Cloud didn't get any sleep. Again. How she's functioning, she doesn't know, but now she does know that she can't sleep around other people. It's too unpredictable, too dangerous. She'd had her senses primed to hear if Reale shifted even slightly for the entire night. She’d had her hand on her knife all night long. As the morning comes, Cloud's eyes now sting for two reasons. Before Reale rises, she swipes some magic over her face to hide any redness or dark circles. Watching Summer do magic has done her some good over the years. She wonders when Summer will come to drag her back.

How can she go back? How can she return and act like nothing happened, like her world hasn't been knocked off its axis? Without Tulip, it'll just be cold. It'll just be cruelty and anxiety and depression.

How did it come to this? Cloud and her mother used to be so close. It wasn't perfect, not at all, but she had at least attempted motherhood for a time. Cloud’s not sure it was real, but her charring heat used to just be warmth. Protective, but not restrictive. Loving, if a bit harsh in her discipline. Maybe it was her father holding her back, when he was still present. Maybe she just got sick of dealing with Cloud once she wasn’t just a cute, compliant child anymore. Maybe it was just easier back then. Maybe a lot of things, but now it doesn't feel like "home" anymore. Nowhere does, not without someone to love.

Cloud sighs, languid and drawn out. She doesn’t deserve to be upset over this. This is the reality of countless Frithian citizens. Not even she knows how many people have been wrongly killed under her mother’s regime, how many people toil away in reeducation camps, how many have been orphaned or widowed from it all. She doesn’t deserve to wallow in her own grief, not after pushing the woes of all those affected by her family to the back of her mind. She indulged in the luxury of being able to repress that, and now she’s been forced to experience it first-hand. How many others have lost their Tulip due to her own family’s actions? How can she be so selfish as to mourn only her own loss? She deserves this, but Tulip didn’t. She rests her forehead on her cool hands. She can feel her pulse hammering against her skull. This sucks. This sucks. She bites her lip as those stupid tears well up in her eyes again. Stop it, stop being a crybaby! Stop being so pathetic and worthless! She shouldn't even be here right now! She should be in the castle, proving herself to the Cerinthe Rebellion by gathering intel. She's already an incapable princess, constantly disappointing her mother and her people. At least now she can do something for those people! She can do something, for once! But here she is, sulking.

Cloud jumps as Reale's blankets rustle across the room. Cloud turns to see her yawn as she stretches. She seems well rested. Was she not concerned over Cloud's presence? "Good morning," Cloud greets, voice weak.

"Good morning," Reale smiles. "You didn't eat dinner yesterday. I'll bring you back some breakfast."

"Oh, that's not necessary, but thank you," Cloud replies. "I don't like eating in the morning." Reale’s eyes sharpen from the softness of sleep. They search Cloud with an intensity that makes her somehow tense further.

"When's the last time you ate?" Reale questions as she steps out of bed. Cloud rubs her neck in foggy thought. Did she eat dinner at the party, or just a large lunch? Reale peers over at her once more when the pause stretches on, concern in her face. 

But then, she sees where Cloud’s sleeves have slipped down. Suddenly, she understands why Cloud always wears the gloves. Something cold settles in her throat when she realizes her scars are vertical. They look deep. Intentional. They're old, too, a few years at minimum. When did that happen?

"Two days ago?" Cloud murmurs, uncertain. Reale's eyes widen. "But it's fine, really. I'll eat when I go back to the castle." It's fine, it really is. It's not like she needs it right now. It's fine. Reale stares at Cloud, who's looking out the window. Reale swallows, bitter memories resurfacing. It doesn’t seem like Cloud is how Reale used to be, but this sort of thing is a slippery slope. Cloud needs to eat. How can she get her to eat?

"Are you sure? It's not a problem at all. I eat in my room sometimes; it won't look strange." It won't be a bother, she thinks, you're not a bother. You may eat in private.

"Yeah, it's okay," Cloud answers, huddling back into her spot. Reale bites her tongue in thought.

So, she goes to breakfast. She sits with her family, chatting and joking even though her mind is elsewhere. Is there any specific reason Cloud wouldn’t be eating? Two days ago, that was the day of the party. Hm, maybe... After about an hour's passed, the meal ends, Reale snags a plate of breakfast rolls, and heads back to her room. "I'm back," she tells the young woman that hasn't moved. Correction, her hand had been resting on her shin, where Reale assumes a weapon is. Cloud's always armed. She appreciates that the hand slides away once Reale makes it clear that it's just her. It also gives her an idea. Reale walks over to her desk. "Look, they made extra rolls! I love these things, didn't want them to go to waste." The sound of the plate feels so loud in the quiet room. "You can have some if you'd like. I probably can't eat them all by myself." She makes sure Cloud's watching when she grabs one without looking and bites into it. "If I remember correctly, you used to like these." Reale sits at her desk and pulls a sheet of paper from a stack to read over. Cloud hums in confirmation. 

Reale can feel Cloud thinking, can hear the cogs turning as she considers taking one. A few minutes pass before Cloud stands and steps over to Reale in near silence. Reale wouldn't have even noticed if she hadn't been listening for it. Cloud takes the roll next to the empty spot, leans against the wall, and nibbles on it. Reale figures it best not to say anything on that. She keeps her smile to herself.

Reale comes and goes throughout the day. Each time she comes back to her room, she makes sure to say something to Cloud and ask if she needs anything. Cloud's understandably unresponsive, dismissive. Reale can't believe this is the same boisterous girl she used to know. The entire day, she's hollow: a husk staring outside the window. That night though, Cloud leaves Reale's room. If she's not going to sleep, she may as well stargaze. 

