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[04]
A NASCENT SOUL
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The West Villa's kitchen hummed with frantic energy. Servants moved like silent, solitary islands in a sea of steam and clattering pans.

Into this orchestrated chaos slipped Tina. She found Head Chef Alistair, a man whose temper matched his furnace.

"Good morning, Alistair."

"What now? Another meal for your lady to ignore?" he snapped, not turning from his stove. "This kitchen is swamped. The Three Pillars are here. The Prince is here. And that finicky commoner. I do not have time for whims."

He does not understand, Tina thought, her heart aching for the silent figure locked away upstairs.

"It has been two days since she has properly eaten anything," Tina said, a sliver of steel entering her voice. "The only thing she touched was a pastry at the tea party yesterday. If the labor is too much, take it up with Edmund."

Alistair finally turned, his face flushed. "THAT IS THE PROBLEM! SINCE YOUR LADY LOCKED HERSELF AWAY, EDMUND VANISHED! PROBABLY HIDING FROM THE IMPOSSIBILITY OF IT ALL!"

The outburst echoed. Tina flinched but held her ground. He was not entirely wrong. A week of angry outbursts had given way to total silence behind a locked door.

"Please, Alistair," she whispered, her composure cracking. "Just something simple. A broth. Something that smells like… safety. Like home. And a dessert. Beautiful, not too sweet. Something that might tempt her to remember what it feels like to not be empty."

She was rambling, grasping at the ghost of her lady's old smile, trying to cook it into existence.

The fight drained from Alistair. He looked at her—really looked—and saw the dark circles, the raw worry. His scowl softened. "Hey. What is really going on with her?"

A single tear escaped Tina's control before she wiped it away. "I do not know. She is changing. Like a ghost. And I am scared I am losing her right through that door."

"The dessert was perfect!"

The new voice, bright with worry, cut through the steam. Lilia hovered in the doorway, wringing her hands.

"I heard the maids talking. They said Lady Reise tasted all the pastries at the tea party. Especially the lemon cake. Maybe… maybe something like that could cheer her up?"

Her own eyes held deep concern. She had been there last night, had heard the unsettling sounds from behind the ornate door. And she remembered the cold hand that had helped her up, the blunt kindness.

"Are you not Lilia?" Tina asked, surprised. "Are you not meant to be with Miss Eliza in the Annex-Duo?"

Alistair groaned. "Do not tell me you are her messenger! If my menus are so offensive, let her use her own damn kitchen!"

Lilia shook her head, a small, sympathetic smile appearing. "No, Tair. I was looking for Miss Tina." She turned, gently clutching Tina's hands. "I want to help you prepare Lady Reise's breakfast." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And… I was not needed there."

Alistair rubbed his neck. "Fine. To make something warm and sweet, you two lend a hand." He pinched Lilia's cheek, his gruffness a poor disguise. "And call me Alistair, you brat."

Lilia stuck her tongue out at him. Then she and Tina shared a look of solidarity and got to work.

❈.❈.❈

The only sound in the opulent hallway was the rumble of the service cart's wheels. Tina guided it, knuckles white. Lilia walked beside her, hands tucked into her apron.

They moved beneath the gaze of stern portraits. With each step, the dread grew heavier—a cold stone of fear. The memory of last night's sounds—the violent excavation—played on a loop.

Finally, the ornate door. Three steps away.

The cart stopped. Their breath hitched.

Tina closed her eyes. I would not even mind another hairpin at my throat, so long as she is there. Safe.

A shared glance, a silent pact. Tina knocked three times.

Silence.

Her heart plummeted. She turned the knob and pushed the door open, braced for devastation.

It did not come.

Morning sun streamed in, illuminating an eerily orderly room. Everything was in its precise, polished place. The only hint of chaos was the missing figurines from the shelves.

Tina's eyes flew to the grand bed.

Her face drained of color.

The sheets were thrown back.

The bed was empty.

A silent, cold horror seized her, gluing her to the floor. Her heart hammered a frantic drum of panic. Lilia's words: 'like… she is moving.'

Seeing Tina's paralysis, Lilia darted to the bathroom, then rushed back, eyes welling. She clutched the back of Tina's dress, an anchor in their shared despair.

"What are you doing standing there," a voice drawled from the balcony, laced with familiar, sarcastic amusement, "like you have lost your own fortune?"

Their heads snapped toward the sound.

There she was. Bathed in morning light on the balcony, her white nightdress glowing, breeze playing with her hair. A vision of calm.

With a shared cry of relief, they rushed forward, stopping a few paces away, afraid to break the spell.

