Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Reimu didn’t recognize the fairy maid on the other side of her room’s door. It had been three days since she resolved Remilia’s Incident, and she had become pretty familiar with the mansion’s staff during her extended stay. There was Sakuya, the head maid. She had eyes like the empty windows of a dark house. Under her were the two senior maids, Max and Sam. Max was pale and polite and had a black bob cut so sharp it made Alice’s look messy by comparison. Reimu saw her more often than Sam—the tall brown one who spoke little and never relaxed her shoulders.

There were others as well, but they weren’t nearly as developed as the seniors. In fact, the gap was so wide that Reimu hadn’t thought Sam and Max were fairies at all. They certainly didn’t feel like fairies. If anything, that drumming, rhythmic pulse was more akin to how a human felt, although there was a savage undercurrent to it that neither fairies nor humans possessed.

This brought her back to the fairy in front of her, because they were a fairy. But she had never spotted this one among the other juniors. Their uniform was different, too. Instead of the usual long-skirted maid outfit, they wore a sleek set of black trousers and a suit jacket complete with little tailcoat things. The fairy themselves had short blue hair slicked back in a comb over, bright eyes, and… thick eyebrows?

Oh, it was Cirno!

“Puh-flrmph?” Reimu said. Unfortunately, it was rather early for the shrine maiden, and she had been in the middle of brushing her teeth when she opened the door for room service. Mint-flavored flecks sprayed across the various silver-domed dishes Cirno had been wheeling on her cart.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Cirno piped. “You’re the guest we’ve been hosting? What are you even doing, bumming it out here?”

“Mhmph?!”

Reimu slammed the door. She ran to the bathroom, which luckily was in her room rather than in a shed out behind her shrine, and spat into the pristine sink. She turned on the faucet. A quick gargle and rinse. She wiped her mouth on a nearby mounted towelette before sprinting back to the door and flinging it open.

“You’re a bum!” she declared.

“I’m literally on the clock,” Cirno said.

“Oh. Uh, my bad.”

Cirno gave her a funny look that could’ve meant anything. “Look, I’m not judging you, if that’s what you thought. It’s just that… I dunno. Doesn’t someone like you have places to be? Things to do?”

The question stung a little, especially coming from a fairy. Reimu didn’t know if she could answer yes. Did she have anywhere to be? She had a duty as the Hakurei, but the only thing really mandated from her was that she checked in on the barrier every month or so. That, and squashing severe Incidents wherever they happened to arise. One required her to be at the shrine, and the other she could probably spot from just about anywhere. There was other stuff, sure, but her caretakers had made it sound like people were supposed to come to her for those, and nobody ever visited, so what was the point? She doubted that anyone even knew that the shrine had been missing its maiden the past couple of days. Not that they would care if they did know.

All the people who would’ve had already left Gensokyo.

Well, except for Kisushin, the Hakurei God. But Reimu wasn’t sure if the Hakurei God was even conscious. They never responded to any of her prayers save for when she needed to use their sacred energy. It was almost like a reflex.

While a tenuous thread did form whenever the transfer happened, every time Reimu had followed it, she only ever found herself at the end. Thoughts and emotions gave away mental presence, so Kisushin had to be mindless then, right? Like the dead myriad—those really old spirits that permeated every corner of Gensokyo. The ones with signatures so faint you had to sit down and focus everything on sifting through the spiritual noise to pinpoint them. They were all something else once. Maybe Kisushin was the same way.

Although… the Hakurei God was way, way stronger. If they could muster that much strength, without a proper form or faith, then surely they would be fine if Reimu left the shrine well alone for a while.

“No, not really,” Reimu said.

Another look from Cirno. She shrugged. “If you say so. Hey, I have your breakfast right here. You ready to eat?”

Today’s menu was western. Reimu fidgeted in her seat eagerly as Cirno set the table. One by one, the fairy unveiled each dome with a flourish of steam, revealing stacks of buttered blueberry pancakes drenched in syrup, maple pork sausages, crispy bacon curls, and fried eggs seasoned with salt and red pepper flakes. Lastly, Cirno put down two glasses and filled one with this wonderful-smelling substance called “eye-wish coffee” and the other with orange juice.

“The coffee is decaff,” Cirno pointed out. “And I helped make the pancakes.”

“W-wow…” Reimu swallowed the drool in her mouth. “You must be a pretty good cook, ‘cause these smell great.”

“Heh, yeah I am. Did you know I worked at a food stand before I came here? I could grill a good skewer, and put ice in your drink. Mystia’s always asking for me back, but I keep telling her...”

