#tonecas

7 - Flames

As if a shared bath isn’t enough intimacy for a day — or maybe a whole week at least — Artoria now finds herself in Tonelico’s room, in utter disbelief at the situation unfolding. Tonelico, in a light blue nightgown made of the softest silky fabric imaginable, is patting the extra pillows she added to her bed for this night.

“This should be enough,” Tonelico says.

“I guess…”

It’s not that Artoria minds a sleepover. In fact, when Tonelico suggested one, she agreed without giving it much thought.

Tonelico’s bed looks softer and is bigger — not by much, but noticeably enough. Spending a night in more luxurious comfort than the surprising amount she’s already been granted since she’s been in Orkney is too tempting to pass.

Since when has Artoria become so greedy? Maybe she’s just always had this side to her, but no opportunity for it to arise.

Not that it matters. Artoria sits down on the bed and finds that while it looks softer, it’s a bit harder than hers. Still much better than a pile of hay, though. Definitely not uncomfortable at all. She shifts around and hears the bed creak a little under her weight.

In the meantime, Tonelico places their clothes on her desk, which she’s tidied up already.

Tomorrow, both she and Artoria will embark on their journey, starting Tonelico’s pilgrimage. For that occasion, they’ve gotten new clothes. As much as Tonelico loves her robe, it’s not the most practical for travel.

She opts for more sturdy black leggings and a white dress with gold highlights that reaches about halfway to her knees. The sleeves are still wide to leave much room, as that’s what she’s used to from her robes — comfort that will remind her of home.

A two-layered hooded shoulder cape to provide more warmth if needed, but easy to discard if impractical in the moment. The hood may come in handy to protect against the weather.

Artoria has decided on a more tightly fitting, plainer white dress than Tonelico, decorated with black buttons rather than gold highlights. Similar black leggings and a navy blue two-layered shoulder cape to complete the outfit. A navy hat that Artoria insisted on, but Tonelico had to be convinced would add to the look.

As Tonelico’s fingers run over the fabric of the neatly folded clothes, she wonders how things will go.

Maybe leaving tomorrow is too early. Maybe it’s too late. Would she find her end in Orkney? Or on her pilgrimage, taken out by one of the calamities she’s only vaguely heard of? Maybe an unfortunate accident, or…

“…—co? Tonelico?”

Artoria’s voice pulls Tonelico out of her ruminations.

“You got that look again. What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” Tonelico lies with a smile of false warmth. “I’m just looking forward to the pilgrimage.”

She joins Artoria on her own bed. Either believing that she’s got Artoria fooled, or that Artoria would let this topic go. It’s become a habit for the two of them, anyway.

They cannot lie to each other undetected, but still unanimously value the other’s privacy, so they leave things be. No uncomfortable questions asked, no prying.

Pretending to believe pretense is nothing but a miniscule white lie, barely noticeable on a mountain of already piled up lies. As long as the care for each other is genuine, such is the lesser evil.

Artoria lets herself fall flat on her back on Tonelico’s bed with a deep sigh.

“Aren’t you looking forward to it, Artoria?”

“I don’t know.”

Almost like a cat, Artoria stretches her tired limbs before she yawns with her mouth wide open. Tonelico bites her tongue; this isn’t the time to criticize Artoria’s lack of manners.

Not with tomorrow being a big uncertainty. But seriously, how often has she already told Artoria that this is very unladylike behavior? It can’t be that hard to at least cover one’s mouth.

“I wanted to run away and avoid my own pilgrimage, but… This time around, it’s different.”

If she were honest, Artoria would have to admit she’s actually looking forward to it a bit.

It’s ironic, really. When it was her own responsibility and something everyone equally expected of her and loathed her for, Artoria wanted nothing more than to shirk her duties entirely, dreaming of a normal life that seemed unattainable. But now?

It’s not Artoria’s pilgrimage, and she’s not the Child of Prophecy. Instead, it’s Tonelico’s pilgrimage, and Artoria is simply Artoria. It’s her own decision to accompany and support Tonelico — although it’s for her own goal rather than Tonelico’s — and that makes it so much easier.

If she were to fail, nobody would be disappointed. Rather, she’s already failed as Child of Prophecy by being here now, anyway.

The normal life she’s always wanted is something that’s now surprisingly easy to leave behind in favor of a pilgrimage that’s not her own. One that she is confident she can be useful on in her own way.

“Because you’re not alone?”

Artoria considers that thought for a moment, and it puts a smile on her face. Which she shakes off as soon as she notices it, her cheeks taking on a rosy color.

Sure, anything’s less daunting if you have someone by your side, but still. She doesn’t want Tonelico to read into it. Although, admittedly, having Tonelico in her life is something that’s grown on her. She wouldn’t want to miss Tonelico anymore.

“No… Well, I guess. I mean!” Artoria groans in frustration at stumbling over her own words as Tonelico gives a light chuckle. “That makes it less scary, yeah. But also, this time, it was my choice.”

“I see.”

Tonelico lies down as well, turning her face to look at Artoria’s profile. Artoria has come quite a long way. At the start, she was so guarded and pessimistic.

By now she’s considerably opened up and shows more of the personality hidden under layers of negative emotions and a habit of trying to live up to expectations she’s hated ever since.

It warms Tonelico’s heart to see Artoria like this. Carefree, relaxed, and somewhat flustered.

Although Tonelico knows it’s a respite with limited time. Tomorrow will be a crucial day. Artoria must be from a future in which Tonelico’s life doesn’t end tomorrow — a future to a past in which Artoria wasn’t by Tonelico’s side.

Her mere presence here is an unpredictable factor in a fate that’s already too vague to circumvent reliably. A risk.

To ensure her own survival — or at least raise her chances to the maximum she can achieve — Artoria should’ve been removed from the equation. Tonelico knows that. She understands that fact; it’s never been something she questioned.

If it were Morgan, she would at the very least bend Artoria to her will. In the case that doesn’t work, she would kill Artoria without second thoughts.

And yet, Tonelico faltered.

Not as the Fairy of Paradise, who has no right to end the life of a fairy who did no wrong, but as the Rain Witch Tonelico, who couldn’t bring it over her heart to kill someone who is something akin to her younger sister.

At the very least, as long as there is no concrete evidence, no unshakable reason to believe Artoria would be a threat to Tonelico’s dream or survival, Tonelico would refuse to take this life. That’s the conclusion she’s reached back on that day she met Artoria.

Now, at this very moment, she’s glad she made this decision.

If keeping Artoria by her side turns out to be the wrong decision, leading to the demise that was predetermined for Tonelico from the very beginning — if not for the attempted intervention of Morgan from Pan-Human History — then so be it.

Tonelico will accept that fate as the consequence of her own decision. That’s the feeling blooming up in her chest as the recalls the last few months with Artoria. Having those memories is worth risking everything for.

