Few were the memories that Rosalynde still possessed of the time passed up in the mountains north of Lowen, and even fewer were the ones she remembered bringing her any sort of emotions that could be compared to what people these days would call happiness.

A normal family, a mother always busy taking care of the small house they lived in and a father never present during the day, one always out hunting the wildlife that infested their lands. Boars were what her father used to catch more than the rest of the fauna, especially young boars that weighed more or less the same as her.

He would depart at dawn, before any other hunter would even think of stepping outside, and come back just before the sun would set behind the mountain peak. Rosalynde would rejoice each time he would come back with a new kill to show her, she remembered stepping on her father's foot as he would drag her around the house.

Joyous times filled with nothing but bliss, even when the winter came crashing against their village walls, there was nothing that could make Rosalynde sad when she had her parents close to her heart.

But all pure feelings must come to an end, and that time for her had arrived earlier than expected.

She was just a child then she lost them both, when she lost all three of them to the same blade that only appeared at night, when all chimneys had their fire lost thanks to the wind hitting the rusty cardinals of the shutters of village homes.

The first one that was taken away from her was her father. He'd gone out like always with the advent of dawn, but when he didn't come back before sunset, both wife and child sensed that something had gone wrong.

Just as they had predicted, or just like Rosalynde's mother had, he didn't not come back alive - at least.

He was the first sign of imminent disaster, he was the warning they had sent to mock and ridicule, but none had decided to take action.

What they hadn't anticipated however was that the whole village would have gone silent the night after, in the exact moment the clouds had decided to cover for their crimes.

It all happened within half-an-hour, just before the clock was going to announce the advent of the new day, not even a single house was burned, nobody had even the real time to scream at the perpetrator of those atrocious crimes.

Rosalynde kept on cursing the day where everything had started deviating from the path she'd been set by birth.

She'd cried when her fathers body had been found, holding the hems of her mothers' simple dress to make sure nobody could see her tears, not taking into consideration that the villagers could still hear her sobs filling the air.

She was just a child.

She was just a child when those men entered her family home.

She was just a child when they grabbed her mother by her hair, bending her backwards before stabbing her in the chest, cutting her womb in half.

She was just a child when she saw her mother and brother die.

It seemed like yesterday when her mother had hushed her behind the only mirror of the house, telling her to keep quiet as she went to hide behind the front door, clutching her stomach as if it would fall.

But that didn't stop him from finding her and executing her in front of her daughter, the light slowly draining from her eyes as the man dressed in black quickly started rummaging through her pockets. Searching for everything that could be taken, anything that in his eyes had any kind of value.

She'd promised she would have kept quiet, that'd been her mothers last wish. But when that bastard had started doing something that the eyes of a chaste child should have never witnessed, her hand had acted before her mind and eyes had registered the fact.

Her heart just knew, and her hand had decided to act like the hand of a God would have done according to the holy scriptures.

The bottle on her hand seemed to weigh like the boar she'd helped her father skin days before the attack, but that heaviness seemed to vanish after slamming that piece of glass against his skull, hearing it crack with a single blow.

The man didn't even see her strike, he'd been careless enough to think that the woman he'd just eliminated had been the last villager, how careless of him.

Rosalynde remembered the blood on her hands, the singular noise the broken bottle made as it fell to the ground, the shards cutting the still unfinished rug that her mother had been working on for five full moons.

Reason and sensibility ceased to exist, especially after the arrival of a new day, when a passing merchant came from another village to sell a fair amount of goods. The merchant had come back right after witnessing what people could only be considered as retaliation from the Detrian Republic after the failed assassination five years prior.

However, they hadn't come there to bring help, that had never been their intention. Neither were they there to bury the dead and pay their past respects.

The moment they saw Rosalynde crawling out from the door, they didn't think twice before taking her, throwing her back inside before sealing all exits that gave to the outside world.

Traditions differed from land to land thanks to the diversity of the Rowlian Empire, the northern lands under the domain of the Crown varied from the southern lands both in language and costumes, and there was one tradition that no other land except the north seemed to possess.

It was an ancient one that most of the inhabitants of the north had long forgotten, one that apparently the neighboring village had not.

Their ancestors had always believe that the souls could not travel alone between the world of the living and the world of the dead, that they needed a little push from the living to safely cross the bridge between the two worlds – that was how the vigil following the death and preceding the passage of the dead came to exist.

A whole week spent beside the deceased, seven days without once leaving their side - with other members of the family bringing in the basic necessities to make them survive the harsh adversaries.

Rosalynde had never done it before, but she'd seen it once, when aunt had died from an untreated wound and her mother had kept watch over her body for seven whole days. Her job had been to pass food, water and thick blankets so that her mother wouldn't starve nor succumb to the cold.