Cirno kept going, but Reimu had stopped listening. She skipped the knife and fork and went straight for the chopsticks, prying a bacon strip free from the embrace of its greasy siblings. Reimu pictured herself as a ravenous fox holding aloft a squirming, tender little mouse. The winter had been long, and this was going to be her first bite in weeks.

The mouse begged for its morsel of a life. Reimu responded by sinking her canines into its flank and peeling it in half. She closed her eyes and chewed slowly, savoring the juices on her tongue.

Delicious!

Cirno was fun company. She talked a lot with little poking, which was nice because then Reimu didn’t have to figure out a response very often. She could just stay seated and sip her coffee as Cirno busied herself with making Reimu’s bed.

“Winter is actually my least favorite season,” Cirno said as she struggled to pull the sheets all the way over the mattress. “The cold doesn’t bother me, but it makes my friends sleepy and want to stay inside all day. It’s friggin’ hard enough trying to coax Rumi out of whatever hole she curled up in on a warm spring afternoon, but during a snow? I might as well try to freeze the sun.”

Reimu tilted the glass against her mouth only to get a few drops. Disappointed, she set it down alongside the other dirty dishes.

“Why don’t you hang out with the other winter fairies then?” she asked. “They don’t hibernate.”

Cirno scoffed. She finished adjusting the corners of the blanket to eliminate any remaining wrinkles before shooting back with, “I don’t know, why don’t you hang out with the other humans in the village?”

The other humans? What did Cirno mean by that? Reimu was nothing like the village people. The village people were weird . They had strange customs. Said inscrutable things. They looked at her with a hard wariness in their eyes and bore obvious frowns. Reimu could never tell what they wanted from her, and it stressed her out. She had thought that the villagers would have been more like Marisa – dazzling and warm in a comfortably wet sort of way.

Reimu squinted her eyes at Cirno. Cirno squinted back. This mutual peering continued until Reimu suddenly grasped what Cirno had been getting at.

“Because they’re not like you,” the Hakurei said. “Or, uh, they’re not like me, and the other fairies aren’t like you. Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Cirno echoed. “That’s why.”

Silence fell. Cirno moved on to clearing the table, but Reimu remained stuck on that last bit: that’s why. Why was it that’s why? Reimu had been born in Gensokyo. Her caretakers had raised her with bedtime tales about its founding. About the humans and youkai who lived in fantasy’s last major bastion. They had told her about the Hakurei, and the vital role they played in maintaining balance. They had led her to believe that she was going to be a part of something shared by people, but right now, she has never felt more apart. Gensokyo, the Human Village, Youkai Mountain—they had just been the names of places in stories to her. She didn’t start living them until her caretakers had left her at that shrine.

Reimu’s heart ached. If she had been a lonely and hapless fish flopping around on the shrine’s front porch, then Marisa had been a surge of water that swept her away in its current. And if Marisa was the water, then Alice was the bell spider who caught her in its aquatic strings. Marisa had whisked them away downstream, together, around bends and through rapids on a collision course straight towards the Sorcerer Spirit, Mima.

The experience had shaken Reimu. She got hurt. She watched her friends get hurt. Mima was probably still out there, too. Yet Reimu found herself wishing she could return to that time. She had actual, honest to goodness friends back then. And it had felt right, and it had felt good, and she had felt at home when she was with them, and no matter how scary things got, she would end the day between two blondes and wake up the next in the same position.

Oh…

…what the hell was she going on about?

Life had been great! And now it sucked! Her sheets had stopped smelling like Marisa ages ago, all because the little crap just had to up and leave for some dumb outside wizard stuff that probably wasn’t even that important. Alice, too! Well, guess what? Reimu didn’t need those two. She could make new friends, starting with Eyebrows here. All she had to do was… Uh…

How did people make friends again? Reimu had never made the first move before. Marisa sort of just came to her. So did Alice. And Remilia. They all came to her and didn’t stop coming even after they came. So was it just a matter of waiting for someone to find her and stick around? But then she would be waiting for so long again! No, she couldn’t endure it. Cirno was right in front of her, wiping the table down after she had finished piling the dishes back onto her maid’s trolley. She was going to leave soon. Reimu didn’t know when they would meet again. She needed to say something. Anything.

“Can you be my baby?” Reimu blurted.

Cirno’s head snapped in her direction. “What?”

“I mean, uh—” Reimu scrambled for the right words. “Wanna fight again, baby? B-because I had fun the last time.”

