“Is it an allergy? You never had anything like that as a little girl… Did it develop recently? Goodness, I had no idea. I’m so sorry…”
The Duchess’s voice trembled, guilt plain across her features. She turned sharply toward the proprietor.
“You heard that, didn’t you?”
“Of course, Your Grace. We will bring only garments that have never touched patchouli. Please do not worry.”
The designer briskly signaled her assistants, murmuring quick instructions. Soon, another selection arrived. Though less extravagant than the first batch, these were entirely scentless.
“Lili, are you feeling better? If you’re still uncomfortable or weary, we can head home right now—”
“No, Mother. I’m all right.”
Rita put on her most convincing smile.
Truthfully, she was worn out even without the patchouli. Strangers hovered relentlessly, brushing against her whenever they drew a measuring tape. Every instinct Rita possessed screamed at her to twist their wrists until bone snapped. It took immense willpower just to grit her teeth and stand there motionless.
Yet she refused to spoil her mother’s joy. She wanted to be the sweet, bright Lili her family remembered.
The Duchess’s expression, however, only grew more somber. Her lips quivered as she reached out to cradle Lilietta’s cheek.
“You aren’t all right, darling.”
“Pardon?”
“This is hard for you. You’re simply forcing yourself to bear it.”
“—!”
Rita stiffened. Before she could react, the Duchess gathered her into a fierce, protective embrace, as though shielding her from everything beyond.
“Why must you pretend? Did you truly believe your mother wouldn’t see?”
Enfolded against the Duchess’s chest, Rita felt the faint tremor running through those arms. It unearthed a memory long forgotten—a woman standing between Rita’s raised gun and a young child, arms quivering with that same fragile, stubborn resolve.
A gentle hand smoothed down her hair.
“It’s difficult, isn’t it, my sweet?”
Rita hadn’t realized she was holding on until she felt the fabric of her mother’s gown bunched tightly in her fists. These fingers were smooth and whole now. In Rita’s mind, though, they remained stained and slick with gore.
If this mother knew the blood and scars that had coated these palms, would she still hold her close? If Lilietta was no longer the angelic little girl she cherished, would she still be loved?
‘I’ve… changed beyond recognition.’
She cared nothing for pink or rabbits anymore. She didn’t sketch pictures. Pretty gowns and dainty baubles stirred nothing inside her.
The real Lili had been an innocent child who loved people and couldn't bear to hurt a fly. Rita Pascal, on the other hand, had slaughtered demonic beasts with bare hands. She had held gun barrels to the foreheads of begging men and pulled the trigger without blinking. Her kills were far too numerous to count.
The Duchess spoke softly, brimming with concern.
“Tell me whatever is troubling you, dear.”
Burying her face in the curve of her mother’s shoulder, Rita paused before whispering her confession.
“…Having so many strangers near me… it’s overwhelming.”
“I understand. I am so sorry, darling. I wasn't being thoughtful enough.”
Her mother’s brow knit with remorse. She kissed Rita’s forehead, then turned back toward the dressmaker.
“Madame, wrap all of these gowns and send them to Birch Castle. Ensure they are kept far from any hint of patchouli.”
“Yes, of course! You need not worry, Your Grace.”
“Come, Lili.”
Keeping Rita tucked at her side, the Duchess stood. Richard hurried ahead to have the carriage brought round.
Rita climbed in beside her mother. Seated across the cabin, the Duchess watched her with that same lingering blend of heartache and tenderness.
“We’re going straight home now, Lili. There’s nothing left to fear.”
“No… it isn’t fear, exactly, it’s…”
Rita’s words trailed off at the sight of her mother’s eyes, glistening as if tears might spill over at any second.
‘Ah. She thinks I shrink from people because someone did something horrible to me.’
It was an understandable leap. But how could she possibly untangle that belief? Rita rubbed a hand over her face and parted her lips to speak.
“Mother, I—”
“Aaaah!”
“Look out!”
Screams tore through the street outside. Instinct took over, and Rita shoved the carriage window open. They hadn’t yet set off, held up while boutique attendants fastened boxes onto the rear luggage rack.
A crowd had gathered nearby, only moments ago gossiping over the Laskail crest on the door and whispering about the daughter who had resurfaced after ten lost years. The shrieks were rising from their midst.
“M-Monster!”
“A wyvern!”
“Why is there a monster in the middle of the city?!”
“Run!”
High atop an adjacent roof, a scaled monstrosity came into view. Shaped like an enormous lizard with wide, leathery bat wings, it crouched over the roof’s ledge, slit-pupiled yellow eyes raking over the fleeing folk below to pick its quarry.
“What the hell is that doing here?!”
Richard jumped down from another carriage, his blade already drawn. But the creature’s wings snapped wide faster.
“Aaaagh!”
The wyvern plunged like an iron bolt toward a child who had stumbled and fallen, knocked flat by the panicked mob.
Richard bolted toward the kid, knowing full well he was too far. The monster’s talons would tear through the child in a fraction of a breath.
Yet—
Crack!
A sharp report sounded behind him. An instant later, a dazzling line of gold sliced through the air with absolute precision. The beam pierced clean through the wyvern’s skull mid-plunge.
With the wet crunch of tearing hide, the beast’s head burst in a shower of cerulean blood. The dead weight slammed onto the cobblestones. Sobbing parents rushed in, sweeping the child into their arms.
Richard whipped around in disbelief.
‘What was that…?’
The muzzle of a compact gun poked out from the carriage window before slipping back inside. A heartbeat later, Hannah’s face appeared in the opening, then vanished just as quickly.
‘A gun? …Lili did that?’
Richard instantly grasped who had loosed that deadly blast. It had to be Lilietta.
Up on another rooftop, however, a lone observer reached a vastly different conclusion.
“…Wait. No way.”
A young man with snow-white hair and crimson eyes leaned forward, the shadow of his black hood failing to hide his astonishment.
“Magic gunnery? That was definitely magic gunnery, wasn’t it?”
His scarlet eyes narrowed, then widened in shock as Hannah’s face showed in the carriage frame.
“…Rita Pascal?”
As Hannah pulled back from the sill, the young man swayed as if struck. Stumbling backward, his legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the tiles.
“Holy shit. This is insane.”
He slapped both hands over his mouth, swearing beneath his breath as his eyes darted in sheer bewilderment.
“I only came to see the Duke’s long-lost daughter everyone was whispering about. But… fuck, Rita Pascal? How the hell—?”
The color flushed back into his pale cheeks, burning hot. Hands still pressed to his lips, he spat out curses between uneven breaths.
“Rita’s actually fucking back… That Rita Pascal… I gave up on her completely, and yet—shit! How is this even possible? Is she whole again? …No, she couldn't be. If she were, we would’ve found her already. Everyone’s been tearing the realm apart looking for her like madmen…”
Raking a hand through his white hair, a wild laugh slipped from him.
“So when did she return? Just recently? How much does she remember? Will she even recognize me? Probably not… God, finding her like this. Fucking hell.”
He paced restlessly, unable to sit still, before finally stopping with a lazy shrug.
“Sorry, Captain Gide. Seems I found Rita first.”
Letting out a low whistle, a grin spreading across his face, he melted away from the rooftop.