Tonelico knows it’s wrong to feel that way as a Fairy of Paradise; she shouldn’t cling to such worldly affections. Her duty — her dream — stands above all, and if Artoria poses a threat to fulfilling it, then Artoria should be removed from her life. She knows that much, and yet…

A finger prods Tonelico’s cheek. Removed from the spiral she finds herself in whenever she thinks this over, Tonelico snaps back to reality to see Artoria pout as she meets her gaze.

“You’ve been staring, Tonelico.”

“I’m sorry. I was lost in thought.”

‘No point in dwelling on that now,’ Tonelico decides.

She takes off her glasses and puts them on her nightstand, turning off the room’s light with a movement of her hand. It’s getting late, and they have to get up early tomorrow. The earlier they leave, the better. Probably.

Tonelico drapes the blanket over both of them.

Artoria would ask yet again what she’s been thinking about if Tonelico gave her the chance. But her concerns are her own cross to bear, not Artoria’s. An older sister’s job is to protect and take care of her younger sister, that’s what Tonelico learned from Amelia.

“Goodnight, Artoria. Sweet dreams.”

“… Goodnight.”

Artoria turns around to face the wall rather than Tonelico. Although they’re not nearly touching, sharing the bed feels warm and comfortable. She can faintly hear Tonelico breathing behind her; slowly and flatly, probably already asleep. Does Tonelico not have any difficulty finding sleep, unlike herself?

‘I wonder what got her so worried…’

Obviously, Artoria knows it’s futile to ask.

Tonelico avoided the question with such certainty; she would simply say that it’s ‘nothing’ as she usually does and that would be the end of it. Frustrating.

While it was an unbearable burden for Artoria to be expected to fix problems both within and beyond her capabilities, she now finds it so much worse when troubles bothering one she cares about are kept from her.

Artoria genuinely wants to help Tonelico, who’s shown her fake smile more often than her real one the closer they got to the start of the pilgrimage. But there’s nothing she can do. Fairy Eyes can’t read a mind, and for the first and only time in her life, Artoria wishes they could; rather than wishing to not have them at all.

‘No point dwelling on it,’ Artoria thinks.

Searching for more warmth, Artoria moves a little closer to Tonelico, until she feels Tonelico’s warmth against her back. Not long after, Tonelico — asleep or not, Artoria can’t tell — puts her arm over Artoria’s waist.

Artoria tenses up at first. She really doesn’t want to get caught seeking Tonelico’s proximity. But when there’s no further movement and no words, not even a whisper, Artoria relaxes into the embrace.

It’s nice. Pleasantly warm. Tonelico’s scent brings comfort; she smells like home. Maybe, just maybe, this can even keep the nightly terrors at bay. At the very least, Artoria feels protected and safe like this. A feeling she’s never known when she went to sleep.

After a short while, Artoria dozes off into a peacefully deep slumber.

In the morning, Tonelico wakes up to find herself rather immobilized. Sometime at night while they were both asleep, it appears that Artoria wrapped her arms around Tonelico and is still clinging to her tightly.

Tonelico tries to free herself from the iron grip gently but finds the endeavor futile. Artoria is holding onto Tonelico as if her life depended on it.

‘How strong is she?’

Artoria rouses, giving Tonelico faint hope that she’s awake. Ready to start the day. That hopes dies as quickly as it sparks when Artoria only nuzzles her face into Tonelico’s chest with a soft mumble.

“Nnmmh…”

“Artoria? Artoria, it’s morning. Time to wake up.”

“Nngh…”

Tonelico is growing a little impatient. Artoria clearly isn’t entirely asleep anymore, given she reacts almost verbally. Though her intent to stay like this for longer, to laze off in the comfort of bed, is just as obvious.

Luckily, Tonelico has a good idea what would help, given she knows Artoria well enough by now.

“I don’t mind a hug, but I’d appreciate if you didn’t take advantage of my sleep to bury your face in my breasts.”

Immediately, Artoria startles. She goes from half-asleep to fully awake in less than a second, pushing herself away from Tonelico in a poor attempt to save face, as though she could hide this blunder from Tonelico anymore.

“I’m glad that you’re finally awake. Good morning.”

Tonelico’s amused chuckle really gets on Artoria’s nerves. She’s just mocking her, right? How did she end up in that position, anyway? Artoria must have mistaken Tonelico’s boobs for a pillow in her sleep, so she tells herself at least.

“Morning…” Artoria rubs the sleep out of her eyes. “Ah! Right. Happy birthday… That’s what’s said, right?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Finally free of Artoria’s hold, Tonelico gets up and stretches her back. She doesn’t know how long they’ve been in this position, but she can feel her body being sore.

Sharing the bed sounded like a sweet idea to make another precious memory to hold on to, just in case, but reality always has a way to crush delightful dreams like this. No, Tonelico still cherishes the morning of waking up with Artoria clinging to her so unabashedly.

The new clothes fit perfectly. They feel natural, almost like a second skin. In front of the mirror in her room, Tonelico stops braiding her hair and combs the braid out with her fingers. This would take too long to keep doing every day on a journey, so she should opt for a simpler hairstyle. Also, something’s missing.

Tonelico takes a black and navy ribbon with golden rims out of a wooden chest she keeps on her dresser. She ties her hair into a ponytail with the ribbon. It’s a different look — less refined and elegant, Tonelico feels.

But not bad at all.

Tonelico can’t help but smile at her reflection in the mirror. Last year for her birthday, she received this ribbon from her mother, the Rain Clan’s head, as a birthday present.

She’d cherished it too much to wear it, too afraid to dirty or rip it in her training. But now that she’s going to leave, Tonelico wants to bring a piece of home, of her family, on her journey with her. Maybe it’ll work as a good luck charm.

Even if it doesn’t, it carries this special sense of nostalgia only an important gift from someone you cherish could.

Artoria is a bit more sluggish in the morning. Although Tonelico wants to exhale sharply at Artoria’s tardiness, she refrains. At least she’s finally gotten dressed by now.

“Shall I do your hair?”

“Sure, if you want to.”

Tonelico smiles as warmth bubbles up inside of her. Artoria never minded letting Tonelico do her hair, but Tonelico knows all too well that this was usually rooted in laziness. That’s the type of fairy Artoria is.

But by now, it’s not only that anymore. Although Artoria doesn’t say so, there’s no need to. Just like Tonelico, Artoria simply enjoys such sweet moments.

There’s nothing special about them. They’re not particularly intimate. And yet, times like these are when the two Fairies of Paradise feel connected in their own shared moment, almost removed from time and space.

After brushing the golden locks, Tonelico takes two hair ties and ties Artoria’s hair into the twintails hairstyle she always wears. Though Tonelico is more meticulous, so none of it looks messy. There are no stray strands found near the hair ties.

Finally, she takes the ribbon she wears with her usual robe and ties it around Artoria’s chest.

“I wear one in my hair. It’s only natural if you wear one as well. Now we match.”

Although Artoria’s — formerly Tonelico’s — is plain black, decorated with a red gem. Still, they’re similar enough. Artoria feels strangely happy about this insignificant gesture.