There was a moment when Reimu thought she had ruined everything, but before she could make the silent vow to never speak to anyone in complete sentences ever again, Cirno’s face lit up like the dawn over Youkai Mountain.

Chapter Text

There was an assortment of grinning skulls behind the glass. Some were missing chunks of their head, others pieces of their jaw, but all of them had fangs. One especially caught Reimu’s eye. It was the centerpiece of the collection—a skull smaller than the rest, perfectly intact, with an extra row of teeth packed in its tiny mouth. Both sets bared pointed canines.

It was a child’s skull. Reimu hadn’t known that the adult and baby teeth were visible like that. People started with none at all, so those had to have grown in. That would make this kid around… four? Six, maybe? It was difficult to remember when Reimu started losing her own, but she could remember when she had lost her last. She had been wrestling with Marisa on a sunny autumn morning, and the witch had swung her arm a little too wide during a pivot, catching Reimu’s face with the back of her knuckle. It hadn’t hurt much, but when Reimu spat the tooth out and it clattered across the shrine deck, Marisa had looked scared for a moment.

H-huh? It’s just a baby tooth? You sure?

...Sometimes, I forget that I’m actually your senior.

Oh, great. Now she felt sad. Sad because she remembered Marisa’s stupid glowing face and because the skull in front of her was so young. The whole point of wandering into this gloomy library was to avoid that. Still… it had been pretty interesting, at least. Everywhere she went, there were banners bearing the tower under the crescent moon. Small orbs of blue magelight drifted between the towering shelves, illuminating countless books with titles she couldn’t read. She had passed stands displaying metal armor too tall and lanky for a human to wear. An open case holding the stone hilt of a dagger that radiated warmth. Beady red eyes that glinted at her before receding into the darkness, accompanied by the lumbering steps of something quadruped shuffling just out of sight.

The last one had been a little scary in the moment, but the way the eyes had disappeared indicated the turning of a head, which meant whatever was lurking in the shadows had its back to her as it retreated, and that was way less creepier than the alternative. She also hasn’t seen it again, so it probably wasn’t following her.

Reimu looked over her shoulder. Nothing there but a passing magelight. She couldn’t sense anything other than the faint buzz of magic, either. Definitely alone right now. She returned her attention to the display just in time to see a haunting white apparition with pure black eyes descend on the glass case without a sound.

Her heart froze. Then the thing’s shape settled, and Reimu realized what was in front of her.

“Oh my gosh, an owl,” Reimu whispered. She extended a hand. “What’re you doing in here, birdie? Oh, you’re so weird-looking and cute.”

The owl craned its head back slightly to keep her hand in view. It didn’t bite her or shy away when she started petting it, so she persisted, lightly stroking its fuzzy dome plumage. This majestic creature was unlike the other owls she had spotted in Gensokyo. It had a white disc-shaped face with a speckled tawny rim that extended down its back and wings, leaving its breast feathers a pure shade of pale cream. At first, Reimu thought its eyes were completely black, but upon closer inspection, they were actually a deep brown with large yet distinct pupils. The owl was making a funny, scrunched sort of expression with them. Was she applying too much pressure?

Reimu withdrew her touch. The bird shook itself and clicked its beak. It fixed her with an awfully pointed stare.

Do you know how exactly a vampire’s bones are preserved?

The voice, low and soft, echoed in Reimu’s mind as if whispered into both of her ears.

“N-no?” Reimu said after a brief start. She had no idea owls could do something like this.

Another beak click. Bones emerge naturally when an animal dies, but for vampires, death is a loosely defined concept. There is no natural point when a vampire’s body will rot on its own. In order to procure a corpse, a vampire has to be killed. Do you know how that is done?

“I—”

Anything that sears, child. Sunlight, fire, magic that emulates burning—other methods have been tried and tested, but none have proven quite as permanent. There lies the problem. Flames are too effective at destroying a vampire. When one burns, nothing is left but ash. When a body is assumed dead and left out to rot, the rising sun will evaporate it. If it is instead buried, it will reanimate the following night, or it will enter a stupor and wait for blood to enter its proximity. The odds of discovering naturally preserved vampire remains are close to zero.

It was like she was falling under a spell, the way the owl drew her in as it spoke. She managed to gather her wits enough to break away, glancing down at the skulls arranged beneath the owl’s talons. At the small one grinning up at her.

“But if that’s the case, then how did you get these?”

