Chapter Text
Filippa woke up with a head-splitting headache and the smithereens knowledge of what happened in the future. On the floor she was lying next to her vomit, she saw flickers of colors, a warmth that conveyed dreams of what will be and what could have been.
Colors that she knew were just splintered memories and not real.
Or is it?
She remembered blinding white pain, her body losing sense, and the sight of hands reaching for her. How the older her twisted away from searing hand, fear, guilt, dread and hope mixing and swirling into a complex feeling.
“Don’t!”
With a twitch, the present her raised her head and stared blankly at the body in front of her.
The body is female, middle-aged with an approximation of thirty-five to forty years old. European, highly probable was, if not with French ancestry. Eye color is a shade of blue, similar to cornflower, and white hair—
Abruptly Filippa flinched and recognize who it was.
Mama! It’s Mama! Why is Mama so cold? Mama, mama, mama!
Bile rose and she vomited again. Gagging and sputtering, she clawed at her chest. Heaving, involuntary tears dripped along with her spit. Everything hurt, her head, her throat, and her chest. She wanted to wipe her mouth but there was nothing and then suddenly a piece of cloth appeared from indigo flame and floated in front of her.
With instinct from the sudden vague knowledge of someone who had been using mist flame for years, she used it to wipe her face.
“What are—“
Filippa flinched at the voice she heard but didn’t.
Hand tugged on her hair as she tried to make sense of what was what but she couldn’t—
Her head hurt and, and her… Her flame? Was crying for something, it wanted something but she didn’t know what it wanted. She was dead but she wasn’t and Mama was already dead and now she was dead again—
She didn’t know what was what.
All she had other than confusion was a regret of something, but what was it?
She was broken
It didn't make any sense to her.
But everything was already not making sense, wasn't it?
Each time she blinks, flickers of colors burst like fireworks Orangegoldorangewhitewhitegold. She couldn’t figure out just what exactly she was seeing but she knew it was memories.
I want Mama! Mama, Wake up! Please, Mama!
A bite on her tongue pained her but she didn't react. Though the body felt pain, her mind felt numb. It was just a vessel and she just... Didn't care.
She had already stopped caring a long time ago
She... Died? But she didn't.
Mama was dead though, that was real. Her mother was dead then and dead now.
Many died... But they weren't?
Who are they?
Shakily, Filippa raised both hands and cupped them in front of her. She didn’t see but she knew her eyes turned soft indigo with specks of azure. Then true to what she willed, an azure-edged indigo flame appeared.
She could do what she couldn’t before but could now?
Then Filippa truly did die?
She was... Here though.
Back in her rickety old home with the rotting body of her mother.
She understood that mama was dead, death was normal. She was used to it.
Death was an end, a final rest. It was an eternal sleep.
One where they shouldn’t be able to come back from.
Filippa died.
Her mind was a mess, a bunch of tangled thread bundled into a knot where the start and end couldn't be recognized. But that she was, Filippa knew.
Knew like the blood was red, white was white, amber was both pain and home—
Ah.
Then, this must be a dream.
Filippa knew she truly did die. If that was real then this must be an illusion. The fake her mind conjured just as she died, a mechanism to protect her mind even at its last moment.
how did she die?
Or perhaps it was her afterlife.
That her dream showed Filippa her mother’s death was odd. Memories of her past had all but scattered away. Obscured by the passage of time and new pain. She knew she used to dream of this. A large amount of her nightmare before she learned to use her mist was filled with this. The smell of her slowly rotting mother, the smell of iron, the disgusting smell she couldn’t understand, the earthy smell of mold—
Filippa stood up on deadened legs and approached her mother.
She... Knew it again.
Even though she had already forgotten the face of her mother.
Now, she was close enough that she could trace it with small hands that could barely grip her sword.
This was a nice dream.
Though some memories may have been inaccessible to her, it was not entirely gone and could be retrieved. But Filippa hadn’t dared to retrieve this forgotten memory even though it would have been easy with her mist. A part of her was always afraid. That she might go back to this room and just cry unable to do anything.
But, through years of countless, she was already desensitized to death—red, red, red, so much red—. Perhaps that was why she could stand here again without crying for her mother. Still unable to do anything because Mama was dead, Filippa was alone for the first time and the bad men would—
Her hand shook as the fear she hadn’t felt for years rose again, even though she knew it had already been burnt away.
Red, red, white, red, so much red, it’s burning, everything is burning, red, fire, red, red, white
The bad men are coming, they will hurt Mama again and she will not be able to do anything
again, no, they were already dead, they died, and they burned and burned, and burned
Reality fractured, fake and real mixing and mixing and mixing—
She hadn't dared to dream for a long time, because her dreams had only been nightmares.
Despite her old fear rising, this should have been a nightmare as well. But to Filippa, it felt a little more like a nostalgic memory, a dream. One she dreaded but still a dream
Filippa was back again to the place where it all start, Mama was dead, she was alone for the first time and the bad man was coming. But Filippa was stronger now, she could make them go away and leave her alone. So—
So.
This was enough.
Knowing this was enough.
There was an urge to kill them all, to make them feel something worse than what Filippa felt. But, but, it was okay. She was okay. She didn’t—
Shouldn’t—
Ah. Her chest hurt.
This was fake anyway. She had done it before, just because it wasn’t against her commands. The curiosity if it would help was there but. But. There was no meaning to it when they were all not real. There would be no meaning to it. There was no meaning to it when she did try. Standing here, she was no longer afraid, she remembered the fear but she wasn’t anymore.
This, knowing she wasn’t that useless crying child was enough.
“Hold on—”
Filippa had been dreaming for a long time, she had no need for it now when she was dead or going to be dead.
That was why—
So, she closed her eyes and let it all go.
She was so, so tired.
