took hold of you  

. 

. 

. 

. 

When you woke up. It was because Athy had called your name. Crystal blue eyes staring into you. “Good morning! ” the blonde chirped, standing next to your bed instead of peering at you.  

You greeted her back. The bitter thoughts are still bubbling at the back of your brain. But causing trouble would be so much worse. And you barely saw Athansia happy. So, you shut your mouth.  

The crown princess had taken the opportunity to plop down on your bed. Now grinning. Pearly white teeth showing as she finally started explaining the reason for her smile.  

“Guess what I did? ” she asked. Prodding around. 

“Ummm, you discovered that cows could fly? ” you asked in a voice half muffled by you hiding in the pillow, one eye looking at Athy.  

She shook her head, blue eyes glancing at you for a second before swinging her feet, eyes trained on the movement and then back to you. “Guess again, come onnnn! ” she encouraged. Smile widening.  

It caused a tiny crack of a smile to form on your own lips. “Hmm, what could the great Athanasia De Alger Obelia have done this time? ” you asked out loud sarcastically. “Maybe she invented a new key to the underworld—wait, no—that magician guy you like has proposed! ” You guessed, not moving from your position buried in your pillow.  

“What—no,” she shook her head. Your name followed the words with a whine. “Fine then!” she huffed. “I guess you’ll just never know,” she shrugged. Then silence followed.  

You rolled onto your back, hands folding just below your chest. Not even less than five minutes followed before the princess started spilling.  

“Father commissioned a painting of me and him!” She blurted out a tone filled with so much excitement and happiness. 

Your smile froze. The quirk of your lips almost going to a frown before you held your smile. Forcing your tone to appear... Happy?. You didn't know what you were attempting, really.  

“Aw, I’m so happy for you! When did he do that? ” you asked. How much was too much crying? Three or four times a day?. You weren't on a counting streak.  

“I think last week,” Athansia chirped.  

“I’m so happy for you,” you reiterated once more. Athanasia beamed happily. 

“Ah, I’m just gonna—uhm—go to the bathroom,” you excuse yourself, sitting up and getting out of your bed.  

. 

. 

. 

It was finally your day. What day?. Day you'd been dreaming of since forever. And your birthday, of course. Claude, to celebrate your birthday, had invited all of the most important people in the empire just for his daughter. 

So, dressed in your most extravagant dress. Your hair is done justtt right. You hurried down the steps of the palace. Shoes clicking against the floor, making your way to the ballroom.  

It was closed off with two large doors. The color of wood, the handles made of gold. Two guards were also stationed next to the large doorframe. Immediately bowing once they saw you, their lips moved in the form of the greeting before one moved closer and opened the door for you.  

You heard the muffled voice of the announcer. The door was pushed open.  

Everything was perfect. Everything was gleaming and perfect, and for the first time in so, so, so long, you felt like you belonged here.  

That you were, in fact, a princess. Not an outsider. 

You didn't have anyone to help you down the steps. But that was fine; you made your way down. Every guest's and noble's eyes landing on you. You saw the blonde hair of your sister standing next to your father.  

Everything was perfect, better than you could've ever imagined.  

But you'd barely made it down the stairs when they shifted music suddenly playing. It was known that the emperor would dance with his daughter on her birthday.  

So...everyone expected him to come towards you, right?. Not reach out for the crown princess to dance. 

Almost every pitiful gaze dropped to you at that. “Poor girl, she’s not even treated as a princess,” a nearby noble whispered. 

The empty void inside you returned in that moment. Watching the father-daughter 

The duo twirl and dance in happiness. Maybe you thought stupidly. That the tradition had changed?. 

You couldn't even bring yourself to be mad. just solemnly heartbroken and disappointed. Something that wasn't new for you.  

“It’s fine,” you thought to yourself.  

“Maybe next time I’ll win.”

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Look, guys, I know this is very specific, but I was listening to the musical Chicago, and I was like, "Wait... this so works as a fic idea!!!!"

TW: THIS IS ALL FICTIONALLL. NONE OF THIS IS REAL

SYNOPSIS: In the eyes of everyone, you most definitely killed your husband! So what if he pissed you off and had an affair? And maybe the gossip about it was getting to you. Rest assured your doting family will put an end to this gossip because who are you if not their angel?

"DID YOU DO IT, MISS AGRICHE?" the reporter asked. eyes glued to the notepad in his hand. Instead of the murderess seated in front of him.

It wasn’t like it was unexpected that a member from the Agriche family would come out to be convicted for murder. Hell, a lot of them were probably insane in the head.

But pushing the thoughts aside. The reporter tried to seem confident; he really did. His life and his hard work would be all for nothing if he didn’t get this exact interview. His voice not wavering, his hands were steady. But his eyes wouldn't meet yours. And it only took that gesture for you to know he was terrified shitless of you.

The thought made your lips curl. Eyes trailing from looking at your nails to the quivering reporter. Your head is tilting to the side. Hair swishing to the side with the movement.

“Did I do it?” You echoed the question. Watching the reporter visibly flinch. Making you even more delighted at how afraid he was.

You didn’t blame him for being terrified. In fact, if he wasn’t quivering like a leaf, he probably would’ve been one of the most courageous reporters who’d tried to get an interview from you.