The bird ruffled its feathers. Well, I wasn’t the one who gathered the specimens before you, but I can hazard a guess based on the notes the Venatores left behind. However fearful and ignorant they may have been, I can’t deny that they were an observant and well-practiced bunch. They noticed that when a vampire burned, it was the flesh that dissolved first, and that the skeleton persisted for a brief time before going the same way. This meant that, in theory, if you plucked the bones from the flaming pile the moment they were exposed, you could stow them away somewhere dark as a memento. Of course, doing so would require crippling or restraining a vampire, not to mention locating one to begin with. Given how few and far between the species is, we’re incredibly lucky to have enough specimens to fill out a display.

Remilia Scarlet, bound and set to torch. Her skull nestled alongside others. Reimu shivered. She reached out to the small skull in the center as if to touch it through the glass. The owl observed this motion keenly.

“I don’t think they felt very lucky.”

Click.

Obviously not. I don’t endorse the actions of the Venatores, but I am glad the barbarians at least had the wherewithal to preserve some of what they destroyed.

“Oh. Then why are you telling me this? I thought owls only cared about finding a mate and eating mice.”

Because, Hakurei, I am in fact not an owl, but the owner of this library and all of its contents, which I care about deeply. I especially care about my rarer possessions, and it would so happen that you are standing in front of one of my rarest—a fully intact child vampire skull. And you want to touch it.

“What? That’s not- Actually, can I?”

No.

That kind of blew. Reimu wanted to know how its teeth felt when she ran her thumb over them. Also, as much as she loved listening to the owl’s soothing voice, she couldn’t quite believe its claim as the owner of this library, because didn’t Remilia own the entire mansion? At least, that was how she had made it sound. Her mansion, her devoted coven, her Hakurei. Everything in the world belonged to that handsome little brat.

“Prove it.”

The owl tilted its head inquisitively. It took Reimu a moment to figure out what it was asking.

“Prove you’re not an owl,” she clarified. “Because… I mean, I don’t want to be rude, but you really do look like one. From here, at least. Like an owl.”

The hollow stare of a bird of prey.

“…H’hoo?”

Ugh. Fine.

It took flight with silent wingbeats, spiraling up and up until it nearly met the vaulted ceiling. Reimu staggered back and craned her neck all the way to keep it in view. The owl hovered briefly at the apex of its ascent, and then it folded its wings and plummeted towards the library floor. A feathered missile. Reimu scrambled to get out of the way, nearly knocking over the display case as she fell on her side.

The owl cracked against the cold masonry.

Scarlet mist erupted. Reimu instinctively covered her mouth, but as the red fog rolled over her, she tasted—

“Raspberry?” Reimu muttered.

Just as she stuck her tongue out to get another taste, a breeze streaked by, sweeping the mist away. Alone loomed a foreign woman swaddled in deep purple robes where the owl had crashed. She wasn’t very tall, bigger than Remilia but definitely shorter than Meiling or Sakuya. Her lavender hair was long and cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. Reimu couldn’t imagine trying to maintain it all. And her face… it looked so round and soft, and it shone palely from underneath the heavy clothing. But her eyes were these ancient, piercing violets that reminded Reimu strongly of one of her caretakers. The contrast fascinated her, and Reimu found herself enchanted in much the same way she had been with the owl.

There was another detail that caught her eye, however. An ornament shaped like a crescent moon, delicately nestled behind the woman’s ear.

Now where has she seen that before?

The shrouded one spoke. Her words carried far despite how softly she delivered them.

“I am Patchouli of the House of Knowledge, and I don’t recall writing the Hakurei an invitation.”

Chapter Text

At first, Reimu didn’t understand what had happened. It felt like she had been ripped in half. Patchouli was gone. Torn to someplace far from here. Now Reimu drifted, alone and disfigured. She couldn’t make out the shape of herself—couldn’t tell where she ended and the void began. Then something pried the ribs of her soul open and rushed inside. The dark tide scoured her depths, threading her brain with eyes and ribbons, frantically needling every nook and cranny of her being. Pure paralysis. The fear—not all of it was her own. Who are you?

The tide froze. And then, as suddenly as it had arrived, it left. No one occupied Reimu but Reimu herself.

The miko came to with a gasp. She fought mindlessly with her restraints for a moment before her wits returned. Where was she? Magician’s office. Coffee table. Hakurei God. Did it work? She pressed her chin against her collarbone to see.

A coal burned in her heart, illuminated through her nightgown. That was strange. When did she draw out Kisushin's power? And why did Patchouli look like that? She was lying face-down on Reimu’s stomach, arms thrown out above her head and locked in contorted positions. Something wet and warm leaked from her nose.