(The first time, she was too overwhelmed to do anything and just cried and cried and cried until someone found her next to the broken body of her mother.
The second time, she was just too tired to care and let everything go.
Filippa was eight when her mother died and she was separated from her body hours later when the smell of rot had already filled the entire house.
Filippa was eight again when her mother died the second time and she burned everything down.
Two weeks later, when all that was left was a husk of burned buildings, black cars with the marks of a pair of horses and a shield skidded to hold in front of it. Not long after, it was burning again in amber.)
To her, it was all but a dream.
Even if the end of this dream was death, then she was fine with it too. Because then it meant Filippa could finally rest
"Thank you."
Once, Filippa was grief-stricken and merely cried without stopping. Young and weak, she was just a child who didn't know anything when she should have.
It could have saved her, she should have saved herself, but all she could do was cry.
Useless, useless, useless
Filippa and her mother had lived on the bad side of the town. While their life wasn't the worse, it wasn't good either. They might have a roof above their head and only went to sleep hungry a few times a week, but they were also in debt.
They lived under the mercy of the Berlusconi, kneeling and baring their neck.
Once in a while, when the due date had passed and they still couldn't pay, men wearing suits or stinking of alcohol would slam open the door and start yelling and breaking things. When that happened, her mother would push and lock her in the restroom harshly, uncaring when she wailed, desperately banging at the door.
Her mother ignored her sobs, trying to protect her however she could.
She had hoped that her mother would open the door.
She had hoped the men would stop hurting her mother if she screamed enough.
She had hoped that someone would hear and come save them.
But Filippa was a foolish child with similarly foolish hope.
All she could do was cry and cry and cry.
Crying solved nothing and it was nothing but energy spent.
Her mother couldn't be saved from her crying, wasn't saved even at the end. Most of the men were happier than anything when she cried, occasionally they would be annoyed and just beat her mother more or touched mama in ways that she shouldn't have been touched. Whether she cried or not, they would still hurt Mama. From behind that wooden door, she couldn’t see anything but it was somehow worse.
Because Filippa could hear her mother cry and whimper. Then when the door was finally opened, she could see the shaking, bruised, and broken body of her mother.
Often, she climbed out of the window and tried calling someone to help them.
But.
The sympathetic only looked sad and turned away from her while the one who wouldn't even hear her out, pushed her until she fell and couldn't follow them.
When she limped back home to the unconscious body of her mother and woke her up, her mother was frightened of touches and just sat there blankly without even crying when it must have been scary.
As she grew up, Mama touched her less and less.
By the time Mama was dead, she had already forgotten what her hugs felt like.
Filippa should have known better. After years of living under the mercy of Berlusconi, she should have known that crying helped no one and it was just a waste of energy. That waiting for someone to save them was useless because no one would do so.
But by then it was already too late.
At first, Filippa thought that finally, someone had come to save them. She was taken away by the man and did so foolishly thinking that maybe they could wake her mother up and they could go somewhere safe, away from those bad men.
But that was not so.
Mere days after, Filippa was standing in a room with a bunch of other children and was greeted by a man in a clean and expensive suit. "Hello, children."
"From now on, you guys are prospective members of the proud Berlusconi Famiglia." The man had said with a light smile and glinting eyes. Dread had filled Filippa, then denial.
"But before that." The man said as he pointed a gun toward them. "Of course, you know about an entrance exam, right?"
Filippa didn't know what it was.
Later on, when the room was stained red, just like her red splattered hair and the red splattered knife in her hand, as her mind slowly came back, she understood what it was.
A culling.
The man kept that smile on his face as he clapped. Still empty but maybe a little delighted at whatever he saw. Even though he had just been silent when he forced them to kill each other, silent even when any of the others tried to kill him in the confusion. Those that tried ended up being killed by him instead and the others knew better than following their footstep. His smile widened to a grin that might have been pleasant on another man's face and not on his with the crazed glinting green eyes.
He said to the rest of them that was still standing. "Now, wasn't that just wonderful?"
With a pleased hum he counted. "—three, four. What an auspicious number… Did you know that four are the symbol of death?"
"Is that not just a perfect start for our new members?"
His answer was only sudden hysterical sobbing and wailing.
It was perhaps, at that moment that Filippa realized, she couldn't bring herself to cry anymore. Nor did she wish it, because she finally understood.
Crying helped nothing.
It was Christmas and Mama managed to get time off. They even had a little panettone to celebrate.
Midnight, when the cake was polished off and they were huddled under many blankets, sharing heat, Mama whispered to her. “What do ma petit cheval want to be when she grows up?
She had forgotten what year that was, just that Mama was still fine with touches and hugged her often. Rarely did they have the time together due to the elder’s work. She nuzzled into her mother's bosom with a little giggle.
“Cavaliere!”
“Oh? Not a Principessa?” Her mother was so warm.
There was a distaste to the thought, she remembered. But being a princess was not a bad idea, because that meant she could have many things, and then Mama would get many things too. “Principessa cavaliere?”
Mama had laughed, a small breathy sound that made her grin wider. “Why a Cavaliere?”
“Cavaliere protects the people! So, Lippy will protect Mama!”
Mama had faltered at that and then, suddenly cried while hugging her tighter. Her mother rarely cried in front of her. She only cried when she thought she was asleep or away. This memory couldn’t be forgotten even if she wanted. Shocked, she had tried to console her.
“I’m sorry, Filippa, I’m so, so sorry…!”
“Mama, it’s okay, don’t cry! Lippy is here, Lippy will protect Mama, so—"
Her mother had just kept crying.
“Mama’s sorry, ma petit chevalier! She will get at least you out of here, you don’t deserve this. I shouldn’t— I should have— At least, he cou—"
In this dream, memories were fuzzy. There were things she just knew and didn’t, things she remembered and didn’t. It was nice. Because it felt like she was free, not chained down by what happened.