“Can I keep it?”

“Of course. It’s yours now.”

Suddenly, a loud crash disrupts the peace shared between the two fairies. The ground shakes violently. Artoria trips over her own feet, falling into Tonelico’s arms, who catches Artoria instinctively.

‘… is this…!?’

Tonelico grits her teeth. Too late. She’s too late after all. They should’ve left yesterday. Maybe even before. A thousand thoughts race through her mind simultaneously, most of them focused on how she’s messed up.

“We have to leave. Now.”

Artoria looks at Tonelico in shock. She can tell Tonelico is serious, more serious than she’s ever seen her before. It’s a matter of life and death. Artoria swallows, before she realizes a crucial detail Tonelico missed.

“What about Regina? And Reinhard, and Amelia? And the other fairies!?”

‘What should I do… What’s the right decision!?’

Tonelico curses Morgan for not giving her enough information to know the answer to any of the questions occupying her mind. She must leave. She’ll die if she doesn’t escape, every cell of her body screams that at her.

It’s something Tonelico just knows on an instinctual level.

And yet… Her family is still here. There are voices in and around the castle, none of them pleasant. Something akin to explosions can be heard in the distance, though Tonelico tells herself it’s only her imagination. Tonelico takes her staff.

“Let’s head for the throne room. It’s not far.”

Artoria nods and follows Tonelico as she runs out of her room with a sense of urgency neither of them has felt before. Any second lost could prove disastrous. Passing the windows, they see the outside. The sight isn’t pretty.

Fairies of various clans, both armed and unarmed, running berserk in Orkney. Any Rain Clan fairy unfortunate enough to be spotted is maimed, beheaded, ripped apart. Blood isn’t only flowing, it’s gushing out of wounds that aren’t just lethal, but unnecessarily cruel.

It doesn’t matter if they fight back. It doesn’t matter if they beg for their lives. It doesn’t matter if they cry. The attackers know no mercy. They’re led by bloodlust, a hunger for violence that can’t be quenched, no matter how much blood and guts they spill.

Tonelico grabs Artoria’s hand to pull her along. If she could, she would pry Artoria’s eyes away from this massacre as well, but her hands are tied. She should’ve used her Water Mirror spell. Saving it for the escape, knowing of her limited magic, feels like the wrong choice now.

Her own eyes are trained on the way forward. Tonelico can’t allow herself to acknowledge what’s happening around the castle right now, and surely in the castle as well. It would distract her from what she can still do.

Hopefully, the throne room is still safe. If only she can at least save her family. At least them. Her hand grips Artoria’s more tightly.

Artoria can’t believe what she’s seeing outside of the castle. This past has been peaceful, hasn’t it? Orkney was peaceful. All of a sudden, it’s come to this…?

It’s even worse than the cruelty she knows fairies are capable of. Her mind struggles to keep up with the events. She’s shivering. Whether from fear, anger, or a combination of both, Artoria can’t tell.

In the hallway leading to the throne room, on the last stretch, Amelia stops them. She’s running in a panic, having expected the two Fairies of Paradise to head this way.

“Just what are you two thinking!? You two need to leave Orkney, quickly!”

“What about Father? And Mother? And—”

‘The other fairies of the Rain Clan,’ Tonelico finishes in her head.

She knows the answer.

While the castle has been quiet, and the noise dulled by the walls, it’s become clearer by the minute. The fairies entered the castle not too long ago. No longer limited to outside the castle, the inside must have become a massacre by now as well.

All her senses tell her the truth a part of her refuses to believe even now. The smell of blood, the number of screams decreasing, making room for nothing but battle cries, and orders to ‘find the Fairy of Paradise’.

It’s an all too clear situation. Tonelico’s stomach churns. It hurts.

Amelia simply shakes her head. Though she doesn’t know the current state of the king and queen of the Rain Clan either, their fate is clear. If they are still breathing now, it’s their last or second to last breath.

The Rain Clan is pacifistic down to its core. Even at a time like this, even if they try to defend themselves — they’ll be overpowered with ease. It’s not a battle or a war, it’s slaughter.

Tonelico takes a deep breath, though the smell of death lingering in Orkney makes her wretch. This isn’t the time to lose oneself to emotions and panic, though, so she doesn’t allow herself that luxury.

She can’t.

She has to live, and she has to protect Artoria, whose hand she feels tremble in her own. Whose rage and hurt she can feel radiating.

“I understand.”

As much as Tonelico doesn’t want to do this, as much as she would rather fight all the clans with her bare hands than let her family die — it’s a feat she can’t accomplish. It constricts her heart, but she knows her limits.

“I will go and pretend to be the Fairy of Paradise. They know neither your name nor face. I am sure they won’t be able to tell the difference.”

Tonelico swallows and forces her heart to freeze over, lest she wouldn’t be able to hold back the tears she wants to shed.

The Rain Clan’s princess Amelia, her sister who has been by her side and taken care of her for as long as she can remember, who’s read books to her and taught her how to read — she is set on sacrificing herself for the sake of saving Tonelico’s life, along with Artoria’s.

There’s no anger in Amelia, and even the sadness takes a backseat to her determination to protect her sisters.

Tonelico knows she would never be able to live up to Amelia as an older sister. Nobody would.

As much as Tonelico wants to cling to Amelia now for a reassuring sense of security, she can’t. Amelia’s mind is made up, and Tonelico has to accept her decision.

It’s Artoria who takes issue with this, and it hardly takes Fairy Eyes to see the anger in the short fairy reach its boiling point. She’s held back so far, too overcome by emotions to think or speak, functioning only on autopilot.

“But—”

“Artoria, we don’t have time,” Amelia says sternly. “Tonelico, you understand the situation, right? Please, take Artoria and leave. You should be able to make it out of the castle unharmed. They won’t be looking for another Fairy of Paradise. For once, I’m glad you have your Water Mirror spell.”

“If we leave now, you’ll—”

Artoria doesn’t get to finish her complaint as Tonelico puts her hand to Artoria’s nape and sends a shock through her system, paralyzing her.

Luckily, Artoria is short and light, so Tonelico can easily carry the immobile but conscious fairy on her back after gently closing her eyelids for her. To keep her eyes from drying, and to shield Artoria from the sights on their way. She’s seen more than enough by now.

Tonelico’s hands are trembling, Artoria notices.

Amelia gives Tonelico a warm smile. She’s glad that her sister catches on so quickly, and that Tonelico is able to make the right call. Even in the worst of hardships. Nothing is won if Tonelico and Artoria die here as well. The Rain Clan lives on with them.

“Thank you, Amelia. I am grateful to you, to Mother, to Father… to all of the Rain Clan fairies. I will never be able to repay your kindness.”

That’s the least Tonelico can say.

There’s nothing she can do. It’s only because of her that these gentle fairies are getting eradicated, if only they hadn’t taken her in… If only she’d considered this possibility rather than focus on herself being the sole target meant to die on this day.