Nobody in their sane mind would have made a child endure such penance, because that was all Rosalynde could make it out as, a penance against the living for making the dead cross worlds.

When they locked her inside and sealed the windows to not make her escape she cried out, rushing towards the door before one of those men kicked her back inside, saying they would have come in a week.

They said she would have needed to atone for her sins before freeing her once more. To ask for forgiveness for being born into such an unbending world, and when she asked why she should have atoned in the first place marked the last time she saw the world painted with white. for the enticing darkness was all that remained after that day.

Then came Lord Regulus, sweeping her far away from that land rooting of death and ice.

꧁꧂

"Finally up?" It took a few moments before Rosalynde's sore body decided to move, her head unwillingly leaving the soft pillows as her eyes were met with a blinding light.

Covering her eyes to shield them from the unexpected amount of light burning her eyes, throwing a hand under the cushion to find her gun and point it at whoever had been foolish enough to try and make her move from her bed.

But halted after feeling another hand grabbing the hilt of the weapon, the cold metal slipping from her grasp before she let out a loud curse, halting the curse midway as soon as Pharah's humorous expression came into view.

"Insulting the imperial family is enough for me to incriminate and behead you," Pharah mused at her attendant, who pressed a hand against her forehead to try and diminish the raging pangs of pain that had regularly come back with her awakening.

"And I'm going to change that damned deadbolt," Rosalynde replied, referring to the iron fastened to the door.

Silence descended in between the two woman before Rosalynde stood from the bed, turning around to look at the mess she'd left behind, expensive sheets covered in sweat and some stains of blood

"The aftereffects hit you pretty well this time," Pharah stated after spotting the blood stain, throwing the gun she'd stolen before.

"They still are." The other grunted in reply, taking a few steps forward to test her stability.

Pharah whistled in surprise when Rosalynde nearly lost her foothold, Rosalynde who threw her head back to make sure no foul word escaped from her lips in the princess's presence - and not always she was able to do that.

"You're starting to abuse it. First with Bishop Ferdis, and now with this woman, you better keep in mind that your body is not as invulnerable as you keep fooling yourself." A roll of eyes was all Rosalynde gave in reply, taking small steps towards the only mirror she had inside her room before taking a quick survey of her appearance.

She looked a perfect mess, with the corner of her lips smudged with what appeared to be blood, swiping the red away with her thumb. She didn't even try taking into consideration her eyes, the small grains in the corners itching without rest, as if urging her to remove them.

"You look like a mess," Pharah voiced her thoughts, helping her steady herself for the second time.

"Next time I'll make sure not to check on you after an explosion that literally burns down the theater that your great-grandparent built for his wife." Rosalynde scoffed behind her perpetual smile, grabbing Pharah's hand as the latter made sure that Steel wouldn't have dropped dead on the expensive rug.

Twisting in pain, Rosalynde raised her left hand, silently telling Pharah that there was no need for her to aid her any longer, and pushing her body forward she stumbled towards her closet.

Grabbing the handles with both hands, Rosalynde was quick in selecting elegant yet not-eye catching clothing, taking her sweet time in dressing herself.

"You need to stop using it with this frequency, and if you won't listen then I'll have to force you to stop it," Her dame stilled at that, slowly turning around to look straight in the eyes the future ruler of their glorious empire.

"You cannot restrain me from making sure you're safe," her voice didn't falter with those words, the resolute clear as day.

"And you will have to stop resorting to these methods in keeping me safe, there are safer ways for you to carry out this order," Pharah proposed, taking a small stroll around the room as Rosalynde finished dressing herself.

"Those methods are less efficient, all I want is to see you ascend the throne without that idiot getting in your way," Pharah stopped in front of a window, signing out loud before resuming her walk.

She'd referred to the other candidate, to the pebble that'd been inside Pharah's shoe for too long.

"I want him gone as much as you, but before that we need to make sure that all the cards are turned in our favor, all of them." Rosalynde scoffed at the statement, looking herself one last time in the mirror before

Taking some trifled herbs from a drawer, Rosalynde made herself a herbal tea, pondering on her master's words before shaking her head.

"It matters not if I lose myself to this devious curse rotting inside my heart, as long as you achieve what you promised me I don't care if I'll have to destroy myself in the process of placing you where you should belong," she sounded raw when she spoke those words, her vocal cords appearing to have not been used in a while, making her wonder how much exactly she'd been sleeping for.

Cracking her knuckles against the table, Rosalynde seemed to lose control of her mind, sealing off all those obscure sensations which she'd unlearned with the passing of the years.

"How much was I out for?" She tried deviating the argument, but miserably failed as Pharah took a cushion from Rosalynde's couch, flattening it before throwing it at the latter – who dodge the flying object by inches, watching it hit a painting before falling to the ground.