“Do you think I did it, mister reporter?” You switched the topics. Voice taking on a faux saccharine tone.

He vehemently shook his head. “N-no Miss…” he denied. But if he wasn’t stuck in this room with you, he probably would’ve declared loudly that you had committed that heinous act of murder.

“Well then, because I’m such a generous person,” you began, propping your feet on the wooden table across from you. Hand brushing off the strands of hair that had fallen onto your face.

"Let's see...well, it started off simply, really. I'm sure you knew my husband well. Who didn't know him? he had..." He trailed off, eyes squinting at the reporter as if trying to recall a lost memory; it made him squirm in his chair.

"Ah, well, he had this habit, really," you finally remembered, your hand going to play with the ruby necklace at your throat. His eyes had trailed down to your fidgeting. "You like it? Thank you! My adorable sister got it for me!" you gushed before turning back to your story.

"The habit... hmm... he'd go off during odd times in the night, and at first he told me he was just sleepwalking. And, well, you know men. I mean, you're one! But you know them." Your eyes trailed the reporters. A frown tugging at the quirk of your lips.

"They all—I mean all—think women are the stupidest people to ever exist!" you declared. "And my husband, poor soul, he thought I wasn't an exception to that." You sighed, head lolling at the back of the metal chair.

"I mean, really, what kind of fool sleepwalks and manages to change all his clothes and head to the maid's quarters?" You rolled your eyes.

"So obviously, like the very curious woman that i am"

"I followed him to the maid's wing, and lo and behold what I stumbled on! him and the maid in some passionate kiss I can't recall!"

"And I was so enraged, really—as I rightfully should've been!"

"Well, let's just say he had it com—"

Your name came out in a screech behind you, causing you to turn your head to the source of the voice; to your dismay, it wasn't the reporter.

But the view of your younger brother bursting into the room with the happiest smile on his face.

"Ah, Jeremy," you smiled, attention now diverted to the teenager.

"How are you holding up in here?" He asked now, right next to you. not waiting for your answer before he continued. calling out your name just to make sure your attention was on him.

"You know no one back home thinks you're guilty!" He added, "To please you, maybe?" or to ease some nonexistent worry.

"I know, Jeremy, darling," you cooed, hand ruffling his raven hair. "How's Roxana with her new pet?" you asked, hand shooing away the reporter, who scrambled away, chair screeching against the cement floor, some of his papers falling loose and onto the floor.

The reporter didn't bother trying to get them back, continuing his scramble out of the room.

"Jeremy, get me those papers," you ordered. to which your brother happily obliged, and a few seconds later the familiar texture was in your hands.

Your eyes read in the words on the paper greedily filled with the handwriting of the reporter. Your smile was now turned into a frown.

"Insane," "absurd," "psychopath," and another not so very nice choice for the way the reporter was choosing to tell the public.

You made an inaudible sound. throwing the papers on the floor back to where they originally were.

You stomped all over them. "What's wrong, big sister?" Jeremy asked.

"Nothing," you let out an exasperated sigh, hand-shooing him away. He obliged and left, not without picking up a few of the papers to understand why you were so upset.

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

When the newspaper got delivered to you the next day in your cold, steel cell. Your frown was basically gone.

"REPORTER GOING MISSING. PLEASE HELP US FIND HIM."

"deserved," you whispered to yourself. You were innocent! You didn't do anything wrong!. Your family knew you were innocent.

you reminded yourself. that when Jeremy came to visit again, you'd hug him. Because who on earth would bother to do this besides your beloved younger brother?!.

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

When Roxana came to visit. She usually came with Dion. And you'd gotten used to it, really. He never spoke standing in the dark spaces of the cell you resided in.

Roxana greeted you as she stepped into the cell. "Hi Roxy," you waved at the blonde. a vision of beauty with all blonde hair and the prettiest red eyes ever. an angel draped in red.

"How are you holding up?" she asked. taking in the place as she usually did for the millionth time.

"Like regular," you shrugged. "I know I'll get out," you added. Eyes flicking to Dion before settling back to the blonde.

"Did you see what Jeremy did for you?" she asked. In return, you smiled.

"Soooo thoughtful, isn't he?" You hummed, delighted. And maybe it didn't show on Roxana's face how irritated she was.

not at the fact that you were happy, no, never at you. at the fact that she could've done the same thing and gotten your praise instead of Jeremy.

The blonde straightened her already perfect posture. "So you're saying that if I did the same, I would have been able to get the same reaction from you?" she asked.

You nodded, not catching at what she was scheming. "Yeah, basically."

The confirmation made her want to scream with envy. "See you soon, I suppose," she waved off dryly, heels clicking against the floor as she walked out of the cell, Dion trailing behind her.

"You're planning something," he stated the obvious once the two were out of earshot.

"Is it obvious?" she asked dryly. Dion nodded. He cleared his throat. "What are you going to do?" he asked the obvious.

"im going to get her out of there" so Roxana could have the attention of her sister back on her obviously.

It was going to take a while, sure. But if by the end. Her old sister was smiling at her? and not at anyone else? Then that was all worth it.