If only she’d left earlier. Way earlier. She may be long dead by now, but the Rain Clan would still live in peace.

Amelia takes a deep breath. She doesn’t have Fairy Eyes, but she’s known Tonelico for long enough.

“Don’t blame yourself. You didn’t choose to be a Fairy of Paradise. We took you in and raised you because we wanted to. Even though it has led to—… We don’t regret it. Mother, Father, and I — even if we knew this would be the outcome, we would still raise you just the same. I know the rest of the Rain Clan feels the same. That goes for Artoria, too. The two of you are fairies of the Rain Clan, just like us.”

Tonelico chokes back tears.

“You grew into a good fairy, Tonelico. We— I’m very proud of you. It’s a shame that we won’t be able to watch over your pilgrimage, and see you fulfill your destiny… But Mother was always certain that you would turn this country into a peaceful, beautiful place. As the Fairy of Paradise, you will be just in your judgement. You will bring salvation. I believe in you, too.”

Amelia turns around and collects all her inner strength for the sacrifice she’s about to make.

“I’m glad I don’t have to worry as much about you, since you won’t be alone. I couldn’t have wished for someone better than Artoria to keep you company. I pray that the two of you will make it out of this safely, Tonelico and Artoria. Take care of each other. Live on. For the Rain Clan.”

As Amelia takes off running towards the throne room where the voices seem to pick up, Tonelico turns around and swings her staff. Water Mirror is her forte, and although she cannot cover too big a distance at her current level, it’s how she’s making her escape with Artoria. One change of location at a time.

The few times she finds herself surrounded by fairies lusting for blood, Tonelico doesn’t hesitate to turn her staff into a spear and pierce the hearts of her enemies.

Splattered, foreign blood only feels warm for a moment before it dries. Even with her soul scarred, her heart shattered, and her hands blood-stained, Tonelico is undeterred in her escape from the land of the rain, her grip on Artoria not loosening for even a split second.

Finally, Tonelico reaches a cliff at the far edge of the Rain Clan’s territory. Removed from the spilling of blood and guts. When she turns around, she can see Orkney aflame. The adrenaline in her subsides.

As the rain falls on Orkney, unable to extinguish the flames of war and hatred, Tonelico’s tears finally fall as she sinks to her knees. Within such a brief moment, Tonelico has lost everything she’s held dear so easily.

Everything with one sole exception: Artoria Caster.

Tonelico clings to the still paralyzed fairy for dear life as she wails her pain out of her soul.

After a brief moment, Tonelico catches herself again. This isn’t the time to grieve. They’re still close; this area isn’t safe. She puts Artoria down and cancels the immobilization. Artoria shoots up and glares at Tonelico.

“What was that for!? We could’ve— We could’ve…”

Artoria sees the pain in Tonelico’s eyes. The crystal blue is dulled now. Her hands are covered in dry blood, some of which is clinging to her cheek and hair as well.

The rage Artoria was about to fly into subsides at this pitiful sight. Tonelico feels the same as her, but worse. It’s heartbreaking to see. Even more crushing is that Tonelico forces herself to keep going, as though she’s unaffected.

“We need to go. You can walk on your own, right?”

Tonelico gets up again and starts walking south. She doesn’t wait for Artoria’s response, but Artoria follows.

They strut along the route Tonelico chooses in silence.

Tonelico focuses on her task, her pilgrimage, and finding a place to camp for the night — pushing Orkney and the Rain Clan out of her mind.

And Artoria wants to say so many things, anything to lessen the pain — aware there’s nothing she can do or say to heal Tonelico’s shattered heart.

Artoria’s hopes deflate. How stupid was she? She knows the cruelty of fairies and how beyond saving they are.

This world is a cruel one. It should just perish already.

She’s known that ever since she can remember, and yet Tonelico’s naïve dreams of utopia and determination to make it happen lulled her into the fantasy as well.

Utterly foolish, the two of them. Look where their hopes and dreams got them now.

Keeping her eyes glued to the ground, Artoria suddenly spots a pair of glasses lying in the grass. Carelessly thrown aside. They’re Tonelico’s. Artoria picks them up, but all she sees in front of her is Tonelico’s back, the ponytail swaying side to side as she keeps walking undeterred.

“Tonelico, your glasses…”

“Leave them. I won’t need glasses anymore.”

Somehow, that stings Artoria’s heart. Tonelico is far-sighted, so she’s fine without her glasses, unless she wants to read. The thing she’s loved most — but now she’s given up on that.

It feels like Tonelico isn’t Tonelico anymore, changing into someone marked by despair and suffering, leaving no remains of the fairy she used to be.

Artoria puts Tonelico’s glasses into her pocket. She can’t bring it over herself to leave them behind. It’d be like leaving the Tonelico she knows behind in the ruins of Orkney — a thought too painful to bear.

Once night engulfs them, Tonelico finally settles down in a small forest. She absentmindedly collects firewood and builds a campfire.

They left in such a hurry that they didn’t bring a tent or any luggage. All they have is each other now. Tonelico sits down and stares at the fire, forcing herself to remember the vivid image of her home ablaze, unable to do anything.

Tonelico will burn that image into her mind. And she’ll desensitize herself to this memory at the same time. She will numb the pain and close off her heart.

If the other clans want to stand against the Fairy of Paradise and everyone associating with her, so be it. Tonelico won’t forgive them. She won’t hold back. On this day, they forfeited their lives by killing the Rain Clan.

Artoria isn’t sure where to look anymore. Seeing the fire brings back memories that are way too recent. It hurts.

Seeing Tonelico’s empty eyes is even more painful. Artoria simply looks at her boots.

This morning, they were still new, but after this day of walking, the slightly worn look makes it feel like a more distant memory. As though it wasn’t only hours ago that the Rain Clan was still alive, in peace.

As though it wasn’t only a few hours ago that Tonelico and Artoria were happy, looking forward to taking on Tonelico’s pilgrimage together. At this point, Artoria thinks the fairies deserve Morgan’s rule.

She’s only spent a few months in Orkney, but the Rain Clan was genuinely kind and caring. They were good fairies.

When Artoria remembers she didn’t know of a Rain Clan before meeting Tonelico, she feels sick. She should’ve realized that this clan is unfamiliar to her earlier. She should have told Tonelico, and then maybe—

“Maybe I should have killed you when you appeared.”

The bitter regret leaves Tonelico’s mouth before she can so much as stop herself. Not that she possesses the headspace necessary to mind her words anymore. Her eyes are still trained on the crackling fire, a reminder of the all-to-recent fate that befell the home she loved.

For no other reason but her own cursed existence.

Artoria’s eyes widen in shock. She swallows. The words pierce her heart, their echoes reverberating the pain throughout her whole chest.

As her bleeding heart sinks and her stomach churns, Artoria feels herself choke on words she can’t force over her lips. Holding back the tears that are welling up makes her eyes sting.