The largest part she was grateful for was that the memories of what happened during the time she spent in Berlusconi were barely there aside from knowing she was there and what happened. Like she had watched a movie about this and while she emphasized it, it was like she didn’t actually experience it. Only the knowledge that she had watched it and knew vaguely of what happened.
It was… nice.
Perhaps it was her mind's way of protecting her. As it was, her memories were fuzzy, just a little glimpse here and there or simple knowledge that was spoken to her. Particularly her time with Berlusconi.
It was odd and something niggled in the back of her mind.
“Oh no, no,
no! I’m sorry, Signa Filippa, don’t forget! Please! My flame is— You need to—"
She had forgotten something important.
But Filippa who remembered the burning white pain and searing hands was just too tired to care.
She just wanted to rest.
“Why did you hit the boy, ma petit cheval?”
She kept quiet, head turned away from her mother.
Mama sighed. “I won’t understand if you don’t explain…”
“…”
“Filippa.”
With a nasty frown, she mumbled. “…He was bothering the kitties…”
Spreading the ointment gently, Mama smiled. “See, wasn’t that easy?”
She blinked and stared up at Mama who merely stared at her kindly, with perhaps a troubled twist on her lips. “Mama’s not mad?”
“Of course not, you’re being a chevalier, a Cavaliere, right?”
“…yea'.”
Her mother tweaked her nose and said. “Don’t get into too much trouble next time, okay? Chevaliers don’t need to fight to help and even if you do, try your best not to get hurt.”
Her mood significantly lifted, and she grinned. “Okay!”
“Be kind, ma petit chevalier.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please—”
“Now, now… I know you can do better than this.”
“Please—”
“No. 1, do you want to test me?”
“…I’m, I’m sorry, I’ll— I’ll do it, please forgive me, I’m sorry—”
“Good. Now get to it.”
“What is this?”
“…Le mie scuse.”
“I don’t need an apology. I asked, What. Is. This?”
“…”
“I see. Well, It has been a while since you visited the room hadn’t it?”
“Kill him.”
“Si, boss.”
“Ah, make it interesting though.”
“Si, boss.”
“Don’t hold back just because he is… well he is not your friend, right? So, it shouldn’t be a problem. Though it would be interesting if he was…”
“…Si, boss.”
Mama, I’m scared…
I’m sorry Mama, I hurt them, I didn’t want to, but—
But—
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…
Mama…
I’m not a chevalier…
"For showing me this warmth—"
Filippa opened her eyes and was confused.
Standing in the burning building and protected by a dome of soft indigo—how is she doing this?—, she was still aware. Even though she had tried to burn everything down, the illusion continued on. She tried to will it away but it didn't, she was still inside the dream.
She didn't believe she could unconsciously create an illusion that she wouldn't be able to escape from. This might be a more complicated matter than she thought. That she couldn’t mean there were three possibilities. One, her ‘desire’ might have been stronger than she thought. Two, she was trapped in an illusion made by another. Three, it was her afterlife…
The latter made things complicated. What with her… being just a few steps away from being an atheist. A little. Aside from that, that meant she was fighting against the ‘rule of the world’ which was not… ideal.
For now, that meant she must either finish this dream or crack it. To her mind, the passage of time ran slowly like reality did but it could be just seconds from her death or it was a dream after death.
Filippa had no idea when the dream will end, it could be until the moment of her death as 'time' ran its course and it could be until her 'death' in the dream. There was also a possibility that it would run on forever like how eternal sleep meant an eternal dream.
As such, she conjured a gun and press it to her head.
The most efficient way of ascertaining if death could end this dream. Decisive, she unlocked the safety and was about to press the trigger—
"Filippa!"
She halted.
Dazed, she put down the gun.
She, she mustn't. It was, was, he didn't, he wanted—
“It’s okay! Come here, you can—"
Filippa squeezed her eyes shut and throw the gun away. It dissipated before it could reach the ground.
Her flame cried for something but it mustn't—
Crying was not an answer, do not cry, for it help nothing and was nothing but a waste of energy. Yet, as she curled into a ball and fall into her domain, Filippa had to get rid of the urge to do so.
"Don't— Damn it! Let me go—"
She fell back into her garden.
Fire, there was a fire.
She was, was—
She was to defend the mansion. But fire, it burned through everything.
Boss... Boss was gone, dead.
Like many of the others.
She was to defend the mansion.
Boss was dead, the mansion was burning.
Then.
What should she do?
What, should.
She, she must—
The—
Children. The new batch.
They were still down there.
Order—
Her order was—
Was—
The children.
She flickered and disappeared.
She stepped into the room full of suffocating children of various ages, but mostly younger than her, coughing and dying.
They were dying—
She, she needed to—
No one was saving them, no one can, She couldn’t—
…could she?
She needed to save them, no one did to her, so at least she must—
Better, she needed to be better, no more red—
Air.
They need to breathe.
The smoke needed to go and so does the fire.
But how—
Away, they need to go away from here.
Somewhere safe, away, away, away!
For the second time, she brought her will to life.
With a power she didn’t know where it came from, she sent twenty children of various ages away from the burning building, just somewhere safe.
Then, there was something—
Something was restraining her, tying her, swallowing her up and she can’t get away—
Amid burning buildings and dead bodies, an angel flew.
He laughed cheerfully as he popped white sugary treats she didn’t recognize into his mouth. She didn’t know who he was nor did she want to. All she wanted at that time was to get away from there as soon as possible.
White, he was white.
With snow-white hair, fair skin, a pristine white outfit, and beautiful angelic wings, he seemed like the only pure being in the area. But he wasn’t. The man above her was a demon pretending to be an angel.
She had never met him before, but she felt like they should have.