“Oh no,” Reimu said weakly. She thrust in an attempt to jostle the magician awake. “H-hey, you okay there? I can’t- I’m kind of stuck here, and I can’t undo the straps. Should I break the table or—”

“Merde!”

Patchouli’s head had jerked up, arcing a few red droplets from her substantial nosebleed. She swayed and collapsed against the base of the couch, where she broke into a terrible hacking fit. It was awful to look at. The bleeding, the guttural retching, the way Patchouli kept trying to sign a spell only for a cough to flinch her trembling hands…

This was serious. Patchouli couldn’t breathe.

Reimu didn’t notice the straps unbuckling themselves as she slid off the table. All she knew was that she could see a point of tension right above Patchouli’s lungs, and she needed to hit it. Divine power flowed from her core and down her right arm before concentrating in her index and middle fingers. She deftly jabbed the blazing rods into the base of the magician’s throat.

The knot evaporated, and the following inhalation of uninterrupted air sounded like glory. Reimu stood watch, anxious. It took a few more convulsions, but eventually, Patchouli settled down enough to speak.

“Blood-sealing talismans,” she rasped.

Reimu’s eyes became dry, and she blinked.

“You have them, don’t you?” Patchouli continued. “For emergencies.”

She gestured to the mess on her face, and Reimu suddenly understood. She hurriedly withdrew a set from her sleeve and began to delicately wipe away what she could while Patchouli closed her eyes and let the miko work. Once finished, Reimu pressed a fresh talisman that adhered tightly across Patchouli’s nose. Blood, sealed.

They sat together on the couch in contemplative silence.

Eventually, Patchouli spoke.

“There’s a black box inside of you,” she muttered nasally. “I thought maybe I had mispronounced something during the séance, but the gap in your pathways was real. It’s… I just barely managed to touch it, but I glimpsed the spellwork, and it was dense. Like nothing I’ve ever seen written before.”

She groaned, sinking further into the cushions. “I don’t understand. What kind of mind could produce something so binary? Where would I even start if I were to replicate it? I want to take a second look, but I think that would kill me.” Her brow furrowed. “Why is it even there in the first place? What could it possibly be trying to conceal?”

“The Hakurei God?” Reimu offered. It was a little difficult trying to follow the magician’s ramblings, but if there was a magical box inside of her hiding something, then that could explain where Kisushin went after she finished channeling their energy. But Patchouli scoffed at this.

“To store an entire kami spirit would require a greater vessel. Think of it like trying to sew someone into an armchair. They wouldn’t fit without some parts sticking out, no? An arm or a leg, perhaps. Obvious indicators that would give away their presence immediately.”

“…You sew people into armchairs?”

“That’s not what- Ugh, never mind. Point is that hiding any kind of spirit inside an already occupied body is an impractical feat with no real use case. Anyone with a lick of experience would spot it with minimal probing.”

That made sense. Still, it didn’t answer anything about Kisushin’s whereabouts, which Reimu supposed she could live without. So long as they responded when she called, she could keep doing important miko stuff anyways. The “black box” was another thing, however. Did she always have a box? That response when Patchouli had touched it felt eerily similar to the very first time the boundary power had manifested within Reimu. Maybe it had appeared around then. Wait, no- Patchouli had mentioned spellwork, so someone had to have put it there. Her caretakers, maybe?

Reimu wasn’t sure she liked that idea. She wanted to discuss it further with Patchouli, but a soft knock on the door stole her attention.

“I’ll get it,” Patchouli said after a long sigh.

“You sure? I don’t think you’ve stopped bleeding.”

The magician only grunted. She stood up and swayed a little before answering the door, revealing a monster. Reimu recognized it as the one she nearly bumped into in the library. It was… a bat, probably. A massive, hulking bat that gave up its wings in favor of muscular forelimbs to prop up its top-heavy form. Black fur as dark as crow feathers covered its body and thickened around its chest and neck, giving the impression of a mane. Overall, not very bat-like until you reached the head. Wrinkled leaf-shaped nose, tall triangular ears, beady red eyes—it was actually kind of cute, especially with the delightful wicker basket hanging from its toothy jaws.

Reimu wondered if it had a name.

It was one thing after the other for Patchouli. First the vampires, then the mishap with the Hakurei here, and now, Leif was making deliveries instead of Koakuma, who still hasn’t returned from yesterday’s expedition to Youkai Mountain. If there were any silver linings to be had, it was that her familiar was at least alive and on the same plane of existence as herself. Thank goodness. Oh, and the basket filled with freshly baked Danish pastries was excellent consolation as well.