Part of her refuses to believe her ears. Another part feels a carnal anger boiling up from the depths of her broken soul. More than anything, it’s simply painful; emotionally and physically.

“W-what…? What did you just say!?”

“… It’s nothing. Don’t mind it.”

Tonelico lies down on her side, her back facing Artoria. She wouldn’t be able to sleep, but her body needs rest.

In this moment, Tonelico wishes for nothing more than her bitter lie to be true. She wishes she’d genuinely believe that Artoria’s death would be for the better.

If only Tonelico felt no attachment to Artoria, she wouldn’t have to endure this crippling fear of eventually losing her as well. Artoria, who is all Tonelico has left, and who doesn’t belong in this time in the first place.

01 - Capture

“Bring her to my chamber. I will see to her myself.”

Commanding, yet icy cold. This is the first time queen Morgan’s voice reaches Artoria’s ears. As much as she wants to talk back and challenge those words, acting as the queen’s adversary she’s born to be—

No, Artoria understands the futility of the situation too well.

With her eyes covered by a blindfold that won’t allow as little as a resemblance of light through. Being hovered over the shoulder of the worst possible Fairy Knight imaginable. Her own hands tied behind her back.

Stupidly enough, Artoria has been captured by Fairy Knight Gawain. For no other reason than a stroke of bad luck. The worst luck.

Of all the people to find her, it’s been the despicable Gawain. No, Barghest.

“Understood, Your Majesty.”

Artoria grits her teeth in frustration as she feels herself getting carried to who knows where. Why Barghest didn’t just kill her is beyond her. Why Morgan herself didn’t behead her on the spot is even more outlandish.

No matter how much she thinks about this, there’s no way she should still be alive in this situation.

Maybe it’s just a sadistic whim of the queen — wanting to play with the captured Child of Prophecy for the audacity to be born into this role regardless of will or choice, before ending her miserable existence.

Not like there’s anyone who’d bother saving her.

‘At least it’ll be over soon,’ Artoria thinks bitterly.

A smile creeps onto her face. Defeated, but strangely relieved.

In the end, whatever expectations and hopes were placed on her, she’s disappointed all of them. There has never been any chance she would’ve been able to stand up to Morgan, anyway.

The fairies bet on the wrong ‘Child of Prophecy’; better luck for the next one.

Artoria is carelessly dropped face-first onto something that feels uncharacteristically soft and smooth, and the hands tied behind her back make it difficult to sit up. Though with some struggle, Artoria manages; if only to make breathing easier.

“At least be a little more gentle!”

“You’re in no position to make demands, Child of Prophecy. You should thank the queen’s benevolence for your life, if anything.”

There goes that haughty Barghest again, talking down to her as usual. If there’s one regret Artoria has, it’s that she’s never been able to knock that Fairy Knight down a peg or two. Better three.

“I wouldn’t recommend to try and make an escape. The guards would surely catch you, and I don’t believe Her Majesty’s order of capturing you alive reached all of them.”

With those parting words, Barghest leaves Artoria to herself.

Making an escape? Laughable.

Though it doesn’t sit right with Artoria to just give in either. Not that she’s granted any time to form a strategy.

“You are a lot more obedient than I would have believed.”

Morgan’s soft but commandeering voice cuts through the silence of the room. It can’t have been too long since Barghest dropped her off.

Artoria scoffs.

“If you’re planning to kill me—”

“How foolish. I have no intention of taking your life, Child of Prophecy. No. Artoria of Tintagel.”

Morgan gently removes the cloth shielding Artoria’s eyes. She takes a moment to adjust to getting her sense of sight back, blinking away the blinding light.

Artoria finds herself on what turns out to be queen Morgan’s bed, which explains the surface feeling as soft as it does. Not that Artoria would know how a bed of this luxury feels.

“That’s a lie.”

“I believe you know I am telling the truth. Rather, you can see as much.”

Artoria grits her teeth. Referencing Fairy Eyes in such a casual way, Morgan either has no plans of fooling Artoria to begin with, or she’s able to get lies past them. The latter would be the more reasonable thing to believe, given this is Morgan.

But nobody is exempt from the curse of seeing through falsehoods; not even the almighty queen of the Fairy Nation.

So far, Morgan hasn’t spoken a single lie. More than that, she possesses absolutely no animosity towards Artoria. No ill intentions. If anything, there is a hint of sympathy. It makes absolutely no sense.

Maybe Artoria’s Fairy Eyes broke once she got herself captured and clearly failed her purpose.

“What do you want from me?”

“Artoria of Tintagel. You have been born into the role of a savior. You never chose such a fate for yourself. This burden has been yours, regardless of your own will. Which is why I am giving you a choice.”

Morgan cups Artoria’s face and caresses her cheek with her thumb. The simple gesture gives Artoria goosebumps, and makes her shudder. She swallows, unsure how to process this situation.

It’s a completely foreign sensation, accompanied by a slight tingle traveling down her spine.

She can’t remember ever having felt such a soft touch, and although it’s Morgan — the tyrannical queen she’s supposed to bring down — it feels nice. In a wrong way, but still: nice.

“The fairies will never appreciate your sacrifices. They will be quick to turn against you for no particular reason, or on nothing but a whim. I am sure you have made that experience by now.”

Artoria bites her lip. She’d prefer not to remember all the instances of working herself to the bone just to get cast aside the next moment. The few occasions someone had as little as a kind word for her — not as a lie, not to sway her — could be counted on one hand.

“I am asking you to cast aside your destiny. Do not follow the prophecy. Stay away from the pilgrimage. If you do that, I am willing to accept you as my subordinate.”

An all too alluring offer. Wouldn’t that be what Artoria wished for this whole time?

Not having to be the Child of Prophecy, not having to shoulder all these heavy burdens, everyone’s hopes and expectations. Like a devil’s temptation, Morgan speaks to Artoria’s deepest desires.

But that would be too easy. Too good, too simple a solution.

“How do you know all of that?”

Morgan removes her hand from Artoria’s cheek, feeling as though her attempt at negotiation has all but failed.

“Like you, I am a Fairy of Paradise. I know the hardships that await a savior because I have lived through them for millennia. In the end, I elected to ignore the destiny bestowed on me in favor of becoming the queen of this land.”

As much as this revelation is a shock at first, that soon turns into boiling anger. Artoria clenches her fists and grits her teeth.

“It’s all your fault…”

Her destiny never was hers to bear originally. If only Morgan would’ve fulfilled hers, Artoria wouldn’t have to go through any of this. Just for some selfish delusions of grandeur, wanting to rule a darn country!

“It’s only because of your failure that I have to be the Child of Prophecy! Screw that. I’ll take you down for sure!”

Child of Prophecy, destiny, fate — who cares. No, this is personal now. It’s only because of Morgan that Artoria has to lead such a life of hardship and suffering, and that’s enough of a reason to want to stop the queen’s reign.

Morgan sighs.

She has expected Artoria to be somewhat belligerent, though hoped that the young fairy would be willing to stand against her fate, much like she herself had.