She's lying on the balcony attached to Reale's room, back against the pleasantly cool stone, eyes half-lidded, her swords beside her. When she sees a flash of familiar blue, she doesn't move.

"Why the hell are you here of all places?" Summer hisses. There's a venom to her voice that's ordinarily curtained with humor. Cloud, sleep deprived, hungry, and numb, can't bring herself to care. When she doesn't answer, Summer follows up in a whisper-scream, "You made it sound like you were going somewhere predictable!"

"I did go somewhere predictable," Cloud responds in a hushed tone. "Aside from Leo, Reale's the only other royal I've been close with."

"When did that happen? How did that happen? Mother hates the Rés, and you're little miss perfect,” Summer scoffs, "a kiss-ass."

"Where'd you get that impression?" Cloud questions. If anything, Summer’s the kiss-ass. The mood shifts like stepping up an extra, nonexistent stair in the dark when she seethes, "I hate that bastard." Summer stares, blatantly. Where'd that come from? Oh.

"Because she killed Garden?" Summer asks. Really. What's the big deal? Yeah, they were close, but she was just a servant, and a literal criminal! They weren’t that close, were they? How would Summer miss that?

"No," Cloud sits up. "You wouldn't understand. I'm not ready to go back."

"You're not-" Summer sputters. "I have been looking for you all day! This meltdown has lasted long enough, Cloud."

"You told her you're looking for me, then?" She inquires, dull. It's the only reason she'd look that hard. It's not like they're real sisters; it's not like she really cares about her. Cloud folds her arms around her knees. It’s not like anyone cares about her beyond what they can use her for.

"Of course, I did," Summer confirms. She huffs a sigh and steps in front of her. "Look, she sent the Yellow Jackets after you. When they find you here, what'll you think they'll tell Mother?" Some emotion leaks into Cloud's bloodshot eyes, distress. "Come home with me and tell Mother I saved you from some kidnappers or something. That'll be my favor." Oh, yes, and Cloud's the kiss-ass. Summer's always trying to get in good with Blaze, as if Blaze would appreciate any human life but her own. Cloud manages a deep breath. She’s not ready. She’s not ready to go back, but she must. As sour as she is over Summer using her, she doesn’t want Blaze to punish Summer on her account.

“I may be naive about a lot of things,” Cloud concedes, “but I hope you realize you have the luxury of standing just outside the limelight. You can emote whenever you like, but it’s fine. You’re not expected to take the throne. You don’t have to be simultaneously stoic and pleasant. You can be angry, you can complain, you can sulk. When you do it, it’s alright. But when I am anything other than meekly obedient, I’m being dramatic.” Summer’s nose wrinkles. This ungrateful little-

“Cloud, you ran away!” Summer asserts. “You’re missing, as far as Mother’s concerned. When I’m upset, it drizzles. When you’re upset, it’s a typhoon!”

“I’m not talking about right now. It builds, Summer,” Cloud explains. “I can’t even emote in small amounts anymore. It just bottles and bottles and I can’t take it anymore. I can’t take how she treats me, how she treats us, how she treats the whole country.” She swallows. “But I have to take it.” As if just now realizing it, Cloud utters, “I hate her.” Those three words aren’t spoken wearily. They drip with malice, with absolute abhorrence.

It's been a long time since Summer's seen Cloud like this, and it's never been directed at anyone else. It's always been toward herself, or just at the world in general. It's unsettling. Summer won't show it, though. No, she just narrows her eyes and grabs Cloud to yank her upright. She's obviously exhausted, and Summer knows she's too paranoid to eat anything outside of the castle. Now that she's this close, Summer also notes Cloud's lips, which have been picked bloody. She's in bad shape. That's all this is. It doesn't make the red behind her green eyes any less unnerving. A Cloud uncrippled by her anxiety is not a Cloud Summer would like to argue with.

"You're right. You are naive," She retorts. "You have no idea what you have, what she's giving you." Cloud's face twitches unpleasantly. She tears her arm from Summer’s grasp.

“I’m not going to have a pity contest with you,” Cloud’s emerald eyes pierce, shattered into piercing shards. “There’s no good end to that.”

“You have all you will ever need,” Summer ignores, refusing to shrink from her glare. “You will never know what it was like for me before your parents took me in.”

“Summer,” Cloud warns.

“You have every right to get upset about whatever the hell you want, but the sheer audacity you, born and raised princess, have to stand before me and say I don’t know how it feels to suffer!” She laughs in disbelief.

“That’s not what I said!” Summer charges on, deaf to Cloud.

“So what if your mother’s critical of you, it’s because you have a duty to uphold someday: the privilege of ruling a country. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you! At least you have your mother!” Cloud purses her lips, electricity in her broken eyes. How is she supposed to respond to that? Summer’s not backing down, fists clenched and teeth bared. Summer’s goal was to guilt her, and it worked. It eats at Cloud’s mind even as she recognizes the tactic. God, they’re both ripping at rotten seams.

"Let’s just go,” she relents, exhaustion winning over. “I'm going to write Reale a note," she explains before slipping inside. Summer focuses on Cloud’s swords leaning against the balcony’s railing, glinting dangerously. Cloud emerges and scoops them up. "You're going to have to teleport me back with you." Summer's catches Cloud's hands, trembling around her swords and the rose that had been in her hair, now slipped between her shaking fingers. You'd never guess it from her face, but she's scared. For a moment, Summer feels bad. Then, it’s gone, shoved into the depths of her mind. She’s not wrong about this. She can’t be.

A blue ring surrounds them. In a sapphire flash, they vanish with the wind.