There was familiarity.
“Milord.” The monster with a red mask said.
The voice was not loud and the demon was far away, but he heard it. Turning toward them from the Berlusconi being killed one by one, he stilled. She couldn’t see what his expression was but she could feel that he was surprised and then delighted. Much more than he was before, watching the one-sided killing happily like the boss did when she was ordered to entertain him.
The white demon flew and descended in front of them. With a hum, he stared at her and she felt like she was being peeled apart—
Whatever he saw in her, he was satisfied.
“Well! I suppose this is a world where I get a sibling! Or maybe a cousin?” He cheered with a smile. Leaning down, close to her crumpled form in front of him, he asked.
Ah.
“Say, what is your name?”
She thought belatedly through her dazed mind, half in pain and half overwhelmed by the sheer power of him and those that surrounded him. A power she didn’t understand but knew was around.
“Cugina?”
So that is what it was.
Years of training overrode her urge to run away, bone-deep fear made her lower her head deferentially and answered without a tone. Just like how the boss liked it. "No. 1"
The white demon hummed and tapped his heels. She couldn't see his face but for some reason, she knew that he was displeased. Holding back the urge to whimper, she choked it down—don't make noise, don't make noise, unless ordered it's forbidden, don't—
"Welp!" He suddenly announced with a loud clap.
A hand tilted her head up. "That just means I need to give you a new name, right? The parents or oldest give the name to the new member of the family, after all!"
While still keeping a hand on top of her head, he continued. "White hair and eyes a shade of pink..."
Abruptly, his hold tightened. "Innocence... Well, it's certainly lost, after all, it seems like you have been here for a while!"
Slowly, he smiled prettily when what was behind that pure white persona was not. "White carnation and pink carnation to express ‘remembrance for innocence…’ or you can say, ‘innocence lost’. From today on your name is, Garofano!"
"Welcome to the Gesso family, mio cara cugina!"
For the second time, she was given a name she didn’t want and was brought into a family she didn’t want either.
Deep inside, she can feel something cracking.
The demon in front of her smiled wider as if he could hear it too.
Life in the Gesso Famiglia was better in some ways and worse in others.
She screamed as the moth crawled up her body and start eating and burrowing their eggs deep into her body. They entered any opening her body had or made more in and slowly they keep consuming and—
This is an illusion.
Fuschia-colored eyes flashed azure and then soft indigo when she slowed her surroundings and crack them open with her mist. Dropping to her knees she panted for breath. Her eyes squeezed shut as her head throbbed and her injuries stung as she heaved.
Suddenly she felt nausea, smacking both hands to her mouth she gagged and vomited bile with eggs inside. The eggs hatched and turned into larvae that quickly approached her again. She tried to get away but she vomited again and again and again—
Her hand slapped against the floor and suddenly her surrounding started to burn, the critters dying with a high-pitched scream. Blood dripped out of her ears and then everything went quiet, her sight went dark, suddenly there was no smell and she can't feel anything but—
A scream escaped her mouth again when something constricted her and start biting messily and sucking her blood away. As time passed, her voice petered out and she could feel her body going cold until she completely black-out.
Tired eyes opened to the white ceiling of the training area. She was alone, which meant that training was over for the day. Rolling over to the side, she gingerly picked herself up and limped to the medical ward.
Slide the sword down, numb ears from the screech of the blades, and sent a quick punch to the abdomen at the target’s flinch.
Air left the man in a whoosh and she stabbed his throat, twisting her sword she pulled it away in an arch of blood into two of her other mission. When they closed their eyes, she sent constructed wolves at them and let them loose on whoever was close enough. Ducking under a spray of bullets, she sidestepped and backward into mist, slicing upward and skeletons rose to pull on the other people in the room. The room turned pitch black and she wrapped their clothes tight to their form. Stumbling around, they either fell to her blade or any constructed skeletons or beasts she made.
A storm flared his flame without any care on his allies who were burnt, she flared her rain and when he faltered, sent constructed blades at him. A few disintegrated but enough managed to end him. With a little less than half left, she sent a harsher command for them to sleep. A few fell right into eternal sleep and the rest who was either disoriented or incapacitated were easily finished with her blade of any construction in the room.
Steadily, she cut down the size of her mission, starting with the easiest, to the hardest and the leftover.
By the time she was done, she was slipping on puddles of blood, She ignored her shaking limbs when she was done, it was not the first time she killed nor was it her first mission. Hesitation had no place in her mind. Her land phased into mid-air and she pulled out a red vial, diluted components of storm flame. Rolling it to where the bodies lay the most, she turned half mist and explode it with her flame.
Disappearing into mist, she left the disintegrating area.
For years, she was kept mostly underground for training and… obedience. After years of conditioning, her first mission which wasn’t giving a show for Berlusconi’s boss and his friends was given by the Gesso.
The training was much brutal and there were new things that she wasn't accustomed to. Nonetheless, it wasn’t much of a difference from her life in Berlusconi. After more training that might be more demanding than what she was used to, she must admit that it was more effective than Berlusconi’s way which was more… painful. A small part of her was glad that she wasn’t hurt for no reason or obedience—yet—. The only time she was hurt was during training but she could still handle that. It wasn’t senseless cruelty. Only pragmatism that was a lot more arduous.
Even so, the larger part of her was afraid. It was the feeling of being stuffed full of something that invigorate her and yet felt more like poison. One couldn’t exactly argue against the word poison.
Her flame rebelled when she stayed there. The odd magical power called the dying will flame, one she was told was their soul, their will brought to life. If that was so, then that meant her initial thought of the white demon was true. She might have not as much fear of… punishment but. But her flame burdened… no, gifted her with a new sense. It opened her mind and she had more to consider other than just plain fear of bodily harm or any other threats.
