Chapter Seven: Until We Meet Again.
1738 Words
{Recovery completed}
{The host is now permitted to ingest foods and drinks freely}
{The System has added the blessing ‘divinity’ as a parting gift or ‘favour’}
“Oooh? Seriously?” I smiled, then undid the towel that I had wrapped on Azalea’s wet hair. Heavy was the first thing I thought as the mass tumbled in little curls to my thighs.
I was at Azalea’s dressing table, dressed in her red lace sleeping gown that I had found comfortingly sexy after taking my very first bath as her. As of now, I was playing with her makeup out of pure boredom, and I have to confess, being pretty is something else.
Azalea’s beauty was hardly missable. Rather than hardly missable, the correct saying would be astonishing. Every shade of lipstick I tried on was flattering, and I almost understood why Narcissus had fallen in love with his image. I mean, if he looked anything like Azalea…though I should probably say ‘me’ now, then damn!
Her eyes were blood red, no deeper. They were like bleeding rubies, only held together by the darkness outlining her pupil.
She was short and curvy, I mean now that her body was restored to its initial state by the system before she was bony and malnourished, but now…
I whistled at my reflection in appreciation then puckered my lips to enjoy the rose lipstick that I had just applied.
“But like,” I continued speaking to the System, “Couldn’t you have added teleportation…or like changed divinity to teleportation or-”
{The System is displeased by the hosts' tone at the-}
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” I added quickly before the System initiated another ‘silent treatment’.
Still, what good is ‘divinity’? All it has as sub-branches are purification, healing and blessing others. First of all, I don’t even get sick or die unless it is my time to. As for blessing others, I’m a freaking villain; unless I offer the healing in exchange for the party’s firstborn son, I have no idea what its-
{The System can read the hosts m-}
“I’m sorry, I am sorry, okay, my bad!”
“Could you please tell me the relationship between Fuscia and the third saintess?” I asked as I grabbed a brush and began drying my hair.
{Fuscia was named after the third Saintess. The third Saintess had a sist-}
“I knew it, okay, tell me about Azalea, her personality, her likes, dislikes the works.”
{Understood}
{Azalea Oleander Cursix}
{Age: 26}
{Personality: Ruthless, Selfish, Manipulative, Insecure}
{Likes: Handsome men, Violin}
{Dislikes: Emperor Dowenger, Innes Theodore Cursix, Leanna Theodore Cursix, Tomas Theodore weak people}
{Allergies: Poison, Dandilions}
-I think everyone is allergic to poison, but whatever.-
Still, more dislikes than likes; what a sad existence.
“What about her backstory?”
{She was born on a cold fall mor-}
“Okay, set the scene less,” I said, then fluffed the already brushed and damp section of my hair.
{When Azalea was born, her father taught her how to play the violin as that was the only thing to quell the Empress’s madness during the moon’s bloom}
“Okay, less fancy language as well….”
{Tch!}
-Did The System click its ‘tongue’ at me?-
Still, the musical ability was paternal? I thought for sure that the previous Empress was the one who played the violin.
{The previous Empress was known to play, but her teacher had been the Emperor. He was a commoner while she the crown princess at the time. He played the violin to soothe her when the curses’ affliction was strongest. However, when Azalea was sixteen, the violin’s effects began growing weaker and weaker with each passing month until one day, the Empress lunged at the Emperor and beat him black and blue.}
-I said no fancy talk-
{Just when the Empress was about to deliver her killing blow, Azalea ended her mothers’ life. The public expected that the Emperor would succeed her. However, he lost his taste for politics when the love of his life died in his arms, and the rest of the houses expected him to move on. Untroubled by the fact that his own daughter had been the one to-}
-I understand; skip that part.-
{So, at the tender age of sixteen, Azalea was crowned the Empress}
Everyone in the kingdom knew Azalea’s story from hearsay. The version that I heard was that Azalea longed for the throne, so much so that she killed the Empress, her own mother, in her sleep. An act that traumatised the Emperor into retirement.
