SCM2814
patreon
The Souls-like DLC Duel Boss You Need To Git Gud To Beat Is Reborn In A Fluffy Otome Game World! - Prologue: Arcane Amour – Prepare To Live
🕑 Added 2025-01-23 16:00:12 +0000 UTCPapa still wasn’t back.
The little girl stood outside of her house, watching the path leading towards their front door. Her cheeks were salted with dry tears, and the only reason she wasn’t crying was because there were no more tears left. There was a spot of honey on her chin from the honeyed bread that Mama had given her to eat before going to look for Papa. The little girl tried to ignore the feeling inside her—like spiders crawling on her neck—that whispered that Mama might not come back either—
She shut her eyes tightly, trying to ignore the thought. Tears wanted to well up, but nothing came, though she rubbed the back of her arm over her eyes anyway. Blearily, she continued watching the path.
Papa hadn’t been home for a week now.
She wanted him back. She wanted him to come back and hold her and tell her he loved her, and that no matter what anyone said he was her papa, and that her magic was a good thing and… and…
The little girl rubbed at her head, wincing. It felt strange, like something inside was growing and wanted to get out, like worms in a piece of fruit…
There was movement on the path, and she looked up to see the distant blue. “Mama! Papa!” she called even though they were still too far away to hear her, and started to run. Little legs, still chubby from youth and a surplus of lovingly bake treats, ran down the path, assisted by the slope. “Mama! Papa!”
As she neared, she could only see Mama, but maybe Papa was standing behind her where she couldn’t see him. That could happen… that could happen…
When she reached the end of the path, almost crashing to a tired stop in Mama’s open arms, there was no Papa. The little girl’s face twisted into an ugly thing, and she began to hiccup, yet save for a drop or two no other tears trickled down her face. Yet the lack of tears and the way her lungs would occasionally convulse didn’t stop the heart-tearing wail that came from the little girl’s throat. Mama carried her as she cried, her arms wrapped around Mama’s shoulders possessively in fear that she would leave too…
The little girl’s head ached, throbbing like a stubbed toe as her heart—or perhaps her soul—seemed to wiggle in her chest like a fish she’d pulled from the river trying to escape her hands. Where was Papa!-? Why wasn’t he coming home!-?
She wanted Papa to come home…
––––––––––––––––––
Squelch.
Crimson warmth that sang, delicious and thick poured over her hand, and her nose filled with the heady scent. Moonlight shown down upon her, illuminating the walkway already being stained by a growing puddle. She knelt down, touching her already bloody hand on the crimson pool, feeling the brief tones of bloodsong filling her veins. The blood was warm, fresh from the feral’s veins, and her hand burned with heat even after she stood and reluctantly wiped the blood on her leathers instead of licking it clean. Yet the warmth remained even as he took her blades back in hand, and began to search once more of those who had been overcome. Her hand burned, it—
She woke up and found herself on her parents’ bed, the warm sunlight from the window shining on her hand. The window was open, letting in the breeze, the curtains on either side fluttering.
The girl pushed herself upright slowly, her head pounding. Hangover, a part of her thought. The rest wondered what the word meant…
Carefully, she pushed herself up, then carefully slid off the bed, her bare feet landing on the wooden floor. The door of the bedroom was open, and from downstairs the girl could faintly her mother bustling about, and the smell of baking bread and warm pottage wafted up from the kitchen. “Mama?” the girl called out hesitantly. Then, hopefully, “Papa?”
The sounds stopped, and there was a moment of silence.
Then Mama’s voice called out, “Dear, come down. It’s time for breakfast.” Mama sounded tired.
The girl wilted slightly, her heart writhing anew as dread came to her. Still, she made her way down the stairs, hoping… hoping…
Only Mama was in the kitchen, and on the table were only two bowls of breakfast thick vegetable stew. Mama tried to smile, even through her tired expression and eyes red from crying. “Come and eat, dear,” Mama said, beckoning her to the dining table.
The girl wanted to start crying again, but… “Yes, Mama,” she said. She pulled herself up on the dining room chair like a big girl, even though her feet still didn’t reach the floor. “Mama… I had a strange dream…”
Mama sat down on next to her, looking sadder for a moment, before letting out a breath and shaking her head. “What was the dream about?”
The girl opened her mouth… and paused. “I don’t really remember. Just that it was… strange. And scary…”
A gentle hand came to rest on the girl’s head, stroking her red hair. “It was only a dream, Marla. There’s no reason to be scared.”
The girl named Marla nodded, even as she heard the hollowness in her mother’s voice for perhaps the first time. It had been there for some time now, she realized…
––––––––––––––––––
For the next month, the girl named Marla dreamed of blood and moonlight.
Every night, she slept and recalled visions of places she had never been (but she had).