"My lady!" Tina's voice was a cracked whisper. "You… you did not run away."

Behind her, Lilia peered out with awed, relieved glances.

"Run away?" G6 asked, genuine confusion flickering. Then, an understanding 'Ah…' "You are right," she mused, nodding as if adding it to a list of viable options. "I do have that choice."

She caught the raw anxiety in their posture. "I do not know what you are thinking," she stated, stepping back into the room. "But I am not running away." A ghost of a smirk. "Yet."

"My lady! It is not funny to hear such things…"

G6 sank into the chair at the tea table, propping her chin on her hand. "Did I not tell you to stop calling me that?" Her gaze sharpened. "And… are you not forgetting something?"

Tina's mind raced. Something important?

With a dramatic moan, G6 let her head fall back. "You have not fed me a proper meal for two days. I am starving. For real." The complaint was blunt, almost childlike.

A wave of pure joy washed over Tina.

"Lilia," she instructed, voice suddenly buoyant, "bring the cart. Our Reise is hungry."

G6 watched the small girl maneuver the heavy cart. A laugh bubbled up—She is three inches taller than the cart itself—disguised as a cough.

Lilia positioned the cart with care, then snapped to ramrod-straight attention.

"Hey, you," G6 called. "Lilia, was it?"

Lilia's eyes widened. The lady knew her name. "Ye…yes, m'lady."

"How old are you? Why are you so small?" The question was blunt, devoid of malice.

Tina watched, stunned. The old Reise's interactions were demands or silence. Never curiosity.

"Uhm… I am eight…"

G6's eyes widened with theatrical mock surprise. "When I was eight, I was tall," she declared, sitting up straighter.

Tina placed a bowl of fragrant broth before her. "That is… not true," she interjected gently, setting down a lemon cake. "You were just as tall as her."

G6's jaw went slack. Right. I am Reise now. A swift internal correction. Tch.

She grabbed her spoon and dove into the soup, a convenient diversion. "Oh, this is good. I want this if I ever have a hangover."

Tina and Lilia shared a fleeting, triumphant smile.

"With all due respect," Tina ventured, emboldened, "I do not recall you being able to handle alcohol."

This was new. The old Reise would never have tolerated a servant's gentle contradiction.

"Ha? Watch me," G6 shot back, a challenge. Her eyes lit up as she bit into the lemon cake. Even better than yesterday's!

Then her senses prickled. A quiet stare. She glanced sideways. Lilia was watching the cake with the desperate focus of a stray kitten.

G6 deliberately set the cake down with a sigh and picked up her broth.

"You, kid. Finish that."

A stunned silence.

"Lady Reise… that is highly improper," Tina objected.

"M-Miss Tina is right…" Lilia stammered.

Tch. What is improper is you two watching my every bite like statues.

"Consider it a command," G6 stated, her voice shifting to cold, sharp finality. "I have decided I do not like it. So she eats it. Or would you prefer I throw it out the window?"

Tina's eye twitched. The negative attitude was familiar, but this felt different. Not petulant anger. A general's order.

"Hurry."

Lilia looked to Tina, who gave a single, hesitant nod.

Trembling, Lilia approached.

"Sit down," G6 commanded.

The young maid perched on the edge of the vacant chair. G6 slid the plate over.

"Taste it."

Lilia took a small bite. Her face transformed with pure, unguarded delight. "It is so good!"

A look of profound satisfaction—relief—washed over G6's features before she schooled it away.

"Better to taste it than drool from a distance," she remarked, sipping her tea. Her gaze fell on Tina. "You too. Sit down."

"No, my lady, standing is—"

"It is not a request. If you wish to serve me again, you will sit." Take it or leave it.

Heart pounding, Tina sat between Lilia and G6.

Then G6 did the unthinkable. She took a clean cup, poured tea, and pushed it toward Tina.

Tina recoiled as if offered poison. "My lady! What are you doing?!"

"No tea for a child. Water for you," G6 said to Lilia, as if this were normal. She turned her piercing gaze back to Tina. "And you. I want you to treat me like you used to. Even if it is just within these four walls."

Tina's mind spun. Lilia looked equally bewildered. They were sitting with a woman whose beauty was compared to a chilling goddess. Her grace was bewildering. Terrifying.

But, dear spectator, do not be fooled. This kindness was not born of a softened heart. It was a calculated strategy, deployed with a surgeon's precision.

G6 was not just an assassin; she was a Reaper. Her training encompassed the subtle science of manipulation. Every gentle word, every offered cup, every command was a move on a chessboard only she could see.

 (1/2)