Maybe Artoria hasn’t seen how little deserving of a savior the fairies truly are. Maybe she still holds onto some naïve hope that the fairies can be saved yet.

“That is a very bold claim from someone as weak as you. Your existence poses no threat to me whatsoever.”

“We’ll see about that!”

‘No, we will not,’ Morgan thinks.

This foolish successor of hers, the new Fairy of Paradise — she’s much too precious a soul, despite her very apparent character flaws. If she were to go through the pilgrimage and become another savior, she would break.

There’s no way any fairy could take that path unscarred.

Morgan would not let another fairy walk down that path. No one shall repeat her past, no one shall even think of taking her beloved country from her.

The queen tucks a stray strand of Artoria’s hair behind her ear, not missing the flinch at the touch. She’s noticed how surprisingly responsive Artoria was earlier, though at the time she paid it no mind. But now…

This may be just the way to go.

If the stubborn fairy is more receptive towards soft touches than rationality and negotiation, so be it.

“I am not short on time. I will make you succumb, Artoria of Tintagel. But fear not — I have no plans of hurting you.”

“What are you— mmph!?”

Morgan’s lips capturing Artoria’s silences her mid-question while providing an inkling as to what’s the answer. With her eyes shut tightly, Artoria is frozen in place by the sudden advance.

A kiss is the very last thing she would have expected.

“No need to be that tense. I assure you, I will be very gentle.”

Morgan’s breath tickles Artoria’s skin, and as much as a part of her wants to recoil, she lacks the inner strength to do so.

Morgan holds her chin — gently, as promised — and applies just enough force to open Artoria’s mouth slightly. Using the small gap between her lips to slip her own tongue in.

“Nnh, nmmph..!!”

As much as Artoria wants to complain, that proves to be an impossible task.

Morgan’s tongue feels so weird in her mouth. A foreign object; warm, wet, and moving. Clearly intent to explore every little centimeter of the inside of her mouth, eliciting whimpers that luckily catch in Artoria’s throat.

No way she’d give Morgan the satisfaction of making such pathetic noises in response to her ministrations.

Once Artoria fully catches up to the situation, she bites down on Morgan’s tongue, forcing the queen to break the kiss. Artoria pants, trying to catch the breath she hasn’t fully realized she was holding, blissfully ignorant of a certain warmth spreading throughout her body.

Artoria’s mouth curves into a proud smile when she sees Morgan wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and sees some blood.

‘I got her!’

Though this feeling of success, having actually inflicted a wound on queen Morgan (one that she would never even want to boast of, given the context), is very short-lived.

Replaced with an entirely new flavor of terror within a second by Morgan’s use of magecraft to burn her clothes to a crisp, leaving nothing shielding Artoria’s modesty.

“W-w-wait!”

This renders her about fully vulnerable. In front of a tyrannical queen she’s just not only hurt but also offended, no less.

Artoria instinctively tries to cover up with her hands — just to be reminded of the fabric binding her wrists, keeping her arms firmly in place behind her back.

“I see that I have been too lenient. You need to be properly educated. Or should I say… tamed.”

A small push of Morgan’s hand lets Artoria land face-first on the bed yet again. While just slightly appreciating not having to maintain eye contact in this compromising situation, Artoria realizes that even with her face turned to the side, she can’t see what Morgan may be up to. It adds another layer of anticipation… No, surely just fear to this.

Morgan runs her fingertip from Artoria’s nape down to between her shoulder blades, making the poor captured fairy jump.

“Hyaah— Hey, cut that out!”

“I will make sure that you learn your position. I will humor none of your requests unless I am satisfied with your behavior.”

‘Does she think I’m a pet or something!?’

Artoria grits her teeth, though even in frustration or anger she wouldn’t be more intimidating than a little bunny. Clearly just prey in the hands of the skilled and overpowering predator.

Prey that doesn’t understand its own position; believing to be in a position to fight back.

Although it’s undeniable that the feather-light touches feel strangely pleasant, Artoria pushes that thought into the deepest corner of her mind to ignore it.

But her body stays unaware of the internal denial, reacting naturally to the intimacy. Her ears taking on a reddish hue doesn’t escape Morgan.

‘Interesting,’ the witch thinks with mild delight.

Morgan has never spared romance and related activities much thought, much less does she have any experience in this field. She has never loved another in this way; for a lack of time or importance, or for a risk of such attachment becoming a liability.

If not for her counterpart’s memories from Pan-Human History, she wouldn’t have considered using such means to break Artoria’s will to oppose her in the first place.

Her counterpart is quite the shrewd individual; successfully using any means of manipulation to get her way. Though, in the end, it didn’t fully work out for her.

Morgan would learn from those mistakes. But this once, taking inspiration from her counterpart seems to have a good chance of being an effective approach, and provides some amusement for herself as well.

She leans down to let her warm breath tickle Artoria’s ear, not missing the further reddening, and how the captured fairy pulls up her shoulder in an unsuccessful attempt to protect herself.

“You may give in at any time you wish.”

Artoria chokes.

Pushing a bit farther, Morgan brushes her lips over Artoria’s ear, feeling the skin to be as hot as the color would suggest. She considers pulling away again, but only before she hears Artoria’s whimper through clenched teeth.

“Nngh…”

With a smile, Morgan opens her mouth and grazes her teeth over Artoria’s ear. She holds Artoria’s head to keep her firmly but gently in place, preventing the poor fairy from turning her head to evade the queen’s mouth.

Morgan’s tongue darts out just a little, tentatively licking behind Artoria’s ear.

The shudder speaks a clear language, though Artoria tries her hardest to not give any reaction away, biting back any further noise that may just naturally leak out.

Not that it matters.

Morgan knows perfectly that Artoria is fighting a losing battle. And she’s sure that Artoria must have realized as much, though she’s still fighting for a victory she won’t be able to attain.

There is the start of a disappointed whine when Morgan finally pulls away, though Artoria stops herself as soon as she notices her denied desire’s vocalization in her own voice.

‘I’m not disappointed at all, not at all…’

Artoria tries to steady her breath and her emotions in the brief respite granted to her, not wanting to delve deeper into the fact that she, for some reason, doesn’t hate being touched like this by Morgan.

When she very definitely should hate it. Feel disgusted even.

No, actually, despite her reactions, it does feel wrong on every level. Wrong, but inexplicably pleasant. The confusing mixture of feelings being just more of a reason to hate everything about this.

Morgan lets her eyes wander over Artoria’s naked body, the fairy’s hands unfavorably tied behind her back. Gawain is a very reliable Fairy Knight, but this type of immobilization hinders Morgan more than it helps her.

It doesn’t allow for many options when it comes to positions — not if she wants to avoid adding unnecessary discomfort — and limits which parts of Artoria’s body are easily accessible.

She considers a punishment for this lack of mindfulness, but decides to let it slide. Gawain couldn’t have known of such developments. Especially given that this hasn’t been the plan from the beginning.