“Thank you,” she said rather pointlessly as she unhooked the goods from the devil’s mouth. “Do one more thing for me. Go fetch one of the maids and tell them—”

The words died in her throat. Right, Leif couldn’t speak. Most of her devils couldn’t. Koakuma was rather unique in that regard, something Patchouli had taken for granted until now. Her concussed mind scrambled to find a solution.

“…Okay. Here.”

She popped open her desk drawer with a crisp finger snap, and out flew a pen and paper. Patchouli hastily scrawled a note before lodging it in Leif’s mane.

“Give that to one of the maids. If they’re a junior, make sure they read it out loud; I need a change of robes, tea, and one of the vampires. Something to that effect.”

When the devil didn’t move right away, a string drew tight across Patchouli’s heart. She entertained the worst. Koakuma had been banished or slain by the Tengu authority, and Leif had only been operating on the last string of orders it had received until then. The knot drew tighter when Leif extended a massive arm, only loosening when the devil reached past her to point at the Hakurei with a single curved nail.

The shrine maiden stared at the digit like it would lay a curse on her at any moment.

“She’s a guest,” Patchouli quickly clarified. “The blood’s incidental. Pay her no mind.”

Leif lowered its arm but not all the way. They were making eye contact now, the Hakurei and the devil, and a fascinating interaction took place. The Hakurei… waved. And Leif, slowly, clumsily, waved back.

Patchouli collapsed into the familiar chair behind her writing desk, alone. She had given the Hakurei a danish and ushered her out of the office, but not because the girl had bothered her. On the contrary, Reimu had been quite cooperative throughout, if a touch difficult to parse. A welcome change of pace compared to her predecessor. No, the reason Patchouli wanted to be by herself was because she had flown too close to the sun. The black box wasn’t something she was meant to discover, much less pry into. But how couldn’t she? Such a marvel of spellwork would intrigue any self-respecting magician.

Perhaps they were relying on Reimu simply not letting anyone peer too closely inside her. Did they then anticipate, in their infinite wisdom, that the Hakurei would become curious about her relationship to her own god? That she would seek insight from a third party? How long could a child blindly follow the duties and responsibilities instilled by her caretakers before she started asking questions?

Another painful throb behind the eyes.

God, they nearly killed her for that. She only did what came naturally, and they nearly killed her for it. They tore her mind out and pulled her halfway across Gensokyo before she could so much as think of weaving a counterspell. In that moment, she had been powerless in a way she had never experienced before. They could’ve done anything to her. Aneurysm, stroke—hell, they could’ve forgone the subtlety entirely and just made her head explode. No one would raise the alarm over the death of a foreign magician in a foreign land. She wasn’t even sure if the local inhabitants knew she really existed. She rarely ventured past mansion grounds, much less talked to anyone besides her immediate company.

It begged the question: if the magician had stumbled upon something she shouldn’t have seen, something so secretive and important to Gensokyo that it warranted an extreme reaction, why didn’t they follow through? Why did they spare her? The last thing Patchouli needed was for this incident to crop up later and get in the way of her scholarly pursuits.

If they had plans for her, they had better make them known soon. Patchouli wasn’t fond of surprises.

Just as she fished a danish out from the basket, an envelope fell onto her desk. It was a pristine white and sealed with a purple wax emblem that depicted an eye at the center of an intricate kaleidoscopic pattern. Almost like a field of flowers.

Patchouli stared at the envelope for what felt like a long time. Then, she took a bite out of the pastry.

Sweet, delicious apple filling. It complemented the flaky bread and nuts perfectly.

Chapter Text

It was strange. Remilia’s house was so big, yet hardly any people lived in it. Reimu wasn’t even sure if Remilia lived in it. She had barely seen the vampire since their last conversation. Sure, their differing sleep schedules may have had something to do with that, but Reimu did a fair amount of wandering in the evening. She even tried Remilia’s room a few times only to find the door unlocked and the bed always empty.

Reimu sank lower into the warm water and winced, the soreness in her muscles flaring. The bathhouse’s open balcony gave way to lonely blue skies that stretched over a verdant valley. A cool breeze took pity on her, caressing her face and promising her company. Reimu accepted it gratefully.