NOTE: I'm having too much fun rewriting these sooooo

SUMMARY: It had only been a week. Yet in this massive mansion, the only person you ever saw was Tristan. not your sister or anyone else. till one day. A pale, black-haired boy you've never seen before, one who resembled his father. stumbled upon you and introduced himself as your sister's husband.

IT HAD BEEN A WEEK since you came to the Valentine mansion. A week of only seeing the duke. Which in itself wasn't a problem. But he had said that your sister had wanted you here.

So where was she now? Did she change her mind?. Tristan was a master at avoiding answering the question.

Whenever you'd ask, he would redirect your attention. having quickly figured out how in awe you were of everything.

He'd shown you the case holding all the portraits of previous dukes. all in their golden frames that sparkled like jewels whenever the sun hit them. Or he would show you some other obscenely expensive thing to divert your curiosity to something else.

the truth was. Your sister had asked about you. but tristan would just give one excuse after another

"Your sister went to the doctor; I'll let you see her another time, daughter."

or

"She's asleep right now...how about tomorrow?"

The duke didn't know what was wrong with him. For God's sake, it was a toddler. He could let Aria see her sister. but whenever he'd try to form the words. Instead of approval, it quickly changed and turned to a rejection.

"I'm tired of this!" Aria had scribbled, shoving the paper in the eyes of her fiancé. Lloyd Valentine. The black-haired boy raised an eyebrow, unamused.

"Tired of what?" he asked.

The siren bent her head, writing another sentence on the pieces of paper she carried: "of Father not letting me see my sister!" Do I have to sneak in? Did he bring the wrong person home? Why can't I see her?" She showed him again.

He didn't reply this time either, either not having an answer or not caring. But Aria didn't need him to speak as an idea formed in her head. Her head bowed down as her hand flew at rapid speed, writing.

"We can just sneak in! ... No one would catch us, and even if they do, they can't say anything," Aria grinned as she showed him this piece of paper. very happy at her idea.

In Arias's past life, Y/n ended up dead at 14 due to a problem no one told her about. All she knew was that one day Y/n was sneaking cookies for her, and then the next she wasn't.

"We can't do that," Lloyd stated bluntly. Aria refused to hear him out.

"You don't have to come with me; I can just go by myself!" She wrote again. before standing up, smoothing her dress, and walking out.

Aria thought of the plan as she moved her feet, barely making a sound as she navigated the way to her bedroom.

She'd do it tomorrow night.

Aria made sure not to wear shoes. as they made a squeaky click-clack sound against the floor. And she most definitely didn't need to be caught right now!.

It didn't take long for her to figure out where her sister was sleeping. and the maids thankfully weren't immune to gossip. and she'd managed to figure out a bunch of rumors swirling around her sister. And because no one really saw Y/N outside of her room besides the duke and close confidants (which for some reason didn't include Aria, and that still pissed her off).

the door creaked open Aria closed her eyes in regret but nonetheless peered inside. till she heard a noise next to her. She jumped, turning her head.

She expected Tristan to stand there. Not Lloyd, who had so strongly detested this just earlier this morning.

The pink-haired girl stared at him in confusion. silently asking the question

"What are you doing here?" She asked silently, giving him that one look. the slight tilt of her head to the side. as if asking a question. Her wide pink eyes pinned on him.

"I wanted to come with you to protect you, obviously." He scratched the back of his head, "and to see what the fuss is about," he added on a quieter note.

Aria's lips stretched into a smile. as if she was about to laugh at him but was holding herself. She didn't bring any of her papers with her, so she pointed her head at the door. signaling him to open it.

He shook his head. Jet black hair swooshing and wiping at his face. "Are you crazy? We can get into trouble!"

But Aria didn't care. Her hand was already on the golden door handle. It turned under the pressure, cracking the dark wood door open. Aria turned to Lloyd and smiled. He sighed, already wincing at what kind of trouble they'd get punished for later.

The glimpse of the room was enough to make aria's heartbeat speed up She clasped her pale hand around Lloyd's, entwining their fingers. before she tugged him with her forward.

The duo was now inside the room. It was...a kids' room alright. covered in gifts. Plushies from every variant existed. from horses to dogs to cats to fish. all in their different color palettes.

Aria immediately recognized Tristan's ways of trying to please her sister. Because, well, he's done the same with Aria.

The siren took in everything, trying to find her sister. "Where is she?" Lloyd asked, letting go of her hand to roam around.

He opened the closet. "Is your sister a shy person?" the black-haired boy asked.

Aria shrugged as if she didn't have an answer for him. She didn't; her sister changed from an extrovert to shy in less than a blink of an eye depending on her mood.

The future duke of Valentine nodded as if he understood what she meant, continuing his inspection while Aria stood just taking things in.

He crouched beneath the bed and lifted the duvet to see if he could find anything. "Well, if she is a shy person..she wouldn't have—" The words died on his tongue. eyes widening a fraction.

Aria was confused before she moved closer and crouched with him. eyes also widening. before her lips cracked into a smile. beneath the bed. was Y/n.

For a few minutes the two stared at the girl curled up on the floor. Her eyes were also staring into theirs.

