Once again, Ayra has tossed onto her sisters. It’s been three days that I’ve barely seen her—and even on those rare occasions, it was only for a fleeting mont. She excused herself quickly and coldly, claiming she had more important matters to attend to. Honestly, her justification left stunned—like lightning from a clear sky. That she has greater responsibilities than taking care of is perfectly understandable; she’s still a princess, and soon she’ll be a commander of the Scarlet Army. But did she really have to say it so bluntly? This isn’t like her at all...
Because of that, today I’ll be spending the entire day alone with Levreshka—Gerard has to dedicate the next twelve hours straight to prayer, and only after that will he finally be ready to begin actual training in the use of Divine Light. The idea of spending the whole day, from morning to evening, with that evil little runt definitely unsettles ...
Yesterday and the day before, I spent ti with Daphne and Kajetan. Those two are incredibly close, and I honestly envy their relationship—if I didn’t know they were mistress and familiar, I’d swear they were husband and wife based on how they act, the way they care for each other, and countless small gestures. For instance, yesterday at noon we had lunch in the massive royal garden—a real picnic by the edge of a little pond—and Daphne kept taking bites from Kajetan’s sandwich. Well, it’s not exactly a sandwich as we humans know it, but it vaguely resembles one. Kajetan did the sa with hers. And when Daphne asked if I wanted to take a bite from hers, directly from her hands, Kajetan gave a glare like I was hitting on his wife. That irritation spilled into our little sparring session after lunch—though calling it a "sparring session" is an understatent, since he knocked out with a single hit. I really was curious to see just how strong he is... and the pain I still feel a day later in the spot he hit is proof enough. I don’t even want to think about what he’d do if he ever found out I bathed with his mistress twice. He’d probably kill . I almost feel like the secret lover.
Theirs is a relationship of pure complicity, one that I truly envy—and one I hope to have with Ayra soday. Though I won’t deny it, seeing the bond between Daphne and her familiar stirred sothing inside ... I can’t quite explain it, but watching her shower Kajetan with all that affection and tenderness almost irritated . When we’re alone, she pampers , spoils , cares for ... but when Kajetan is around, she only has eyes for him.
Jealousy...? God, this is absurd—but I can’t think of any other explanation. If anything, I should only feel like this if I saw Ayra worrying about soone else—she’s my mistress, not Daphne. Yet lately, she feels so distant, uninterested... almost like she got tired of overnight. anwhile, Daphne is always present, never hesitating for a second to lift my spirits or explain away her little sister’s behavior—clearly to ease my bad mood. According to her, Ayra’s sudden change in attitude is a side effect of the Supre Blood Word she used. Using such a massive amount of Sanguis energy without proper preparation can apparently cause hormonal imbalances that make you irritable and unstable. Even Ginevra—now her personal maid—confird it. Ayra never laid a finger on her, but the coldness she shows is truly unusual. This isn’t the Ayra I knew... What the hell happened to her?
«It’s been over a month that I’ve been working day and night to fix my beloved Gorilionbear, and I’m not even halfway done yet! You should be ashad—it’s your fault he’s suffering! Can’t you hear him crying?!» Levreshka scolds , sitting at a tiny table inside her dollhouse, busy stitching up the massive hole my Interius spell left in the body of the giant hybrid plush. Behind her stands the enormous golden throne where her favorite teddy bear, Mr. Fluffridge, sits like a true king—just thinking about how much effort it took to carry that heavy thing up the hill to her stupid dollhouse still makes my muscles ache!
«To tell the truth... no,» I reply awkwardly. I can’t help but glance around with a hint of fear—those terrifying toys all lined up around are so intimidating, it almost feels like they’re staring straight at .
Wait a second... Did she seriously just ask if I can hear her stuffed animal crying in pain...? This girl’s not exactly right in the head.
These are exactly the kinds of things skeptics say in horror movies—the ones where the protagonist hears strange noises and voices coming from creepy-looking toys, but everyone thinks he’s crazy until the evil doll slaughters the whole family, and you at ho go, "If only you’d listened to him, you wouldn’t be dead, idiots!" Should I start worrying about getting attacked in my sleep by a plushie wielding a weapon...?
«That’s because you’re a stupid, insensitive human!» she snaps, her tone annoyed, without lifting her focused gaze from the plush—she looks like a surgeon in the operating room, hunched over her patient.
, insensitive? Look who’s talking...
Even though her obsession with these creepy hybrid toys might seem totally bizarre—and it is!—I can’t help but admire the dedication, the almost maniacal care she puts into them. Every single toy in this room—and by eye, there must be at least a hundred—was built by her using parts from other toys. You could honestly say each one is unique, since no two are assembled the sa way. I’ve also noticed that they’re all perfectly seated—not just tossed around, but arranged in positions that, as absurd as it sounds, I’d call natural. On top of that, there isn’t a single speck of dust on them—she probably spends entire days restoring them—and the little outfits they wear are all custom-made by Levreshka, using the sa fabrics used for the noble class’s luxurious clothing.
If only she showed the sa care for Gerard that she does for these toys, he’d probably be the happiest familiar in all of Mildelar. With that thought, a spontaneous question cos to mind.
«Why...?» I ask, almost in a whisper, careful not to make her angry—I know how irritable that brat can be. «Why all these toys?»
I really shouldn’t have asked. Her gaze hits like a boulder.
«They’re not toys, you stupid fool—they’re my loyal servants! I’ve already told you at least ten tis not to call them that!» she scolds .
To be honest, this is the first ti she’s told that—but whatever...
I always forget I’m dealing with a thirteen-year-old girl with the mind of an eight-year-old. Which ans—just like with little kids—I’ll have to approach the matter indirectly.
«A princess like you already has plenty of servants—you have your bodyguard, Syrius Vondler, the palace butlers, your familiar... what do you need more for?» I ask, this ti using a more respectful tone and pretending to be genuinely interested.
«Those aren’t loyal servants! Syrius and all the lackeys working in the castle serve my father, not . And as for that idiot Gerard, better not go there... let’s just hope that saintly woman manages to make him less useless!» For the first ti, Levreshka takes her eyes off her "patient" and turns her gaze toward the creations surrounding us.
It’s a look that leaves speechless—more puzzled than I’ve been in a long ti. Completely different from the acidic and spiteful expression I’ve always seen in her eyes since I t her.
Levreshka is staring at those toys with an expression full of sweetness and affection—yet at the sa ti, there’s a clear note of lancholy in her gaze. ’Levreshka’ and ’sweetness’ in the sa sentence? Yeah, it sounds absurd—but it’s true! She looks like a mother gazing at her children with pride and contentnt. A silent mont of contemplation that lasts several seconds, during which I can’t help but look at her, feeling an inexplicable sense of compassion. Then, finally, she speaks.
«Because they will never abandon .»
A few simple words, spoken in a voice both firm and lancholic, send a shiver through my body. You don’t need to be a psychologist to sense the pain and loneliness hiding behind them. And yet, she’s not alone—or rather, she is, but it’s by her own choice. She spends almost the entire day in here—only leaving to eat, to half-heartedly carry out her duties as mistress, and often even sleeping in this very room. I know this because, during the weeks I spent in the royal castle, I saw it with my own eyes. I brushed it off as: she locks herself in here because, really, what reason does she have to go out? Nobody can stand her.
But now, I imagine there’s much more behind it... Who knows—maybe if I could help her get over whatever pushed her to surround herself with toys and shut herself off from the world, she might start treating Gerard better? The idea that she’s venting her unhappiness on him feels far too real not to at least try. I’m sure Daphne would be more than willing to help with this.
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