She had spotted Remilia once, lurking around a bend at night and staring up at a large painting mounted on the wall. At first, Reimu had thought that the portrait was of the brat herself. It was pale and blonde and had her lopsided smirk, but upon closer inspection, the differences between the painted vampire and the real one became evident. For one, the painted vampire had longer hair that reached past her shoulders, and her eyes, while sly and red like Remilia’s, harbored a distinct, uneasy coldness to them. The buried ice that whispered resentment. A quiet accusation hurled at the viewer from behind a pale mask.

You know what you did.

Reimu remembered well the face Remilia had made. The crease in her brow, the telltale trembling in her lower lip—the vampire had been on the verge of tears. But then she turned to Reimu, and just as the red started to leak, she smiled in that familiar, easy way.

Then the lantern light flickered, and Remilia had vanished.

Gah!

Reimu smashed the surface of the water with her forearms. What was with that little punk?! They could’ve had a cool and romantic moment together, but nooo. Remilia would rather be all mysterious and just straight up leave instead of embracing her and sobbing into her chest! Was this part of some bizarre vampire courting ritual that she wasn’t aware of? Or was Remilia purposefully avoiding her for another reason? Either way, it ticked her off something fierce.

If Reimu could just snag that kid between her teeth, oh, the things she would do to that scrawny little body of hers…

Reimu went about thrashing the bathwater with savage delight until a deep groan echoed behind her. She whirled around, praying for a glimpse of blonde cutting through light blue hair.

No such luck. Sakuya stood in the half-open doorway. She appeared much the same as she did earlier this morning, with gray sweatpants and a sporty black top that showcased her shoulders. Her usual uniform was draped over her arm alongside a clean white towel.

“Are you all right?” Sakuya said, her voice rising over the murmur of running water. “I heard some commotion from outside.”

Reimu hastily submerged herself to her chin. “Yeah. Just, uh… enjoying the space, y’know?”

“I see.”

A pause. It drew on long enough for Reimu to start wondering if she should say anything else, but luckily, Sakuya had her covered.

“I should apologize for my rough approach this morning. I hope I didn’t leave you with any lasting discomfort.”

The bruises on Reimu’s wrists and ribs protested otherwise. The peckish shrine maiden had been scrounging one of the kitchens for snacks when Sakuya had sprung the question of a spar (and herself) out of nowhere, which Reimu had accepted eagerly. A chance for revenge! Or so she had thought.

The rules were simple. No spells, no flying, no gods. Just the meat of their bodies and two staves. If Reimu could land a significant hit on Sakuya, the miko would win. This kind of format was familiar to Reimu. Her caretakers had occasionally engaged in a similar practice to “work on her base.” Something about a tree needing good roots in order to branch. These sessions, whatever her caretakers had meant by them, had been a lot of fun, and they had almost always ended in a big grapple fight followed by hugs and kisses and the promise of something tasty for dinner.

That hadn’t been the case with Sakuya, though. Sakuya had hung up her uniform and towel and was now undressing.

Wait.

Really?

Should… should she look away? Marisa had never seemed to mind her staring, both in and out of the context of sharing a bath. On the other hand, Alice had always made it a point to separate herself. Reimu didn’t want to stare if she knew it made someone uncomfortable, but she did want to stare. Bodies were interesting. They told stories about the person they’re attached to. She liked reading their skin, pointing out every mark or scar that stood out to her. She liked noting where the hair grew and was cut. She liked the feel of muscle and the softness of fat.

So what kind of story, then, led to a vampire’s caretaker? Reimu was dying to glean whatever she could.

“You have remarkable fundamentals. Did your father train you?”

Reimu’s hands paused their automatic shampooing as her brain took over. She threw a look over her shoulder at Sakuya, who had taken to reclining on the shallower end of the bath.

“…No, he didn’t. Why would he?”

The hollow-eyed maid creased her forehead ever so slightly. “From what I understand, it is typically the fathers who train the Hakurei if their predecessor is absent. That wasn’t the case for you?”

“No. I mean, he’s dead like my mom, so he couldn’t have trained me.”

That was an odd thought. Reimu didn’t often think it, but she had parents. Someone who gave birth to her. It felt like that should be important—or rather, that was how everyone always made it out to be. But why should it? Reimu had never met her parents. They were strangers to her. Sure, it was kinda cool that they had made her, but she couldn’t recall ever asking them to, so did they really deserve praise? Plus, they were dead now. Reimu had only ever figured that out during the rare occasions her caretakers had discussed them. Her mother passed shortly after delivering her, and her father… sometime before that. They had been vague about it, and frankly, Reimu hadn’t been curious enough to press into it further. She had her caretakers; they were the ones who truly mattered. Heck, she had even thought that they were her parents before she made the distinction—“Ma” for the blonde one and “Mama” for the bigger blonde one.