Still smiling, Aria leaned forward. Her hands gently tugging on Y/n's arm, pulling her out from beneath the bed. careful so her younger sister didn't hit her head.

Aria's grin only seemed to brighten. Lloyd was just confused, if you could say that. Her hands begin to pull on her sister's cheeks, stretching them.

Lloyd scooted so his thighs were pressing against Aria, who sat next to him in an erect position, seemingly content. The siren didn't have her cards, so she couldn't communicate with her little sister.

Lloyd dug into his pocket. suddenly wanting to see the two interact. He found an old paper Aria had written to him. grabbing a pen that was discarded on the plush carpet.

He handed it to Aria silently as she dutifully wrote away before showing Y/n the card.

"Have you been well? I missed you," she raised the card.

Y/n smiled in return, nodding instead of saying anything. "I-I'm good," the girl replied. stuttering and stumbling over the two words as if she hadn't spoken in a long time.

Aria beamed. She looked so happy. Lloyd had never seen her this happy.

Y/n had turned to Lloyd. Taking in his appearance, he had the same dark hair as the tall man who'd taken her.

"You look like the man," Y/n blurted before confirming, "But your hair is shorter; he has long hair." She clarified.

The future duke of Valentine immediately knew she was talking about his father. "I'm better than him," he blurted. voice so full of brazen confidence it surprised Aria's younger sister.

The siren side-eyed him. Pink eyes filled with curiosity, and it was almost as if she wanted to laugh at him. Lloyd leaned forward.

"Don't you agree, Y/n?" he asked. Y/n wasn't sure why he was even asking her.

"Umm, yes, you're better!" She nodded mostly to please him. which thankfully it did. He didn't smile, but something in the air around him seemed to ease. As if happy, the girl confirmed it.

At that moment. A tall shadow loomed over the trio. Lloyd closed his eyes, already knowing who was standing behind them. Then came the familiar voice of the duke.

"What are you two doing here?" he asked. The duo who'd snuck in quickly turned to face him. faces twisted with expressions of guilt. Aria's more than Lloyd. "I wanted to talk to my sister," Aria scribbled out on a piece of paper that the duke examined. He reached down. Large hands grabbed the backs of the pink- and black-haired duo, picking them up effortlessly.

He balanced Aria on his hip. Lloyd was held up high by the back of his shirt, dangling. "HEY!" he squirmed around.

"Really, Y/n?" Tristan ignored his son's attempt at squirming, turning his head. eyeing Aria's younger. "Do you really think my son is better than me?" he asked.

Tristan thought she looked like a terrified mouse with the way she was staring at him and shaking her head.

He didn't wait for a response attention falling back on his son. he gently placed aria on the ground ontly took lloyd by his armpits holding him like you would a doll.

"You really like testing my patience, don't you?" He mused, frowning. before turning his attention back to Y/n.

"My son isn't better than me," he said. It was petty he even knew that. And for the millionth time, he retraced his eyes to his son.

"Next time you tell your sister that I will end your marriage," he threatened. Lloyd paled.

Aria immediately tugged on the duke's pants. Pink eyes filled with urgency. The thought in her mind was clear. 'what did he mean by that?'

He bent his head slightly so he could see what she wrote for him. "What do you mean, sister? She's my sister, not Lloyd's!" She asked the obvious her writing carried this sense of angry. maybe she was upset?.

"What, I can't adopt her too? "Don't worry, you're still my daughter, and she's still your sister," he answered her. sensing the relief that washed over her. He dropped Lloyd on the ground before strolling out of the room. Happy with the confusion he'd just installed in the entire household of Valentine.

As it now not only had one girl, no, it had two. and gossip spread fast.

NOTES: Hi, hello!. been daydreaming about a fanfic where the reader is Lyrica's mom (no abuse here, guys!) because Alteris is so so so fine! Enjoy reading.

IMPORTANTTTTT: You're implied to have, like, the same eyes as Lyrica; she didn't specify the hair color!

SUMMARY: Lyrica never even dreamt of the day she and her mother would escape the slums and the poverty that came with them. but even when she did. She never expected to end up as the princess of the empire! So why? With everything from the jewels to the dresses to the food, she'd never ever thought of tasting. Has her mother forgotten about her?!.

LYRICA WOKE UP ONE MORNING. And as usual, she wore her worn-out clothes, tattered and patched up with bad handiwork. courtesy of her mother.

Oh, wait. Lyrica never talked about her mother, did she? Well, luckily, she loved loved loved doing that, so as she wore her shoes, ready to head off to work, her mind began reeling.

"Oh, my mom? She's the most beautiful woman in the world. Even though we live in the slums, everyone that sees her agrees with me too. I got lucky and got the same eye color as her.

the same bright, vivid turquoise color. except hers are slightly darker than mine.

But it just makes my mother look more beautiful!. Last night Mother left, saying she had to do something. and she still hasn't returned.

She wouldn't abandon me, right? ... no, my mother would never do that

snapping out of her train of thought, Lyrica stood up, finished from tying her shoes, and skipped out

⠀ ☆⠀⠀ ⠀⁺‧͙

TO ANY OTHER PERSON. The scene looked like this:

The cruel tyrant dragon emperor who froze hearts was now going to freeze the heart of the woman sitting in front of him.