Artoria’s body tenses when she feels Morgan’s hands softly glide over her sides. The caress feels nice… no, definitely not. Just weird, that’s for sure.

But at the very least, the sensation isn’t nearly intense enough to elicit a reaction from her, giving her a break from trying her best to keep down her voice — and occasionally failing.

The suspense becomes a worse torture than a more purposeful touch the longer Morgan just idly runs her hands over soft skin. Just knowing that Morgan is merely playing with her, Artoria expects a more direct attack on her dignity at any moment.

As much as she forces herself to stay on guard, sharpening all her senses for any warning sign — Artoria can hardly see Morgan in the corner of her eye; she simply has no idea of Morgan’s exact plans.

To her surprise, she feels the piece of cloth tying her wrists together loosen.

“Huh?”

Artoria blinks. Is she just imagining this?

No, when she moves her arms, they are no longer bound. Her movement is entirely unrestricted.

Artoria pushes herself up from the bed to sit up for a more comfortable position — before realizing upon losing contact with the luxurious bed’s fabric that she is stark naked, Morgan having efficiently made quick work of her clothes earlier.

Embarrassment rises to her face in the form of heat, her cheeks feeling like they’re on fire.

“Hyaah! D-Don’t look!!”

Artoria awkwardly clutches at the blanket in a desperate attempt to pull up the fabric to shield herself from Morgan’s amused gaze. She presses the velvety soft blanket to her modest chest, pretending she can’t feel her rapid heartbeat drumming in her ears.

Morgan can’t help but think of this reaction as quite endearing, though she spares it no comment, nor much further thought. As enjoyable as this endeavor can be in some ways, it’s still strictly professional.

“That confinement proved disadvantageous, so I took the liberty of removing it.”

“…thanks.”

‘She’s not letting me go, right? No way, right??’

A small hope bubbles up inside Artoria, though it immediately gets clouded by a disappointment she doesn’t quite understand.

“I believe you have no genuine intention of fleeing. However…”

Morgan extends her hand towards Artoria, who flinches a second before the touch. Morgan’s fingertips make contact with her neck, just barely.

When she opens one eye to peek at what Morgan is doing, fearing the worst — the queen deciding to strangle her and enjoying the sight of her desperate attempts to fill her lungs with any bit of oxygen as the light of life leaves her eyes — Artoria still finds nothing like contempt in Morgan.

No violent intention either.

Artoria feels a slight prickling sensation around her neck before realizing it to be caused by some magic. Artoria reaches up to feel something not quite plain physical but ethereal wrapped around her neck, like… like a collar.

Morgan actually just put a collar on her.

Not a real one. Instead, it’s the result of some magecraft this wicked queen works. Which makes it worse.

“What is this!?”

“A collar.”

‘I knew that much! How can she just come out and say it so casually!?’

“It will place you right here in case you ever stray too far. Among other applications.”

Morgan gracefully stands up from the bed while Artoria still struggles to keep up with the situation, implications, and basically everything that’s happening.

“I will see to your needs being met. If you require anything, do let me know. Do not misunderstand your situation however, Artoria of Tintagel.”

The queen is not being kind. No, she is just treating Artoria completely like a pet she assumes responsibility for and ownership of; no more, no less. Infuriating. Disgraceful.

Artoria glares at the queen, though Morgan finds little threat in the poor little fairy’s attempt at playing defiant.

“I need new clothes. And food.”

“I will have Gawain deliver you new garments and an appropriate meal. Is that all? I have matters to attend to.”

Artoria grimaces at the mention of Barghest being the one to deliver her what she asked for, sullying any feeling of relief she may have otherwise had for Morgan at least accepting her demands, or for the respite of her absence.

Though if she’s going to be by her lonesome until Morgan’s return, there’s an awful lot of time to kill and very little to keep herself occupied with. Artoria realizes that being in Camelot — taken hostage by Morgan — may just prove to be a once-in-a-lifetime chance.

“… do you have some books on magecraft?”

“Oh?”

Morgan’s mouth almost resembles something akin to a smile. At least Artoria would swear that’s what she’s seen, although that’s hard to believe. Strangely, Morgan carries a sense of nostalgia at this question.

“I will have Gawain bring you tomes so you can study as much as you wish while you have the time. I commend your eagerness to improve yourself, Artoria of Tintagel.”

‘She’s the last person I want any praise from…’

Despite that thought and the sour aftertaste it leaves, Artoria feels a warm fluttering at her core at those words. She elects to ignore that feeling, waiting for it to pass. Nothing but a fluke, maybe just her nerves.

With no goodbye, Morgan disappears into the hallway, leaving Artoria by herself.

Utterly confused at everything that has transpired: at her current situation, at everything that is Morgan, and most of all at what she herself thinks and how she feels about Morgan.

Artoria feels strangely lonely now that she is alone, wondering if she wishes for the queen to return soon, but… No, there’s no way that she’s looking forward to any further abuse from queen Morgan.

Artoria’s tense muscles relax, and she releases a breath, unaware she has been holding it in the first place, coming out as more of a deep sigh.

Now that she has the time and freedom to do so, she scans the room she finds herself in. Morgan’s bedroom, evidently. And for some reason, apparently, this is going to be the room Artoria will find herself confined to for the foreseeable future.

Unless she somehow manages to make her escape, not before getting rid of this stupid magical collar around her neck that she can just feel connects to her very core.

A shiver runs down her spine at the thought of what that vile thing may be able to be used for; the all-too-convenient teleportation seems like the least problematic part. On top of that, it’s a physical proof Artoria has been captured and is at the mercy of her worst enemy; the tyrannical ruler she is meant to defeat.

It puts her in her place. As someone entirely beneath Morgan, like a pet — a lower species taken in for personal amusement.

‘I was no good after all…’

It’s not a new revelation at all. A nagging voice in the back of her mind told her as much ever since. Child of Prophecy? Fairy of Paradise? Laughable. She wouldn’t amount to much; not to anything, really. It’s been futile from the very beginning.

Hopes for salvation placed on a fairy who wouldn’t even have made it into Camelot if not for being taken hostage by a Fairy Knight, served to the queen on a silver platter.

Artoria smiles bitterly. The earlier relief returns, disgusting and wretched. Wrong, yet genuine.

At least it’s all over now. She won’t have to deal with all those fairies ever again. Won’t have to work hard just to be hated and seen as nothing but a nuisance anymore.

Compared to that, maybe being in Camelot, stuck with the queen who at the very least doesn’t loathe her very existence — even though Morgan of all fairies should — isn’t all that bad.

It’s peaceful. It’s easy. It’s not a normal life by any means, but the closest to normalcy Artoria could probably attain.

Her fists clench involuntarily. No, Artoria can’t accept this.

As alluring as it is to cast aside all the burdens stuck to her shoulders, growing in weight each day — it’s at least ten times as wrong.

She’s definitely, definitely not going to give in to Morgan!

