Idol AU or High School AU for my next special chapter? Vote in the comments! (Reminder: the special chapter will be coming on May 26/27!!)
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Beckoning Katrina to sit down, I diligently worked my way through the knots in her straw-blonde hair with a tortoiseshell comb.
"You needn't bother, my lady," Duchess Menshikova sighed, taking the hairbrush herself. "Katrina, tell Her Grace, Lady Columbina, how grateful you are to her."
She hesitated, then tilted her head to look at me.
"T-thank you, Your Grace," she said softly.
Tucking a loose strand behind her ear, I smiled considerately. "I've always had sympathy for those such as yourself. The more I learn of this world, the more I see monstrous men who look down on us women."
"I couldn't agree more. You are still young, Lady Columbina, but you are very wise."
"In these sorts of matters, I suppose so," I responded. "I was once a famed courtesan in Liyue, you see, and as I am sure you know, the hierarchy of the pleasure district is complex. To make it to the very top as a courtesan is not a task for the light-hearted."
Duchess Menshikova nodded solemnly. "I'll be taking my leave then, and once again. You have my utmost gratitude. Until we meet again, Lady Columbina. Consider me your devoted follower."
As they exited the ballroom, I felt a sudden tap on my shoulder.
"I must admit, I was certainly not expecting a move like this from you, Columbina," Dottore complimented.
Pleased, Signora flipped out a hand fan, yawning. "Back when you were just my subordinate, you always made sure every single cadet got their rations, even if it meant all you could have was the salt at the bottom of the pot. I see your generosity hasn't changed."
"I wouldn't expect any less from my Columbina!" Childe exclaimed. "You can't help but be cute, can you?"
Scaramouche stepped forward, yanking Childe away from me, and flicked my forehead.
"Not bad, Rin."
Smiling, I curtsied.
"Thank you, Scaramouche!"
Mission success.
"Lady Columbina, I've returned," Nadezhda reported, appearing behind me in a blink of an eye.
"Good work. That half-brother of yours is really something, trying to get away with such heinous crimes as a member of the peerage."
"He always despised me because I'm not Father's legitimate child, Your Grace," she explained nonchalantly. "In truth, his mana is a disgrace to the Vitsky Clan. You couldn't manufacture half of a Delusion with all the energy in his veins."
"Somehow, I'm not surprised," I chuckled, wiping away a bloodstain on her boots. "You've proven yourself worthy of my trust. I've already asked for Lord Childe's permission, and progress on the construction of my residence has been excellent. In a few days time, you'll be living with me as my lady's companion."
She got down on one knee, adjusting her gloves. "I will serve you to the best of my ability, Your Grace."
"Now, now, there's no need to be so formal. You are my companion, not my maid, and we're at a party, not an initiation ceremony. Or is the atmosphere of the ball making you uncomfortable?" I suggested.
"It is," she replied bluntly. "My sister would be at ease here."
"It would have been delightful to meet your sister," I admitted, taking a seat. "What kind of flowers did your sister like?"
"Forget-me-nots. She would always pick bunches of them, put them in baskets, tie them up and bring them to the market at seven in the morning."
A bouquet of baby blue forget-me-nots burst from my hands, sparkling with fresh dew, and I handed the flowers to Nadezhda.
"Go to the imperial mausoleum and enter the courtyards," I instructed Nadezhda. "Send your sister my regards."
"Wait, Your Grace--"
"Good night, Nadezhda. Remember, I did everything for you."
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Nadezhda's Perspective
Columbina was an enigmatic woman.
She knew things about me even I didn't. Her face was full of youth, but her eyes were as old as time. When she told me she would take me under her wing, she looked so angelic, so selfless. And yet, when she said those words with such spite . . .
"Annihilate the Vitsky name, and be its sole untainted bearer. Burn their reputation to the ground."
. . . she was a true bellatrix.
My footsteps drowned in the howling of the wind, and I looked up at the gravestone, running my hands over her name: 'Irene Vitsky'.
I remembered Irene was pretty. I remembered how frail and fragile she looked when she was standing in that meadow, holding her rusty watering can, in a little white sundress that didn't quite fit her and a straw hat tied with a ribbon.
I remembered her body limp in my arms, her last breath escaping those cold lips, her blood painting the snow red.
"I don't know what you were trying to say in your final moments, Irene," I muttered, setting the forget-me-nots by the empty grave. "But I know it was probably something about packing my bags and going home, and picking up the piano again. Sorry I couldn't do that, sis. Sorry I couldn't put the gun down. Maybe I'm addicted to killing. Maybe I'm addicted to that split second right after the bullet hits. The agonizing moment before you realize that you've just murdered someone. Maybe I'm just twisted that way. Maybe I'm just cut out to kill."
Standing up, I stared at the grave, almost expecting a reply.