"It's a marriage proposal What's so difficult about that, your majesty?" Y/n repeated for the millionth time that night. head turning every few seconds to look out the wide window just so she could see the time.

Night had bled into day with her arguing with the dragon emperor slouched in front of her.

A week ago she'd come back from the dead. Or so she assumed. One minute the breathing had choked up; she'd wheezed and coughed the smell of burnt skin. Her skin reached her nose, suffocating her till it didn't. Hot charcoal was burning the soles of her feet, and every bit of her was catching fire.

Next she woke up to the face of her daughter staring at her with those big concerned eyes.

The immediate thought was that she was now in heaven. long dead, and her angelic daughter, whom she hadn't seen for so long at that point, was now with her.

till she realized she wasn't, that she'd somehow gone back in time, and promptly cried.

In y/n's last life she died poor. accused of being a seductress and helping aid her witch of a daughter, who was long deceased and burned at the stake. And now her time had come.

well in this life. she decided. She wasn't going to live in poverty. She wasn't going to waste her life working. She wasn't going to let Lyrica die the way she'd died.

No, not in this life. Lyrica would drown in comfort. have everything she desired.

In this life, Lyrica wouldn't just be y/n's princess. No, she'd be the empire's princess. and everyone would witness her daughter. She'd demand it if necessary!.

"You're very..." the emperor Alteris started. He was unfairly hot. tan skin and blue eyes that seemed to pierce her soul. Dark raven hair was pushed back from the number of times he'd run his hands through it.

Y/n had been staring; she wasn't oblivious. and the rumours most definitely didnt do him any justice

He was most definitely hotter than the papers had said. or the pathetic attempts at drawing him.

"Very, what's the word..." he trailed off. eyes scanning her entire being "Bold," he settled on. an amused look on his face. "Sneaking into a ball and proposing a marriage contract to me? Cheeky little thing, aren't you?" His words were laced with playfulness. But if anything, the room was filled with suffocating tension.

"What can I say...I'm a woman of...brilliant ideas?" She shrugged, eyes trained on his dark blue ones. Eye contact wasn't something many made with the emperor.

"Let's say I agree to this...contract." He waved his hand carelessly at the empty air.

"Then I'll be empress for 8 years," you continued. unsure of where this conversation was going.

One, he'd humor her. and then imprison her, and she'd never get to see Lyrica again.

The thought made her skin crawl. the second option was. He'd humor her and actually agree. And y/n most definitely preferred the second option.

"Look, all you're going to lose is 8 years with a really hot woman. I can be a good empress!" Y/n argued, slamming her fists on the table. His eyebrows arched, a smile tugging at the edge of his lips.

"Yeah? And you have experience being an empress? Have I reminded you that I don't even know your name?" the eye contact was still there

his lazy amused ones with hers, which could start a fire.

"I can learn! Besides, would you really rather get married to a Barat?" The threat, if it could even be called one, was low. But anyone with a brain knew that the Barats and the Takars were like oil and water.

They didn't mix.

He sighed, throwing his head back, giving her a view of the column of his throat. Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed His Adam’s apple bobbed with the motion of his throat.

An indecent thought bubbled in her brain before she shot it down. Cheeks now turning red. "And my name's Y/n," she added.

To that he grinned, moving his head back to his original position.

"Alright then. I'll sign the marriage contract, Y/n."

☆⠀⠀ ⠀⁺‧͙

LYRICA WAS GROWING WORRIED. Her mother had always come home early. Usually with something she'd stolen from the bakery shed worked out.

Sometimes she'd tell her stories that happened at work, and Lyrica would chime in too. Other times her mother would try to convince her to stay home while they ate the 2-day-old stale bread.

"You can stay here at home, and I'll go work and go to school! play with the kids," and her words would enter through one ear and come out of the other.

but tonight. as Lyrica sat on the creaky old wood of their tiny home. knees bundled up to her chest. the cold seeping through her bones.

Panic was all that consumed her mind. What was she thinking? Her mother could barely start a fire!. Lyrica had to wake her up on most days, as she never woke up in time for work. Their silver coins had disappeared.

The thought from earlier crept back in.

My mom has abandoned me.

It started to become the only thing the child believed in as she waited in the house. So in search of her mother, the little girl stood up on her skinny legs, grabbed her worn-out coat, and headed out.

She was freezing even more outside than she was inside. Every breath she took came out in white puffs. Cheeks quickly turning red as she hastened her walk.

"MOTHER?" Lyrica screamed. Maybe she'd accidentally fallen asleep outside? or worse? Maybe she'd gotten injured. or mugged?. The overthinking was seriously starting to get to her.

Out of breath and tired and hungry, Lyrica sat in an empty alleyway.

Her mom wouldn't abandon her, right?. She always told her that she was the most precious thing she'd ever gotten in her life.

tears hung in her eyes lips pursed into a thin line. No, she wouldn't do that!. She knew her mother more than she knew herself. She looked at the ground.

A pair of fancy shoes became visible in her cloud. He had a silver badge; once she looked up, signaling that he was a knight.

"The empress wants to see you," he said with an almost bored tone.