The slight rush from this newfound motivation is very short-lived. As soon as the door opens, Artoria suddenly remembers her precarious condition, and scrambles to pull up the blanket higher with fervent urgency to not be seen in her exposed state.

In comes Barghest, clad in her full armor, so annoyingly tall that she almost has to hunch down to pass through the door, pushing a cart with three full meals on top of it, clothes draped over her arm. Just the sight of her grinds Artoria’s gears.

“… pardon the intrusion. On Her Majesty’s order, I have brought undergarments and a dress, along with food.”

Barghest tries her hardest to not let her face show it, but she can’t get her confusion and inappropriate theories past Artoria, much to her dismay. Artoria really doesn’t want to have even an inkling of what that oversized knight is thinking.

It’s so wrong in every way.

‘She’s a pervert on top of everything else…’

If Artoria thought reasonably about it, she would realize that such an assumption doesn’t take a lewd mind. Given she’s the one not only on the queen’s bed, but nude and with a collar around her neck.

If anything, it’d be weird to not assume something intimate going on between the two of them.

At least Barghest possesses enough decency to keep her mouth shut. She places the clothes on the bed carefully, then turns around to allow Artoria something akin to privacy to get dressed. It’s seriously annoying how chivalrous this Fairy Knight is.

Artoria puts on the clothes brought to her, feeling relieved to finally have fabric cling to her body again like a protective layer. Not that it really has any defensive capabilities. The dress is a little loose, but certainly not uncomfortable.

It’s mostly white, with the chest part being a deep blue, decorated with gold patterns. It feels like something a high-class fairy would wear in a casual setting, maybe on a walk through a peaceful garden, a light breeze providing the gentle caress of nature.

Completely unsuitable for Artoria.

“I’m done.”

Something inside her simply refuses to express gratitude to Barghest, though the Fairy Knight pays that rudeness no reaction. That’s kinda even more aggravating.

“Please enjoy your meal, Child of Prophecy. I will return shortly with the books from Her Majesty’s library.”

Barghest excuses herself and leaves Artoria alone again, unsure when the Fairy Knight would return. With how big Camelot is and how clunky Barghest, it could be a long time — or just a short while, if the library is near this room.

Who knows, maybe Morgan really likes books? That would explain why she has her own library.

Or maybe that’s just common for a fancy fairy with power and wealth. Artoria wouldn’t know.

Frustrated, Artoria picks up a fork and stabs the poor slab of meat on one of the plates before shoving it into her mouth. Table manners aren’t a concern to a plain village girl like her; she’s not planning to mind them now just because she is in a queen’s bedroom.

It only takes a single bite to realize it, but Artoria greedily takes a big sample from every plate to confirm — the taste, the texture, the everything was just mind-blowingly perfect.

She’d drool at the mere thought of such a good meal. Having three of them in front of her, Artoria wolfs them down, momentarily forgetting about her circumstances and the personal grudge.

The empty plates feel disappointing, having another dish wouldn’t hurt. Artoria hasn’t eaten that well ever before. More than that, she never would’ve imagined getting a taste of such luxury.

Barghest returns to find Artoria idly sitting on the bed and pulling at a frayed string on her new dress. She’s surprised to see all three plates cleaned of all the food stacked on them.

“I see you have a healthy appetite.”

Barghest doesn’t mean to make fun of Artoria, though that’s how she interprets it, reacting with a disgruntled pout.

“I prepared three dishes so that there would be something you would find agreeable, as Her Majesty could not provide me with information on your diet. However, it appears my concern was unfounded.”

“Wait, you made that? You can cook!?”

This is probably the one thing that could sour this blissful meal, even in hindsight.

‘What the heck can’t she do!?’

“Yes. Cooking is a hobby of mine that I tend to when I find the time. I take it as a compliment that you have finished three whole plates. I thank you for that, Child of Prophecy. If you wish, I will prepare bigger portions next time.”

“No, I’m good.”

Ugh. Barghest is so annoyingly perfect and capable of just everything, it’s infuriating.

Barghest nods, but makes a mental note that the Child of Prophecy needs more food than her short stature and slim figure would suggest. If queen Morgan wishes for her demands to be met — within reason — and the food preparation falls onto Barghest, she would follow that order to the best of her abilities.

She sets down the heavy tomes in her arms next to the bed onto the floor with a noticeable thump. Artoria wonders how much those things actually weigh together, knowing that she herself would never be able to carry what looks to be at least 20 tomes, each as thick as about three regular books. If not more.

Artoria swallows at the thought of how much reading material that is, and how difficult and complex the contents may be.

But she’ll manage. Definitely! If Morgan can do it, so can she. At least that’s what her competitive spirit tells her.

“Her Majesty asked me to relay the following message to you, Child of Prophecy: She will be late today. You are to go to bed when you are tired; there is no need to wait for her return.”

With that, Barghest excuses herself. Leaving Artoria with a pile of books to read, on a velvety soft bed, in a nice dress. It feels entirely surreal.

‘As if I’d wait for her return!’

Artoria scoffs as she picks up the tome at the top and starts reading it with furrowed brows. She’ll show Morgan and that damn Barghest, eventually.

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

Morgan returns to her chamber late at night to find Artoria lying on her back, sprawled across the entire bed, leaving no room for another person despite its size. With an open book on her chest, her hand loosely on top of the cover, Artoria is snoring peacefully.

‘Her manners are sorely lacking…’

Morgan approaches her bed with naturally light steps, though Artoria wouldn’t be so easily waken by how deep in slumber she is. Morgan brushes Artoria’s hand off the book and picks it up, placing it carefully on one of the towers of tomes next to the bed.

Those would have to be moved to another spot, but that can wait.

Unexpectedly, Artoria rolls over to her side in her sleep, opening some space. Morgan wonders how this girl can be so carefree in the enemy’s territory.

The serene look of Artoria peacefully asleep facing her stirs no emotion in Morgan.

It only reminds her of how unscarred and naïve this fairy still must be. Not having gone through countless years of battle, sacrifice, and suffering, only to turn up empty-handed with more than one knife in her back. Again, and again, and again.

A kind heart shattered into pieces. Ideals twisted into something unrecognizable. The ungratefulness, the cruelty, the betrayals being the only constant in one’s life.

That’s what it means to be a ‘Fairy of Paradise’.

As a kindred spirit, Artoria would inevitably have to learn that lesson and either break, or stand and aim to destroy everything Morgan has worked so hard for.

Unless she’s taken off that path preemptively. By any means.

Without thinking, Morgan reaches out to touch Artoria’s cheek. It feels warm and soft. She wonders if that kind of sensation is able to bring comfort. For her, it does not.

Morgan watches Artoria’s chest rise and fall slowly, her breath shallow and even in sleep. She planned to continue from where she left off earlier upon her return, but decides against it. Her tongue still feels sore, the slight not forgiven. It’s a due Artoria will have to pay still.

“Enjoy a night’s rest while you can, Artoria of Tintagel.”