Because that beautiful amber fire of his may look warm, it may croon the safety of home and reasons to follow him. But to her, it felt cold and cruel. It shone a beautiful color that was supposed to give them a home and it did. Even so, despite the way, many of the other members of Gesso turned into loyal soldiers for the man… her flame, a rainy mist, quivered whenever she was anywhere near him and the owner knew. No matter how she tried to still it and fake calmness, no matter how she managed to fool many, she couldn’t fool him.
Byakuran was only ever amused.
Just being in the same building as him, whenever he flared his sky even just for the slightest according to his emotion, she could still feel the coldness. The way he looked at everything and anything from above as if he was just playing a game. Even breathing became a harrowing task. What was worse was she couldn’t hide it. He knew she knew that while she might be his cousin, to him he was nothing more than another of his possession. His flame told her that, she felt it.
With her newfound power, numbing her body’s pain with mist or just making it go away was possible. She could even say, she was freed from that sort of agony. However, making his flame go away was impossible. It was always present, may it be from the man himself when she was close to him, his leftover will all around the base, or even a distant flare of his flame. The foul tinge of his flame in any instance of those moments turned her body metaphorically inside out. She felt like her soul was about to vomit because his flame to her in any ways were wrong.
At the Gesso though, she was given more freedom. One she didn't know what to do with but was glad for anyway. Because she could get away from him, even if it was for a small moment. "If you have the time, go do whatever you like~ As long as it doesn't go against my orders, of course." The demon, Byakuran had said flippantly.
With a smile that never seem to leave his lips, he said. "You know what your commands are, right?"
"Si, signor Byakuran."
He pouted and prodded with a whine. "Won't you call me Fratello?"
Her body went cold at the thought and she ended up answering just a second too late. "If it is your command."
The demon paused and turned to face her fully, then his smile widened. "Ah, you are a mist after all. I thought you were already broken!"
With that cruel statement, he dismissed her. "Nah, that would be boring. Do go wild on whatever you decide to do, okay?"
"It'll make things just a bit less dull."
Filippa sat quietly, swinging her legs back and forth.
With a curious stare, she asked. “Mama, what are you doing?”
Her mother smiled as she removed the dull-colored flower spikes. One by one, she gently dug them out and separated the vibrant purple flowers. “I’m replanting the purple hyacinth.”
“See here?” She pointed to the dull-colored flowers and when Filippa replied in assent, she continued. “When tending to purple hyacinth, you need to pick out the bad part. If you don’t, it would make the other part of the flowers—” here she pointed at the vibrant one, “—go sick.”
She let out an oh and asked again. “Purple hyacinth?”
Mama smiled a little sadly here. “Yes, isn’t it pretty?”
“Un! It’s really pretty! Just like Mama!” At that, her mother laughed, but it was still tinged with sadness.
Later on, when she learned flower languages, she couldn’t help but wonder what her mother was regretting.
Ginevra Ricci giggled at her phone.
She was amused at her boyfriend’s antics. He was whining about his workload. Apparently, his manager was unusually strict today, he was saying that he was just late for barely five minutes and he got his wage docked by five percent. Then for some reason, he couldn’t fathom, the ‘damned superior’ of his doubled his team’s work when the deadline was still two months away. It was only noon and more than half of his fellow employees all around the same floor were not so subtly complaining when the man was away.
After that, he started raving that his manager must have been caught by his wife cheating like some sort of cheating cat. If not, he wouldn’t have a plaster on his cheeks that just had to be covering a slap mark. Also, the ‘shitty manager’s shitty temper that he had his head shoved too far into his whorish secretary’s ass or… vagina, whichever the bastard like’.
Blushing at the profanity being sent, she sent a disapproving emoticon at the language.
Then the manager’s secretary who was a, she quoted ‘bitch’ actually splashed the manager’s coffee at one of the finance counselors next door. Because and this time he quoted, ‘the woman was in her way’ and should have ‘used her eyes’ when she walked. The secretary was also the one his boss was cheating on and so, the manager filed a complaint about the finance counselor. The ‘bitch’ wasn’t even that pretty compared to the wife.
As a fellow office worker, Ginevra couldn’t help but sympathize with the office workers where her boyfriend worked at. Her boss might be a little of a control freak as well, but he wasn’t that bad even on his bad day! Consolingly she sent a cute video of a puppy falling down the last two steps of stairs. Then another of a cat shrieking as it was being bathed. Her boyfriend sent a series of crying emoticons, all crying about how adorable the pics and videos were.
As a girlfriend though, she couldn’t but feel miffed at how her boyfriend was praising his boss’ wife, whom she might add, he saw in photos. So, she sent a video of a dog being neutered and an emoticon of calmly smiling. Which was answered with paling emoticons and questions of ‘why???’. He then sent stickers of anime characters doing dogeza and a promise of cheesecake and milkshake after work for whatever he had done.
Huffing with an amused smile, Ginevra sent a sticker of a pleased cat.
“Ricci!” The brown-haired girl heard just as she shut off her phone.
Blinking, she smiled nervously at her division’s manager who was staring at her disapprovingly.
With a quiet apology, she went back to the mind-numbing work of typing the numbers.
Two days later, Matteo Russo, the CEO of Russo’s Gemstone Company, a moderately well-off gemstone company was found dead, the cause of death being excess smoke inhalation when the room ventilation was broken and he was too high to realize it. The man was found possessing illegally acquired drugs for personal recreational use.
Three weeks later, Tommaso Russo, a cousin of the late Matteo Russo suicide when it turned way that the company he inherited was riddled with debts with no way for him to clear them. The man had survived the initial fall from the ninth floor with blinded eyes, multiple fractures, and broken bones all over his body as well as a head injury. But in the end, succumbed to his injuries in three days .