LYRICA HAD A PROBLEM. Two days had passed since she found out the so-called empress was, in fact, her mother.

and that her mother had entered a marriage contract with the emperor of all people! and now beyond her wildest dreams. Lyrica was now a princess.

besides the fact that she went from dirt poor to now a princess who wore diamonds.

Lyrica barely saw her mother. and that made her sad beyond relief. Whenever she'd go to the maids, they'd give her vague excuses.

"Oh, the empress is tired," and "We're sorry she's not hosting an audience at the moment." and a million variations of the words "she's busy."

So with a lot of determination, Lyrica marched down the halls of the opulent and well-lit palace. Sun seeped through ceiling-to-floor windows. Gold edges shimmering everywhere.

Instead of knocking like she had all the other times, Lyrica barged in. a frown on her lips. eyes landing on her mother, who was seated at a nearby vanity.

All movements ceased as the princess took in the scene. The maid was standing behind her mother. brushing her hair. The empress' mouth twisted upwards into a smile at something the maid said.

Lyrica had never found her mother to be more beautiful than at that moment. She inched closer till y/n's eyes caught her from the corner.

Without a word, she extended her arms, beckoning her forward, and Lyrice obliged, allowing herself to be lifted up and placed on her mother's lap. arms circling around Lyrica to keep her still.

Y/n bumped her head with Lyrica's, as if they were sharing a secret. "Hi Lili," she greeted. "I heard you're taking an etiquette class?" She started.

Lyrica nodded, going on a rant about it for a while before she finally confessed to her mother what she had been feeling.

"Mother," Lyrica started, almost shy. "Why don't you want to... want to sit with me anymore?" She asked, cheeks now turning a rosy red, tears almost threatening to spill.

"Oh, Lili," the empress sighed, "I do want to sit with you. It's very silly you think I don't when you're the best thing that's ever happened to me," she exclaimed.

"its just im a little busy right now but as soon as im not ill sit with you for a,illion years okay?" she watched as the smile returned to her daughters face.

she herself also smiling at the scene.

You'll forever be my first choice, Lili. Don't think otherwise, okay?"

The empress didn't wait for a reply. Nor did she let go of the crying child. All she knew was that.

Lyrica was safe. and while that was all that mattered. she knew she'd go to farther lengths to know she was happy because, after all Lyrica Takars' happiness topped anyone else's in the empress' eyes

Note: Okay, quick, before we start!! Reader is like a year younger than Aria. This is a redo from one of my first posts a year ago, so yippieee!! Also, this was, like, supposed to come out last year, but, uhmmmm

OLD POST

SUMMARY: Tristan never broke promises, especially to the tiny pink head who had turned him soft. So of course when asked, he will do it. But what happens when another, say her sister, finds a place in his heart too?.

THE ROAD WAS CREAKY. Tristan made that discovery about twenty minutes ago when he flew from one pristine carriage seat to the other. His patience was wearing thin if his wife was there. He had no doubt the duchess would make a mockery of him.

But he didn't care, never did. Especially when the risks of going back to the Valentine manor involved coming home empty-handed to a wide-eyed siren. waiting for her sister.

about a week ago he had asked, 'if you could have anything—on earth or not—daughter, what would it be?' It was a simple question. The girl hadn't spoken yet, and the manor became aware of her muteness and, besides that, her inability to eat.

"A bargain," he thought, "if she ate, even if it was just a spoon." He'd give her the item she desired. What he didn't expect was for it to be a person. She had scribbled on a piece of paper. "I want my sister!"

And truth be told, she ate food that day. with the conclusion he turned his head to look out the window. the sky mirrored his mood. dark covered in thunderous clouds ready to cry. except he wasn't ready to wail or sob. maybe hit the duke yes. it didnt go beyond that,

The carriage stopped, the door opened, and he stepped out, the count's house coming into view. a shabby manor clearly built on what used to be wealth but no longer remained. The exterior carried dust around the once-white columns of the entrance and the rusty door. The wood had grown stale and old with time, breaking when he kicked it with his foot—one kick only—and he was inside.

It bustled with maids who either stared curiously or didn't at all, the air growing with discomfort as he navigated his way inside. pink hair, looks exactly like the kid. He checked the boxes mentally, looking for any small child roaming around. but he didn't find anything, and with that, he made his way to the count's office.

a dull room, barely worth his attention, eyes wandering for any misplaced floor planks or unopened drawers. He didn't hear Count Cortez's nervous greeting. "Ah, Grand Duke—what...what brings you here? Did you kill the siren?" Finally Tristan turned to him.

"Where is she?" No introduction—to him, a man like Count Cotez barely deserved to breathe in the same room as him. He let out a shaky, nervous laugh. "Hah...the siren is in your hands—I don't have any other ki—" Tristan exhaled a breath. "Fine, I knew you weren't there in the brain, considering you don't even deserve the daughter you have—no," he cut himself off, sizing him up, "your other daughter. Where is she? Don't make me repeat myself; you, out of everyone, know what happens when you mess with a valentine."

"I don't know!" He replied, his voice shrill, "B-but if I had to guess, she's probably dead in the kitchen. I haven't heard her screaming for days. She probably died like her good-for-nothing bitch mother," he screamed. That earned him a punch, multiple punches.