There was a fortress… or was it a town… on an island where cold winds blew. Her dreams whispered its name, and the whispers were in her own voice. In the dark behind her eyes, she saw richly dressed nobles with pale skin and red hair walking its halls, the stone walls carved all over with scenes of… of…
…the dream flickered and changed…
“Let the dead lie in peace, stranger…”
Day by day, she did her chores, sweeping the floors, tending the vegetable garden, and waiting for her Mama to come home, this time with Papa. She slowly cried less and less, even as she continued to stand in front of the house and wait, watching the path home.
Every day, only Mama walked the path. No friends came to visit. No one had done so in years.
The dreams of the girl named Marla were filled with memories of things she had never done (but she had).
There was a young girl wearing a finely-tailored red dress, standing upon a stone walkway along the keep’s walls, staring up at a rare blue sky, visible through a break in the clouds. On the roof above her, the ones that lurked had withdrawn, hissing and shielding their eyes at the too-warm light, as the girl continued to watch. She stood there until the wind shifted and the clouds closed once more…
…the dream flickered and changed…
“Ah… but the promise of answers call to you, does it not?”
As the days went by, the girl named Marla grew quiet and withdrawn. She stopped waiting outside for her mother to arrive, wander around the plot, examining the fire-scorched stone walls arrayed at seeming random behind and to either side of the house. When wandering lost its appeal, she chose instead to sit in the kitchen and stare at the wooden cabinets along the walls, the wooden doors securely shut.
Her mother returned home alone, eyes tired and voice hollow, even as she greeted the girl named Marla with open arms. The girl named Marla did not look down the path. She knew there would be no one else coming.
She walked the streets of a city she had never visited (she could feel the stones under her feet and know which part of the city she was in), where the buildings seemed built on top of each other, rising like towers into the sky. In the light of the moon, she walked with sword in hand, listening for the sounds those made feral by the bloodsong. She heard them coming closer, drawn by the bloodsong singing in her veins, and she let them come. The song-twisted brute rushed in, but she was faster, and with two almost gentle movements of her swords blood sprayed from the dying feral.
The bloodsong filled her, and she shuddered briefly at how good it felt. She licked the blood on her gloves, closing her eyes in pleasure at the sweet taste…
…the dream flickered and changed…
“I will remedy this folly, and free thee from this nightmare’s hold.”
One day, two men from the town came to the house. The girl named Marla recognized them as father’s friends. There was the mayor, who ran the town’s inn with his brother, and Rhyk, the head of the town guard, owned a big shield—a tower shield, she corrected herself—and went around culling the wild beasts that could threaten the town.
Mother sent her upstairs to her room, which she obeyed quietly. Mother made no note of her easy acquiescence as she invited the men to the kitchen.
The girl named Marla stood at the threshold of her room, one hand on the doorframe so she could lean as close to the stairs as she could, closing her eyes as she focused on listening intently.
“—looked everywhere, Alice,” Rhyk said, sound regretful and tired. “The cliffs, the cursenewt nests, even the troll dens… I couldn’t find anything. Perhaps he—”
“He wouldn’t have left us,” she heard mother say. “You know the kind of man he is. Rafael wouldn’t have… he wouldn’t—”
“I know,” Rhyk said. “I was going to say that… that he might have been taken by someone. I know I looked, but if it was one of the rat-folk… they wouldn’t have left anything, not even his soul. And there are rumors that people have been vanishing in Almind county, which isn’t that far from here. Maybe whatever took them wandered far and took him too.” There was a sigh. “I know it’s not what you want to hear Alice, but… it’s been a week. If we were going to find Rafael, we would have found him by now.”
The girl named Marla felt like her chest was writhing, and try as she might it would not stop, tears coming to her eyes. Still, she managed to stifle her sounds as the mayor and Rhyk continued to speak with her mother and assuring her of the town’s support, before finding a pretext to leave soon after.
A woman in scholarly robes spoke to several young men and women who were her students. She found herself sitting among them, listening intently despite not holding a notebook or pen. On her knee was her beautiful foreign flower, stolen away in her flight, exquisite and beautiful.
“The song separates man from brutes,” the woman said. “The song raises us above brutes. The song makes brutes of us all. Hear the song, but remember: we are not yet prepared to sing.”
…the dream flickered and changed…
She dreamed of blood and death, of cutting down song-twisted feral brutes with sword and pistol in fetid sewers beneath city streets. Her sword, a crude thing of serrated teeth for her beautiful flower was gone, tore through flesh with every swing, bathing her in blood and bloodsong, and she rejoiced…
It was a pleasant dream and a pleasant sleep, a brief escape from the pain of life.
Such was the inauspicious beginning of the rebirth of the venator Countess Marla of the Lunar Conservatory, once of the Crimson Kin, formerly of the House of Remedies.
Noble Child’s Dress
A finely made crimson dress, sized for a child.Worn by a child of the crimson bloodline, whose heritage can be traced to the cursed island of Damaigh.
Many have found their way to this bloody keep never to return, but only two have ever escaped. In the gloam of dawn, while its hedonistic revelers still slept, two girls crossed the lonely bridge that only carriages had ever traversed. One stole away a beautiful flower, while another carried a fine raiment. Hand in hand, they sought a new sky not surrounded by walls.