A month later, the widow of Thomas Russo went missing and was found after a week of search rotting in the closed mine of RGC after dying from multiple blunt force trauma. After further investigation, it was then revealed that the old associates of RGC Company were not happy with the sudden death of their friend and business partner. They then hired a local gangster to beat up the woman who could have prevented the murder from happening.
Due to the possibility of more unlawful affairs, a wide-scale investigation was conducted for Russo’s Gemstone Company, Bella’s Jewelry, and Metal Heart Company. Three months later, the three company was closed and sold off due to proofs of illicit affairs such as tax evasion, corruption, and others.
Within a year, the real estate of RGC, ELLARY, and MHC was legally bought off by the up-and-rising Fiorella’s Company. The various debts incurred were easily taken care of by Campanulla Mineo, the CEO of Fiorella’s Company.
Change long white tresses to short dull brown, make them wavey, and smelled faintly of greasy roasted pork and cinnamon.
Fuschia eyes to hazel eyes and pale skin to tanned lightly freckled skin. Lavender colored shirt, a little expensive but nothing an office worker couldn’t afford as well as a typical steel grey office skirt, and a bracelet that only a boyfriend would buy for his girlfriend. A few inches taller than usual and add a little heel to her shoes.
Lightly toned muscles from regular morning runs and yoga and she also had the habit of bringing a pepper spray key chain and low voltage taser for emergencies.
She was Ginevra Ricci, a twenty-one years old office worker, mildly pretty but fairly plain, and had a cute, puppy-like boyfriend who was older than her. Pretty but not enough to risk an angry boyfriend for. She was a little ditzy but a loving girlfriend. The young woman had a fondness for sweets and was easily bribed with them. Other employees didn’t have any bad impression of her aside from a little irritation at her tendency to look at her phone and chat with her boyfriend.
She was hired three months ago along with a batch of other newbies, but unfortunately, her work at RGC barely lasted five months.
Ginevra was disheartened at the recent happening of her company’s top and was even more distressed when she ended up being fired along with a third of the other employees. Like most of the other fired personnel, she fell into obscurity in society.
Just once, she tried leaving the base altogether, not hopping to another base in the hope of putting distance between the sky or for missions. Merely an outing for herself.
She walked alone through the crowdy town hall beneath the sunlight she rarely had the chance to for years. The burning sun above and the beautifully paved streets, the smell of sweets and perfume, the endless chatters of children both younger and older than her running around in joy. The first time she stood in the middle of that beautiful and lively place, she ended up having several panic attacks in succession. The only silver lining was that she managed to hide under the cloaking of her mist while even in distress and thus didn’t end up as something to gawk at.
In barely half an hour since she left, she swirled back into the base, stumbling past unaware members into her room. For months, she hid inside the dark room for things other than her training. Using mist flame for her needs, eating just the bare minimum.
The sound of cracking filled her head. Ever so slightly, it fractured like a cracked glass ball. She felt like something was leaking, it was turning dark and the warmth in her chest was turning uncomfortably cold. Day by day, she kept hearing the terrifying sound. As if she was the one breaking apart, scattering like fallen petals.
In the third month, Byakuran showed up.
“Hm… I came to check on my cute little sorella but she won’t even greet me?” He had said as he entered the room.
Flinching at the light, she curled into a tighter ball beneath her blanket.
With no further ado, he pulled it away and set a hand on her head. “Don’t break yet, will you? I like my toys intact, even if they are barely useful.” Then, the demon suddenly pulsed his sky flame.
Startled, with the instinct of a cornered animal, her faltering flame went haywire. She lashed out at him, plain illusion and real both attacking him and everything. Though she tried to throw herself backward, away from him, his grip held fast. Even when she pulled on his hands, nails turning into claws in the hope that pain would stop him or even intimidate him, he merely laughed and slapped the hands away.
His sky kept pulsing like tar, slowly enveloping the fragile core of her flames.
Hot! It’s hot— no, it cold? No, it’s hot! It hurt, get away! don’t come near me, get away—
She felt nausea but nothing came up, just the disgusting feel of both hot and cold clingy tendrils holding her soul together, cooing in cruel amusement. It crept up, cocooning and stitching her flame, her soul together with scorching needles and freezing threads and she couldn’t stop it—
Desperately she pulled on his hands because that was wrong, she didn’t know what exactly was happening but she just knew her flame hated it, feared his, and whatever he was doing that made her flame trashed like an insect held onto a cold surface. She gasped in pain when his flame tightened around her flame and he sealed up whatever he made. When he finally let go, she threw herself away from him, from the bed, head banging against the wall in her haste. Breathing heavily, she kept flame-tinted eyes on him.
Cold—
No, hot—
It’s hard to breathe—
She can’t, something is pressing and—
Her chest felt both cold and hot at the same time, it felt terrible and even though her flame kept banging on it, the burning cold and searing hot wouldn’t go away—
With horror she realized what it was, there was a piece of his sky caging her flame in. Breathing in, she choked on his flame and her sight was a multi-color amber, indigo, azure, and a faint purple. It messed with her senses, leaving her in a drunken mess.
The demon merely sat down on her bed and looked at her curled body against the wall. “There, isn’t that better?”
No, it was not, it was worse.
If before she felt like she was breaking apart at the lightest tap, after whatever Byakuran did, she felt like she was stuffed into an ill-fitted new container. Covered up in hardened tar, it clung to her, constricting her, and yet she knew even if she fell from an impossible height she wouldn’t break completely. It was wrong. She felt that she was stronger, and more put together. But her flame, her soul felt tarnished, she felt trapped.
She kept quiet, merely staring at him.
Suddenly, he raised a hand as if he was about to touch her—
Her head banged against the wall again when she tried to get away from him.
Byakuran laughed again like he was watching a cute animal. “Ahh… For a mist, you’re rather expressive with your feelings, aren’t you?”
