#rysela

Althaea looked mortified, her silvery eyes wide and painted red lips slightly parted. Rysela’s mother looked so gorgeous, in her dark veil and her starry dress and her makeup, while little Rysela herself looked extremely...not. In fact, if you asked the girl, she’d tell you that she looked rather frumpy. Frizzy black hair, eyes that were a little too big and with canines that were a little too long to be quite right. She didn’t know why she was like this, only that she was, and unless she got a free wish spell, she was stuck like this. Her mind, however, was not on her appearance at the moment, but rather, on mister Amamne’s damning words.

As Rysela began to shake a little, her mother attempted to wrap her arms around her in a hug, and whisper denials and words of reassurance to Rysela in comfort. However, Rysela didn’t, or rather, couldn’t respond to her mother’s attempts at distracting her from the cruel words. Her attention, instead, was focused solely on Amamne, so much so that she couldn’t even hear her mother after a few more moments. She only saw him. She only felt just how much she hated. Him. How much she just wanted him to freeze, and shut his mouth. She grit her teeth behind closed lips, tears rolling down her face, and her hands curled into fists. She felt this...thread inside herself in that moment of pure focus. A long, thin white thread, and it was all that was keeping her from shutting Amamne up. All she had to do to fix that...was break it.

She didn’t think. Thinking had made her lose the violin. Thinking made her press too hard on the strings and made them pop. Thinking was stupid. And as that last thought went through her head, she could feel that thread inside her finally snap.

She heard the crackling of energy, and mister Amamne turned just in time for a spark of a frostbite spell to catch the drinking glass in his hand-

And shatter it like ice, sending little shards of glass everywhere.

The first noise that resounded was a combination between a squeak and a shout from several of the other guests as people looked on in shock. It was like a wave of magic blasted through the room, and though it only affected one person, all the guests had felt its pulse, which was quite strange for something as low-powered as a cantrip. More alarming, however, was the fact that frostbite was a spell that required verbal and somatic components. Yet...

...Rysela had just cast a spell, without verbal or somatic components.

People looked between that broken glass in mister Amamne’s hand, and then to little Rysela. Even Althaea was staring in shock. Then, just like that, realization washed over her like a tidal wave. She had just done something extraordinarily stupid. Oh no, oh gods, what was she going to do!?

Panic. She was panicking.

Wriggling free of her mother’s grasp, Rysela turned and bolted for one of the exit halls. She heard a distant, “Rysie, wait!” from her mother, but she didn’t respond; fear was was the only thing occupying her mind, then. Would they arrest her? Throw her in jail? Accuse her of intentionally assaulting mister Amamne? Oh gods, what would her family think of her now!? Was she going to become the family outcast, the one to be swept under the rug!?

Her whole body was shaking with nerves running so high, which was probably why, as she proceeded down the stone steps of the concert hall, she tripped and fell. Thankfully, she managed to avoid falling down the stairs, but her knees and hands showed notable scrapes and cuts. She couldn’t keep running, she was in far too much pain. So, she just curled up right there on the stone steps, burying her face in her knees and whimpering, while tears rolled down her face.

And there she stayed, for what felt like far too long. An eternity of one whole minute, she later learned, but it stretched out like hours of pure sobbing agony.

Eventually, though, Rysela heard the slow clack of heels against stone, and then the rustling of cloth as someone sat down beside her. A warm arm came to wrap around her shoulders and back, and Rysela looked up through blurred, teary-eyed vision to see her mother smiling softly down at her.

“M-mom?” she whimpered, but Althaea removed her arm from around Rysela, took her hands gently, and began to heal her scrapes. Rysela opened her mouth, but Althaea spoke first.

“Mister Amamne’s hand is being treated currently.” Her voice was even-tempered and calm. There was even a little hum to her tone as she continued speaking, “It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes to heal with even a first level cure wounds, and none of the other guests were injured. So, don’t worry about that.” She finished up one hand, and began to move to the other. “Now, do you want to tell me what happened in there, little flower?”

“I-I-” Rysela began, mind taking a moment to process as she gently wiped her tears using her arms. Not because she was ashamed, mind you, but because damn it, she wanted to at least see her mother when talking to her, and she couldn’t do that through tears. Swallowing thickly, she let out a shaking breath, and looked away before beginning to speak, “O-one second he was saying all these...these mean things, and I just wanted him to stop, just wanted him to be quiet, and then there was this feeling like something breaking inside me, a-and the next thing I knew his glass just...exploded. I-I don’t know what...”

“You cast magic,” her mother whispered in her ear, hands having finished on Rysela’s hands, and now beginning to move over her knees, “without any verbal or somatic components, and without really intending to. More than that...everyone in there felt the pulse of your magic go off. Sweetie...what you just did is something most wizards only dream of managing.”

“H-huh?” Rysela’s voice was clear confusion. Again, she wiped her tears away, only to see her mother beaming instead of scowling, in the way only a mother can.

“I am upset that you lost control of your anger, and we will discuss that,” Althaea looked serious for a moment, and Rysela withered a little at those words, but her mother was quick not to let it linger, positive expression returning as she continued, “but, I think once tomorrow rolls around, we should seriously sit down and talk about the next steps that someone with your inherent magical talents should take in terms of a proper education here in the city.”

“S-so,” Rysela’s voice was barely stable enough to speak without sobbing again, but she was managing, “t-they’re not gonna have me arrested...?” Her mother actually let out a giggle at that, with a voice of silvery bells. Then, she shook her head,

“No, darling. For one thing: you’re the king’s daughter. They won’t have you arrested unless it’s something truly, intentionally malicious. Second, it wasn’t like his hand was terribly injured, most of the glass actually fragmented so much that any cuts to his hand were tiny and can heal with a basic cure wounds spell. Third, he kind of had it coming, and I think he knew that. After you ran off, he mumbled that he had clearly had a little too much to drink, and chose instead to go sit down somewhere. So, he took it in relatively good spirits.” Rysela didn’t need to wipe her tears anymore, sort-of amazed at how much of a turnaround this was from the rest of her evening. However, her mother raised an eyebrow at her and asked one last question:

“And...it was an accident, wasn’t it Rysie?” Rysela balked at that, eyes going wide.

“O-of course it was!” Rysela’s emotions, of sheer panic and fear, must have also shown through on her face, because her mother was very quick to pat her on the head and reassure her,

“Then you have nothing to be afraid of, little flower. Now, come on. Let’s go back inside. You do owe mister Amamne an apology and an explanation, after all.”

“I...” the little girl swallowed hard, nodding as she took her mother’s hand, standing up and turning towards the entrance of the concert hall once more. “Mom?”

“Hmm?”

Rysela smiled a little bit as they walked, and Althaea found it infectious; how quickly the moods of a child could change with just a few words...

“I love you,” the little one beamed, and Althaea’s smile widened. She couldn’t help but chuckle and lean down to kiss the top of her middle-daughter’s head, as they stepped back inside.