The Duke of Valentine exited the room and entered the kitchen, where all the talk that was happening ceased. One of the maids pointed to a door bolted with multiple silver locks *better than the door handle of the manor;* this one was shiny enough that he could faintly see his reflection. Multiple locks decorating it. Ten, to be exact, each one more complicated than the other.

Something inside of Tristan. The entirety of the mansion was in *ruins;* none of it was renewed or polished except this door. Looking as if it were top of the art; nothing was rusted. It was clear it was new.

He grabbed a dagger stored in his belt. It was a precise enough thing to get the job done, and after a while he opened it.

The room, like the rest of the house, looked like a display of what the count would assume a happy girl would have. Untouched toys trapped behind glass boxes, dusted shelves, and molded food. The whole nine yards.

Tristan Valentine was not a good person; he wasn’t a hypocrite, and he knew he wasn’t. But still. Letting a child live in a condition like this was beyond cruel. Sparing it a glance made something inside of him ache.

The black-haired man entered deeper into the threshold, looking around for a sign of life. Or the tiny pink-haired girl. His eyes trailed from the shelves to the carpet dotted with strawberries, the mattress on the floor showing the signs that at some point the count had given up on decorating. His boots made a rough sound against the floor as he moved towards the closet.

Rusted and splintered from all around, once upon a time it might’ve been made with care and stored clothes upon clothes, from silks to ribbons. But as he opened it.

It didn’t store clothes; it stored a half-dead-looking girl. Pink hair exactly the same as the girl back at the Valentine mansion.

The Duke crouched in infront of the closet, gauging to see if she was even alive, like the thing he had the misfortune of laying eyes on in this mansion today. The sight sat wrong with him.

Just light the place on fire. He thought solemnly. Tristan couldn’t for many reasons. So with a million thoughts as to how to kill the count without it being traced back to him, he nudged the girl. Poked her in the ribs. Watched her flinch, eyes opening with fear he’d only seen on those that knowingly crossed him.

He waited till the girls' eyes landed on him. Was she five or eight? He wasn’t sure. But he did clear his throat to make her stare at him. Tristan wasn’t good with kids. He wasn’t good with Lloyd, that was for sure, but Lloyd was a boy; there was a difference between the two genders, he had been told. People like the young miss require more care! Treat one as you would a kitten or a baby rabbit!!

The voice of his butler rang in his ear; it was growing awkward he hadn’t said a word, and the child hadn’t said a word either. “I’m going to get you out of here,” he reaffirmed. Whether to himself or to her, he wasn’t sure. “Your sister is waiting for you,” he added, hands twitching at his side as if he was going to pick her up but decided against it.

Tristan watched as the pink-haired girl nodded, shifting and crawling out of the closet; he stood to his full height. Before crouching down and deciding to pick her up.

Was she mute too? He thought she hadn’t spoken a word, and her sister was unable to speak. Maybe it ran in the family…? Tristan didn't know, and he couldn't exactly find it in him to care.

By the time his thoughts cleared, he had walked outside of the shabby mansion. With unnatural carefulness, the Duke of Valentine put the girl inside of the carriage. before sliding in himself. "Do you...remember your sister?" He decided, unable to think of another answer. He watched as the child in front of him moved her head in a nodding motion.

"Yes? Well then. She asked me to come get you," he informed her. Tristan shifted his movement, dark eyes still staring at her.

"You haven't told me your name, and I doubt you will."

"But, your sister misses you, and she's precisely the reason I'm here, child. She loves you, and because I tolerate her, I'm letting you stay with us. You'll have your own room. No one would hit you. You'd get to eat anything you desired. If you cannot speak, it's fine; we'll teach you to write. You're safe here," he reassured. Tristan had never reassured anyone in his life!.

She didn't speak, sure. Maybe she didn't know how? He tilted his pale, knuckled head, resting it against his cheek as he continued examining her. But the thought immediately disappeared as he saw her open her mouth. A tiny voice came out, eyes glued to the floor. "M-my name is Y/n," she said quietly.

And he smiled. It wasn't noticeable; it was tiny, just the tilt of the corner of his lips going upwards.

The road ahead to the manor was long. possibly a day. maybe even more. But Tristan had that feeling. one he was never wrong about. that this tiny girl would end up being just as important to him as any other person in his family.

Can I please request another 😭 like reader is Atil’s childhood friend and they meet after a long time in a ball. But she dances with Fjord in the ball instead of him so he gets pissed and corners her in the garden (you know those manhwa scenes)

BTW if you can, please write Your name instead of Y/N 😭

Can you make them at least 15-17 (not too young or old)

IN the gardens ☆: .˚ Atil x fem! reader

AUTHOR NOTE: Also, I tried complying with the request 100 precent so bear with me I haven't written in so so so long so mind the grammar because English is not my first language, I came back from the writing grave bc i lob writing abt atil

"THIS is your new playmate, Atil!" cheered his nanny, pushing the small girl a step towards the prince. It was very clear to the then eight-year-old prince that you two wouldn't get along.