Tilting his head to the side, he continued. “Mists are vindicated little things who would attack or have revenge on whomever that hurt them or theirs. They would hide like a coiled viper and strike when their target isn’t aware. Your rain made you more passive than most and it will make things a lot more interesting when you do snap. But, mio cara fiore, you are either more patient than I thought or more of a coward, aren’t you? I thought you would be more intolerant than that. There are worlds where you were actually like that!”
“In those worlds, you would either fight my enemies protecting mine zealously or fight me protecting yours… This world might be one of the rare ones where even though you are mine, you aren’t, not really. I wonder why? It’s giving me anticipation for the future!” Cupping his chin with his right hand, with the other he pointed to the right and left. “How would you rebel against me?”
Wary, she kept her eyes trained on his appendage.
The Demon cooed at that. “Ah, I think less of a toy, you are more of a pet!”
Swallowing, she opened and closed her mouth. Trying to speak but failing as each time tried, her mouth would dry, and lead fell into her stomach. Her abdomen, the core of her soul felt heavy and tight. Byakuran, like the norm, merely stared at her patiently, always smiling and as always amused.
“Why?” At last, she managed to rasp out.
“Why what?” He ticked off his fingers. “Why are you here? Or why do what I just did?”
“…both…”
The white-haired demon leaned forward. “Well, you aren’t running away, are you?”
He said as if it was so simple when it was anything but. She might not have the courage to try it but it was not baseless either. It was clear that the male was much stronger than her and those that follow him were the same, to them, as it was, she was barely a speck of dirt under their shoes, much less him. If she tried to run and he was to take offense to it, then she would either be dragged back or killed off. Time in Berlusconi taught her that. She didn’t need revision to know the Gesso could be the same.
“Jest aside… You’re not dim-witted, mists are rarely so and you are no less of a mist despite your adorable demeanor.” Snapping a finger to regain her attention he continued with a crack to his feature.
And ah there it was.
The coldness, the darkness she had felt even if she never saw it.
His eyes slit and lilac eyes seemed so dark as he spoke through sharp-edged lips. “You are mine and like I said before, I like my toys intact. We have no affinity at all that it’s almost… well, no, it’s hilarious. Considering we have blood relations and all. But I don’t need a weak or a dead chess piece, so I merely did the next best thing. Do be a dear and not make me break you, okay? Because you will only break if I want you to, no more and no less.”
“Now then! I need more marshmallows!” Suddenly, he stood up and patted his crease off. “Follow me, will you? Ah, that’s an order!”
His hand snapped out and pulled her up with fake gentleness, he only regarded her trembling with a smile. “I can’t have you hiding like a rabbit if I want you to be useful! Though that is an idea… We also need to get you more acclimated to my other pawns and get you your own pawns.”
As he chattered on, tugging on her tense form, she could feel the cold and hot settle around her. Wrapping her in chains until she could do nothing but follow because when she was closer it felt less heavy. Her head buzzed and her thought was almost incoherent but at least, it didn’t hurt as much, the constriction felt less tight.
“Oh! One more thing! I almost forgot!” He stopped and turned his head around.
“Sorella, what’s your name?”
The words were set as questions, but truthfully, it was an order. A statement to ascertain her loyalty. From the moment she was given the name ‘Garofano’, she was no longer hers but just a doll in his toy house.
“Because I remember once more—”
“Just— Ivan! Do something!”
Filippa jerked awake and vomited all over herself.
Shivering, she clawed at her chest. Uncaring when her shirt tore at the rough action and even when her nails bloodied her skin. Her flame, her soul was okay. It was okay, it was still hers. Nothing was restraining her soul and there was nothing not supposed to be there. It was hers. No one else, not that—
Only his—
Not, not By—
Bile rose again and she threw up until there was nothing in her stomach. Until it hurt so much that she needed to fool her body into thinking that it was not empty and that she was not feeling nausea anymore. Waving a trembling hand, she cleaned herself off and constructed a new outfit. Focus. Focus on something other than, than— A simple shirt, the color powder blue, and a cream pleated skirt that reached a bit before her knees.
Suddenly, she thought of her too-small body but the right body. She was older not, not this small eight years old—
But it was right as well, why—
She—
She shouldn’t sleep, it felt like a long time ago that she forgot sleeping was not a preferable choice. Standing up, with a twist of her wrist, a thin sword, a rapier appeared. It was not a real medium, just something constructed in her mind. But the intent for why it was made was enough for a replacement. She gripped the handle and slash it down. Right after, a hole opened in the space and she stepped out of her domain.
Distraction, she needed a distraction.
Anything to keep her mind busy.
Stumbling on autumn leaves, the sound of crackling leaves entered her ears. Tapping her rapier twice on the ground, the sword changed into a silver bracelet. She eyed her surrounding cautiously, covered herself with mist flame, and trudged on. Ignoring how heavy her chest felt or how her legs kept dragging.
The world was burning in amber but she kept her faltering stride.
She was drenched in blood the first time she felt that warmth that people would go crazy for.
Blood on white, blood on the blade, blood on clothes.
She was thirteen and she only knew of him, because how could she know for more or less than that?
She remembered trying to wipe her mouth but to no avail. The red merely spread further on her skin. There was also a moment when she wondered if licking the blood away from her lips was worth it. The liquid was uncomfortably stained. At this time, her control over her mist was not well yet. As such, she had to limit her usage in case of emergency. Blood bothering her was the least of her worries.
She squinted a little when she felt unfamiliar flames entering the threshold of her half-made domain.
Later on, when she gazed into burning amber eyes, she couldn’t help but rue her fate as well as her cowardice.
"How the warmth of a home felt like."