"It's your life we're talking about here, and for your information you were out thirty-eight hours, more than a day and a half," Rosalynde didn't move of an inch as Pharah closed the distance, pushing her dame against the same spot where the painting had fallen to the floor.

"You won't wake up if you continue to abuse it like you're doing now, and the fact that you already know what I'm saying is making me lose my senses," Rosalynde said nothing this time, no snarky remark came from her.

She just stared, not bothering to take her eyes off her nor correct her on the matter.

"What did you dream about before coming back to your senses?" She'd realized that something had been different this time, maybe from the less aggressive-passive remarks coming from her, or from the way she'd kept her smile mostly unchanging.

"What do you think I could possibly dream about?"

When she'd been a child she remembered loving dreaming about the bedtime stories her mother would tell her, sometimes even looking under the bed to see if one of them had come to life just to meet her.

Her mother would just brush it off, patting her twice on the back before inviting her to lie down on the end, hoping that the fairy of dreams would take her daughter away with her just until morning came.

Nowadays the only times her subconscious projected images were in black and white, gone was the color from her mind, especially in the world of dreams.

The day her mother died was the last day she ever dreamed colors again, the vibrant green from the plains that the last book her father had bought her on the market day lost in an expanse of darkness.

"Roxton?" It'd been a long time since Rosalynde had heard the name of her village far up in the north, enclosed in a strategic point between two valley openings.

"You know that when I don't dream at night then the only acceptable answer is that accursed amass of gravel and tombstones." Rosalynde seethed in abhorrence, slipping between the shadows to get to her herbal tea, swirling it as if looking at a glass of wine before bringing the edge of the cup to her lips.

"You know that sometimes people need to talk about their past instead of burying it deep under a hill made up only of lies?" Rosalynde didn't bother replying to that blatant excuse of trying to keep alive the conversation.

Pharah bent down to examine the painting she'd unwillingly made fall though Rosalynde, dusting its edges while checking if the fall had damaged in any way the canvas or the golden frame enclosed around it.

A knock on the room made both of them swallow their tongue, Pharah signaled the other to not move before making it to the door while Rosalynde looked around in search of a weapon she could use.

"A message for Lady Steel." It'd been a maid that'd knocked on the door, bringing with her what seemed as a letter sealed with a black wax.

A single spare glance had been enough for the two to comprehend each other, for they knew very well who'd sent that letter – there were only members of the Apostles that could send that missive bearing those colors.

A black swan, the only crest that the Imperial Family had used over the last five-hundred years, and as his majesty the Emperor had long ago decided to entrust their lives into the capable hands of his counterpart, Rosalynde didn't even bother checking who'd been so bold in sending her such letter during daytime.

"Did you know about this?" Rosalynde questioned the lady she served before the latter shook her head, both of their eyes betraying nothing more than impolite arrogance.

"The next meeting will be in two weeks, that's all I know. I'll leave you know, but I expect you to come and report to my office as soon as you finish this business," Pharah had stopped addressing her mother as such before Rosalynde had been placed under her wing.

"Why? You don't want to see what your mother has ordered your obedient hound to do?" She cruelly sneered, the ends of her lips tugging upwards thanks to the havoc she knew she was bringing with her unrefined words.

She may have been assigned under Pharah's extremely capable hands, but that had never altered the ways that the Mother of the Rowlian Empire had always looked at her. She'd been one of the many shadows that would have forever roamed those halls, her footsteps becoming one with the perpetual darkness that'd taken refuge behind the expensive dècor hanging from both sides, her voice silenced by the numbers of people she'd robbed the future from.

Rosalynde didn't particularly care if in the eyes of her majesty she was nothing more than one of the many chest pieces adorning her golden board. She did, however, take interest in those who tried trampling over the authority of the Lady she'd sworn to ascend the throne.

She was, after all, her one and only private attendant.

"Sometimes it seems you forget why I was brought here nineteen years ago." Rosalynde sucked in a breath as the herbal tea finally started relieving her mind from the unrelenting headache that still hadn't left her alone.

"Sometimes you seem to forget why I took those beatings for you, or when I kneeled for hours outside before my mother, imploring her to spare your goddamn life," Rosalynde went silent after that, rare were the moments when Pharah seemed to lose her cool, and Rosalynde had unexpectedly been able to make her snap in two

"Now go, her majesty is waiting for you." Pharah finished as Rosalynde bowed in return, her silvery hair falling on both sides before exiting her private chambers, black letter in hand.

"Never again. Never again talk about your life as something without value."

Steel froze at those words, saying nothing as she got out of the room knowing that this time she'd been arguing with matters that had no fundamentals.

On the wrong yes, but still eager to know what her second master wanted her to do.