If you left, Atil thought he wouldn't miss you. For the brunette, you were the most boring person to ever exist. Hell, the boy marked his calendar to the day you would leave, with a big red circle around the day and the words 'She'll finally leave'.

While Atil had completely forgotten that the calendar exists, the cruel words of the eight-year-old were right there for her to see. You weren't meant to see it; he should've hidden it, should've tucked it under his pillow.

Eight-year-old, your name saw them, and of course, you were hurt. Of course, you cried and got mad at him. But luckily, you two made up; he removed the markings on the calendar.

Eventually, you left. He begged you not to, but you did, and for 9 years, you remained in the back of the prince's mind.

9 years later,

Atil thought you looked familiar, familiar in a way he's known you before, seen you in drawings, had you memorized in his brain, and it clicked. Fuck, was he happy when he remembered.

All the memories, all the words, the questions he wanted to ask you. But for some reason, he couldn't.

It wasn't until the next day that Atill found out why he couldn't talk to you. You were simply too beautiful for him to talk to anymore. Too stunning, an angel maybe.

The ball that Atill had held, one of the first balls for him to even hold as the current emperor of the empire, was a week-long, so he wasn't worried about time.

But what worried him was if he would ever get the courage to talk to you ever. He hoped that maybe, just maybe, you'd remember him.

So, the next day came, morning came and went, the sky growing dark, unseeable stars twinkling. The castle was abuzz, and so was the capital, nobles arriving at the palace in their pearly carriages, and those who worked there passing along the long halls, food and wine in trays.

Atil stood there, for once, maybe in his life, he felt absolutely dumbfounded. He really didn't know what to do.

"Hi, Atill, remember me?" With the voice came a tap on his shoulder. While the voice grew softer, Atill knew who it was, his childhood friend, one of his only friends.

"Your name."

"Your name?" he asks, turning to face you. You nod to his question. And he smiles, "how long has it been? Nine years?" he asks.

"I think so, time moves fast. You're now the emperor, hm?" she responds, grabbing dessert from one of the servants that passed by them.

"Soon to be. Will you be there for the ceremony?" he asks once more. This time, you don't answer as everyone moves toward the ballroom. Atill follows suit.

For the first ten minutes, there was no dancing, no nothing, till one person asks the other and soon everyone follows, asking the person they've been eyeing or with the higher status.

Atill rejecting every one of them for one reason. He wanted to dance with you and only you. For the first time since he saw you at the ball since day one, Atill wanted to ask you, and he wanted to be the only man to ever dance with you that night.

Unfortunately, to his dismay, a particular white-haired boy, one that he despised with his entire being, Fjord Bharrat, had asked you to dance. Why? he didn't know. He didn't even know that Fjord even knew you, considering he had never met you.

But you were stunning, and almost every person there had been looking at you. Or maybe it was because Fjord saw Atill eyeing you and wanted to annoy him.

Annoyed and not particularly wanting to dance with anyone but you, Atill heads to the garden. He had half a mind to head to the maze garden, but he knew neither his friend Pie nor his butler would appreciate his disappearance.

So, he stood there, like a pretty decoration, if you will, bored out of his mind, his eyes following your movements. Atill was mad, yes, not at you, at the future duke who was dancing with you.

After a few more songs, Atill took his eyes off of you for one second to get a drink, and when he returned, you were no longer there. He searched everywhere, but you disappeared. And he knew one place he could look for you.

Making his way outside, the grass was damp from rain or from drunk guests spilling their drinks; he didn't know.

He saw you almost instantly. He's always seen you, really. Atill liked to believe that the first time he noticed you was the beginning of him always noticing you.

To him, you stuck out like a sore thumb. You were always there in the background, but really the main part of the event for him always would have been you. How could it be anyone else?

"Your name? What are you doing here?" the brunette called out, inching closer towards you every second till he stood next to you.

"Oh, you know, I'm just sitting here enjoying the atmosphere," She responded. She wasn't really lying. It was stuffy inside, the air choking her, taking its sweet time till she couldn't bear it anymore. Or maybe it was the white-haired male dancing with her. He really looked like he didn't want to be dancing with her.

Which made her wonder why he even bothered asking her to dance in the beginning.

"Why did you dance with him?" Atill asked, kneeling till he reached your height as you were sitting on the bench, his full attention on you.

"'Cause he asked me to? Don't tell me you're angry I danced with him," Your name scoffed. If he wanted, she thought he could have asked her to dance himself instead of getting upset about her dancing with others.

"Maybe," he whispered, causing the girl to somehow frown even more than she was frowning internally. "Well, your majesty, you have no right to be angry because someone danced with me had you wanted you could have asked me to dance not just sit there like a decoration."

"You're right, but I couldn't ask you when the Bharat brat had gotten to you first," he replied, now frowning as much as you were.

"So, cornering me in the garden was your only approach?" she spoke after an eternity.

Atill shifted, his forehead pressing against yours. "You're going to ruin my hair, Atill. Go away before I kick you."

"I'm sorry, your name. I really desperately wanted to dance with you. I wasn't fast enough, but I very badly wanted to," he whispered, meeting your eyes.

"Will you dance with me tomorrow then, your Majesty?" Your name asked.

"Of course, I will," Atill answered.