{The version the host heard is perhaps because the Emperor appealed greatly to those without power, as more often than not, the weak have more supporters}
“Well, I guess.” I sighed, then draped my fully combed but still damp hair over my left shoulder to let it air dry, “Probably because that’s more relatable. In this Empire, the few who are strong are crazy strong, and the plenty that are weak…are also weak in spirit, so to them, the strong’s problems sound like ‘my diamond heels are too tight’, or ‘my palace cannot fit all my dresses’. The two are worlds apart, so they don’t understand each other.” I explained dismissively.
{However, the host resonates deeply with A-}
“What else? Did the incidence cause a particular trauma I need to act out?”
{No. After that incident, Azalea’s respect for her father turned into a deep hatred for him and his weakness}
“I see…” I sighed, “And where is the Emperor?”
{In the Western palace in Dru }
Three taps and the sound of a southern bird, specifically the red bishop, jolted my attention from both the System and the mirror to the window.
Henderson’s hounds were here.
I gave myself one last look, then grabbed the fluffy pink gown that I had tossed casually on the ottoman by my bed, then walked to the window.
Quickly, I opened it and took a step back. A few seconds later, a man dressed entirely in black from head to toe swooped in.
The only thing that I could spot from his get-up was deep piercing green eyes.
The man pulled his mask off, which was odd for a hound, revealing a mass of short fluffy golden hair, clearing his image.
What the-
“The Empress? Surely Basilica, will you never cease to amaze me?” the man questioned in a deep familiar voice.
“Henderson!?”
*
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Aleu Diox Luciano
It was pointless, Aleu understood.
Despite all his attempts at convincing Fuscia to run away with him, she had continually rejected him.
He knew full well that if an imperial summoning is ignored, then the family would be the one to pay for the crime, but she had lost her mother to the plague in the slums, and her father was in prison. She had nothing to lose. They could both run away together as neither had that much to lose; there was no love for illegitimates there. Yet Fuscia continually rejected the idea.
Or was she rejecting him? He was unsure.
“Aleu?” a soft voice jolted him from his thoughts.
Aleu leaned on the wall that caged the Luciano estate, next to a carriage that his father had oh-so-willingly offered to Fuscia in hopes that she would send back some information pertaining to the Empress’s state or the reason for the summoning.
However, Aleu understood that his father, the duke, was probably the reason she could not escape the summoning.
-s**t!-
“Can I at least go with you?” he found himself asking despite knowing that her answer would be the same.
Fuscia was dressed in a light blue cloak that covered most of her dress. The only thing peeping out of her outfit was a brown suitcase that no doubt carried more than half of her possessions; such was the fate of a pauper.
The wind blew harshly, pulling down the hood of her cloak, exposing her perfectly fuchsia hair and glimmering green eyes.
She resembled a flower to him, soft and delicate, yet unyielding even to the misfortunes that befell her.
She was small, or perhaps he was the one who was too large and bulky from smithing. Truthfully, each time he neared her, he feared that he would break her.
He had often told her this, but she never cowered nor hid from him.
Fuscia took a step forward and used her left empty gloved hand to unfurl the fist he had balled and place it to her face.
“We shall meet again, my kind giant.” She said, then turned to the carriage.
“Fuscia, wait!” Aleu grabbed her hand, spinning her on her heel.
He was too tall and built for this move to look as romantic as it would have with any other male. That, and a part of him had been certain that he had no doubt hurt her by clumsily pulling her delicate wrist, yet still...
He got on one knee, then smiled.
“This is perhaps the view that suits me well,” He whispered.
Fuscia giggled, a melodiously pleasing sound to him, and in one fowl movement, she pressed his face to her small bosom in a warm embrace.
“I pray we meet again,” he whispered, and though she did not reply, he felt her nod.
Fuscia, Aleu thought, smelled of summer and roses, a scent that he was sure he would have a devil of a time getting rid of, but for this moment, he longed for it to linger. For this moment, where he was trapped in her weak embrace, he wished that summer would never end.
However, despite his wishes, he watched as the carriage turned a corner that ensured his eyes could no longer reach her.
“Damn you, Empress! Damn you for your cruel whims!!”
- Writer