Life could never stop giving Tsuna lemons to deal with. Sure, there might be a saying about making lemonade when life keeps giving you a lemon and all but fuck it all. Weren’t there too many lemons? There was his chronic disease of being an utter failure in everything except, perhaps games. If he fails even in playing a video game of all things, he might just attempt and succeed in what his rain attempted.
Then there was the utter joke his life was, a bullied victim that even his cloud, the literal wakagashira of the Hibari Clan pity and yes, he knew the older boy pitied him. His hits were somewhat gentler than the usual way Hibari bites the other rule-breakers. Something whispered that it was not pity but he was resolutely ignoring that part of his mind, kicking it down, stomping it, and burying it deep, deep inside the depth of his mind.
Third and unfortunately not the least nor last because why the fuck it would be? When would life give him a break? Life hated or loved him so much that it tried giving him an ‘interesting’ life when he had no capacity—liar, liar, pants on fire— to deal with it.
Turns out, pardon his foul language but one of the few reasons he studied Italian was to do this, macchia di merda irresponsabile di un padre turned out was not only that ‘I went out to buy milk and just came back after years of getting lost in the road of life’ sort of father but was a ‘sorry I went out to buy milk and had to kill this guy but work kept me busy and I just came back, here the milk, it might be spoiled though’ and then proceeded to force feed him the milk.
In case it wasn’t clear, the spoiled milk was the Mafia mess.
Yeah, he was not only an utter failure in life who was bullied for most of the course of his life and was also an heir to the largest and bloodiest Famiglia in the goddamn world and history.
It was a series of shit shows after that. There were of course him getting friends—mine, mine, mine— which was nice, he was never letting go of them ever. Then the first major event, which was the utter little shit Mukuro was despite his understandable reason—yes, he is mine now too— but he did give him the adorable Chrome—he is never letting go of her and he might be planning some forgery and murder shortly, if he was going to be a mafia heir despite his hate for it, he better takes advantage on the avenue he was given. He would never admit it to Reborn though, never— so he could forgive his transgression
Of course, after that was the Varia, oh my god, what the fuck was that? Tsuna, a barely trained civilian for only a year over, was expected to fight against the Vongola’s elite independent assassination squad and not only win but stomp them down? The number of times Tsuna prayed to his damned ancestor to help him or better yet, fix these messes was innumerable.
Reborn certainly knew but left him to it, probably for some sort of demented reason that he thought Tsuna needed some ways to flush his irritation away aside from punching or getting naked or putting himself and his enemies on fire. He was probably risking forest fire at the rate he was going and Reborn knew it too.
Thankfully, he managed that too and he was going to ignore his hoarding tendency now. No matter how much he had the urge to drag the Varia back home to his mother so she could pamper them. Especially Xanxus, Xanxus, he had no idea where he was starting on him, let alone do, so he won’t. He shouldn’t and wouldn’t bring them home too, because, despite everything and his budding hoarding issue, that was a line he mustn’t cross.
He mustn’t.
Something inside Tsuna rumbled in displeasure at the idea he wouldn’t have his elements or the others he had his eyes on, because they were his and he was going to burn the world down if any of them want it, also, do any of you want a castle or two? And nope! His mind liked to go that way these days and he was going crazy because what the fuck, mind of mine? Like most of his problems, he was going to bury it and touch it maybe never.
Next was the future.
That, that was.
It took every shred of his being to stop him from blazing everything away and going X-Burner on anything and everything that was looking at him. He wanted to claw Byakuran down from his white flowery throne and tear him to pieces. Because, his capability of sensing flame may not be as acute as his intuition or capability in destroying any bastardi that intends on hurting his family, he could still feel the hurt radiating from his elements.
Their flames were on their last threads and they kept seeking his sky for comfort. Despite there must be a difference between the future him and him. Even Hibari was not an exception. The man might be calmer after ten years but his flame was a barely contained feral thing. A hurt feral cloud who was forcing himself to be calm.
Hibari, a cloud.
An unrestrained cloud.
Forcing himself to keep calm.
So, so.
The first time he saw the Millefiore’s sky through a hologram of all things, he had to contain his snarl. It was not the time and he needed to keep himself calm if not for himself, then for the one depending on him.
The second time was better. The way the older man hacked into their security was a mess and a half because their base was truly compromised if they could break through it. It was only the presence of Dino being there, a fellow sky who radiated calmness enough for him to restrain himself. There was also the unfortunately cute little cartoon of mini Byakurans which threw him off.
So, grudgingly Tsuna steeled himself for what the megalomaniac might say to them. It was rarely a good thing when the enemies of his life start monologing—yes, he was talking about Mukuro—. Just as the white-haired man was about to start, whatever he was going to say seemed to be derailed as the cheerful expression abruptly twitched before it reverted when he caught sight of the Cavallone's boss.
His intuition started pinging here, a little too late as well.
Then, "Ah~ if it isn't the poaching horse~"
The insulting nickname seemingly slid through Dino without any crack in his expression. But the occupants of the room all either twitched or stumbled at the sudden burst of sky's rage that overwhelmed them.
Ah, Tsuna thought.
It seemed that despite his worry, the one that would snap first wouldn’t be him but the so-far calm and sunny sky, Don Cavallone.
"Byakuran." Dino spit out the name like a curse.
Even Reborn, whose reaction was the first with a suddenly shocked expression as he scrutinized his past student. Whatever he saw made the tuxedo-wearing baby look grim with a tinge of horror and then sympathy. If the situation wasn't so, Tsuna would be shocked at how well he read the Arcobaleno.
"Where is she?"
The man smiled cruelly and cooed with a bite at his parfait. "Now, now... Calm your horses, Cavallone. Don't you already know?"
The mix of grief and rage that then flooded the room then couldn't be compared to the previous one when the man continued.
"After all, you do know the difference between a dead element and a rejected element, right?"