"Good night, Irene," I yawned, heading back. "I never understood why you loved those forget-me-nots so much, but I brought you some anyway. I'll bring you chicken pot pie next time. The mini ones, like you always had for dinner."
Just then, my two-way radio buzzed, and I held it up to my ear.
"We've spotted six intruders on the roof of Zapolyarny Palace. Motives and identities unknown. Take them out."
Reverting to my usual tone, I cleared my throat. "Copy that."
I grabbed my trusted rifle, leaping onto the top of the mausoleum and flipping up the scope.
"Target spotted."
Sucking in a breath, I pulled the trigger.
One down.
I adjusted the position of the rifle.
Two down.
Again.
Three down.
Four down.
Five down.
Six down.
"Mission completed. All targets confirmed deceased," I reported, shutting off the transceiver.
And just like that, I had snuffed out six more lives, six more ambitions. That made forty-two in my book.
Hopping down from the platform, I disappeared into the night, the words Lord Childe had spoken that day echoing in my mind.
"Irene? Who's that? Ah, your sister? The name of that pathetic girl has no place here."
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The next morning . . .
"Thus, you will lead the 6th Division along with Scaramouche," the Tsaritsa explained, tapping her finger on the armrest of her throne. "As a member of the Fatui Harbingers, you are required to uphold many duties. This is not child's play. I expect you to be well-acquainted with the entirety of the 6th Division by sundown."
Nodding, I rose, and my maid presented me with a rose-gold coat trimmed with brocade lions.
"Yes, Your Imperial Majesty. I shall begin immediately."
I entered the courtyard, my breath appearing as wisps of smoke in the wintry air.
As I approached them, the soldiers halted, kneeling in tandem.
"Your Grace!"
Gesturing for them to rise, I spotted Scaramouche out of the corner of my eye, smoking a cigarette in the corner.
"Scaramouche, how many cigarettes do you smoke a day?" I inquired, exasperated.
He looked away from me. "Eight if I'm feeling alright. Twelve during thunderstorms."
"Twelve!" I gasped. "Could it be that the Balladeer fears lightning?"
Flicking his cigarette butt to the ground, Scaramouche crushed it with the soles of his shoes, glaring at me menacingly.
"Listen, you slut. Yeah, you made it through that stupid debutante ball. I bet there are a hundred people out there who think you're their superhero. I bet there are a hundred people who think you're some kind of chosen one. Everyone loves you." He threw the entire cigarette packet into the snow furiously. "Are you happy now, hime-sama?"
(Note: Hime-sama means 'princess' in Japanese.)
"Scaramouche, I didn't mean to make you angry, I'm sorry!"
"You're sorry? Is that all you have to say, you b*tch?! Get down on your knees and beg for forgiveness if you really mean it, you . . ."
Falling onto my knees, I pressed my forehead to the ground.
"I'm sorry, Lord Scaramouche. Please forgive my insolence. I should have known my place."
Scaramouche struck me once across the face.
He knicked my ear with a dagger before ordering, "Go knock some sense into those damned weaklings."
The moment Scaramouche left, the soldiers stiffened, unsure what to make of my presence.
"Good morning," I curtsied, picking up one of the rifles, its steel grooves unfamiliar in my grip. "So, this is the weapon so favored by Nadezhda."
I altered my stance to suit the weapon's balance, gauging the velocity and speed of my shot with ease.
With a click of the trigger, the copper bullet seared through the center of an aspen trunk, clattering onto the snow.
"Excellent, Your Grace!" one of the soldiers exclaimed.
Until dusk, I instructed each and every one of my subordinates, identifying their most valuable attributes to concentrate on developing them. It would be impossible to coordinate a universal training regime, and, as such, the most effective option would be to cater to the personal needs of my cadets with individual attention to their strengths and weaknesses.
"You have wonderful strength in your right, but your left side requires substantial improvement," I noted, taking a soldier to the ground with a swoop of my spear. "Versatility is the key to battle. What will you do if your enemy is coming from the left? From behind? From the sky?"
Staggering back up, he retaliated with a punch of his left arm.
I smirked, catching his fist. "That's the spirit!"
I earned their respect and their friendship rather than their fear and hatred. I listened to their stories, the events that had transpired to take them to where they were today, and I set aside my pride to learn, to appreciate their lives. I shared a humble meal of boiled shrimp and grits with them rather than retreating to the imperial dining hall to feast lavishly with the other Harbingers. I understood, and if I did not, I pretended to. I accepted them wholeheartedly, and I promised to set them free, someday, somehow.
Under Scaramouche's leadership, these soldiers had suffered horrendously, living under the constant threat of death, fearful of their own master, burdened by an unceasing sense of existential dread.
But I have a feeling that, if the day should come when Scaramouche and I are in disagreement, they will answer to my command, and mine alone.
I would love to see the wonderful expression on his face when he realizes that he was always outmatched, from the very beginning.