Shampoo stung Reimu’s eyes. She dove underwater and vigorously ran her fingers through her hair. Once finished, she reemerged closer to Sakuya.

“You wanna know who did train me?” Reimu asked.

“Of course,” Sakuya said.

“Fine. But you gotta tell me who trained you first. Then I’ll tell you what I think I’m allowed to tell you.”

Something changed about Sakuya’s demeanor. She had fallen into silence, but what else? Her expression remained immutable as always. Her posture was the same, with both elbows propped on the edge of the bath, creating a satisfying slant to her torso. Then it hit Reimu in the heart. Sakuya was looking at her. Those dark eyes, which had never seemed to focus on anything in particular, had suddenly lit up. Cobalt blue pierced her soul, reducing Reimu to a mouse in an open prairie, pinned beneath the oppressive glare of the soaring falcon. Squeaking for her miserable rodent life was surely her only chance at salvation.

To her relief, the moment passed before she could make any embarrassing noises. The curtains drew shut over Sakuya, and her attention wandered towards the balcony, where a plump hawkmoth paid visit to the many flowering vines and pots that lined the guardrail. Somberly, she spoke.

“I was raised by a woman named Molly. She was a foreigner to me as I am to you. I was too young to understand it then, so when I saw her face for the first time, I… I thought she must have been an angel.”

The hawkmoth darted off, diving out of sight towards the green below.

“Your turn,” Sakuya said.

Reimu let out a small breath. Personally, she had hoped for a little more than that, but she guessed Sakuya held her end of the bargain. Now, what exactly was Reimu allowed to divulge? Maybe if she didn’t mention any names, she could get away with it. And if she couldn’t…

Well, what were they going to do? It wasn’t like they were going to visit her for any other reason.

One by one, words tumbled out of Reimu’s mouth.

“I had two caretakers, but I was mostly trained by one. We lived in a small cabin on top of a hill. And, uh… Oh! We had a cat! She was black and very cute. And loud. I liked smelling her. Do you smell cats? Alice and Marisa thought it was weird, but I think that’s because they’ve never had a cat before. Have you had a cat before?”

“I’m not very good with animals.”

“That’s weird. You’re weird.”

Sakuya did a shaky smile, proving Reimu’s point. “What about your caretakers? Was there a reason as to why they split their duties over you?”

“I’m… not sure? The other wasn’t around very often, and whenever she came home, she usually went straight to bed. She’d sometimes sleep so much that I’d get worried. I even cried about it once. I thought she was sick, but looking back at it now, maybe she was just weak. Or really lazy.”

There was something Reimu was forgetting about her weak and lazy caretaker. Something that set her apart from both the other and Reimu herself. Was it her languid eyes? The prominent slouch? The way she could crack every digit on her hands and feet? No, such differences were trivial compared to this one. Reimu’s fragile caretaker was… was…

“Like you!” Reimu said, creating a splash as she pointed at Sakuya.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I mean, no- My caretaker. She has your… Your, uh… affliction? Whatever’s going on with your face. Foreigner! She’s a foreigner like you.”

“As in, she’s European? Are you certain?”

“Maybe? European is like a place, right?”

“Europe is, and a very large one at that. Do you know exactly where your caretaker hails from? England? France? Germany?”

The urgency in Sakuya’s voice combined with the unfamiliar words scrambled Reimu quite thoroughly. She stammered nonsense before clamming up completely. She fixed Sakuya with a wide-eyed stare, waiting for any sort of cue.

The head maid sank deep into thought.

She spoke.

“…Greek-Irish?”

The question hadn’t been posed to Reimu. It felt more like a realization on Sakuya’s part, although about what she didn’t disclose. No matter. This was the moment Reimu had been hunting for! Sakuya had finally lowered her guard—a foolish mistake that would cost her dearly. Reimu slid beneath the surface of the water and crept around to Sakuya’s front. The aquatic miko lingered there, no longer a mouse but a fearsome snapping turtle, gauging the distance between herself and the unsuspecting guppy that strayed just a little too close to the riverbed.

She bent her knees. Worked her mandible. Her lungs tightened.

Reimu breached, her hand held far above her head.

“Jan!” she sputtered.

Sakuya blinked blearily through the spray of water, not understanding.

“Ken!”

Suddenly, Sakuya did understand, and she moved into position.

“Pon!”

They played their hands at the same time. It was Reimu’s scissors against Sakuya’s paper.