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Chapter Text

Once again, just as many other countless times. The weave would be unwoven once more! Kunzteal couldn't believe it, how many times was it now? At this point it was not about saving the garden anymore, it was mere... experimentation, min-maxing for the 'best' possible outcome, or whatever the other gods are looking for.

But what the goddess of arts trully saw, beyond the fake goal of doing a greater good, was a poor little girl, the supposedly child beloved by the gods; blessed by all the supreme couple, the eternal five and most of their subordinates; being ruthlessly tortured and toyed with like a living dol.

And as once again Ordoschnelli sang it's ominous melodies, the truth came to be.

Once again, Myne had died.

And for what? What does she being a 'beloved daughter' did for her? What all those blessings accomplished? Myne was just... a puppet, her thread being the literal string being toyed with by the gods using her as some sort of lab rat for their experiments on the patterns on the weave.

But beyond all that, was a sickly, frayal child; A woman forced to the the deeds of the gods because they are too lazy to do it themselves or find another solution other than exploiting her over and over.

In all honesty, it was sickening to the stomach. Kunzteal was a goddess, she was supposed to be above mortal restraints like compassion, empathy and etc; the gods were selfish, ignorant about mortal affairs and only demanded whatever they wanted. Yes, she knows that is how it is supposed to be, but it still was mad sickening! So vile that she wanted to vomit! That girl, that poor little being have been living longer than any mortal could ever or should, a consequence of the gods interfering with her thread because of their love made her existence vital to the existence of the weave. Without Myne, the garden crumbles to white sand. She was a demigodess — no a Goddess — in all but in name! She has spun more thread than Dregarnhur ever could in such a short time, she has woven her patterns more intricate ways than Ventuchte ever has.

But all that for what?! She just kept being thrown into new weave after weave, pattern after pattern, it was nothing short of a torture, all her attempts, all her accomplishments meant nothing as whenever the gods weren't satisfied to the pattern being woven, they sent their 'precious child' back to some whatever point in time with a new set of conditions, a new attempt, and it all at the cost of her sanity.

Forced to be everything she never wanted to be. Being a Zent meant nothing anymore, Myne has taken the throne so, so many times that it made absolutely no difference anymore. She would always get the book of wisdom, bring back prayers, dye the foundation and save the garden, just to be reweaven once again because some detail the gods weren't satisfied with.

Kunzteal couldn't hold her sentiments that what they were doing with the poor girl was beyond cruel, it was vile, it was evil, it was wicked!

Not only that but they would keep her memories intact, Myne having access to her book of life was a core part as to why she was so important to the garden. She was the only one in millenia that managed to bypass the seal and unlock it. It was nothing sort of a miracle, but which turned to be her biggest accidental mistake.

Every loop, every pain, every death she faced, was kept in her memory, intact. That was the nature of both the book of life and the book of Mestionora. The poor being even had to face phantom pains for gods sake! Some of her traumas brought such a impact to her whole existence, that the pains would be carried on until she could refocus her mind and lock those memories away... hopefully. But, everytime — everytime — she went to retrieve wisdom once again, all the memories of all her past loops would ressurface to her mind. Even those which were supposed to be locked inside her subcouncious mind, would come full force as part of the wisdom acquisition. And somehow the other gods seemed oblivious to the obvious pain and suffering that they were causing to her!

It was obvious such thing would occur! The Book of Mestionora conceived access to the book of life of every mortal being with sufficient mana to saturate the book, allowing it to be stored away in Mestionora's library. So of course her past lifes would be engraved to her book of life! And so it was obvious that she would absorb it all when connecting to the library and obtaining wisdom! Just because she kept access to her own book of life didn't meant that she wouldn't also receive the copy necessary to fill in her wisdom!

Was Kunzteal the odd one for thinking differently than other deities?! Or were she the right one in being mad at such insane divine torture being bestown on their supposedly most loved child?! Was her sensitivity and passion for arts what made her able to understand human emotions?

Myne was blessed by a plentitude of gods, and as she kept getting better and better at looping, the number of her blessings kept increasing further and further, she now held 98% of all divine protections avaible. Lacking only Deurleben, Sehweit, Breenwarme and Bluanfah. Which was quite ironic, since she was a child of summer, known for her passion for books and to protect her family, but she lacked the burning flame of the fire kin for other human beings. But how so? If whoever she tends to love, she ends up being separated from due to the weave. Of course the poor thing would close her heart to avoid being hurt any further! Kunzteal even heard Ordoschnelli whispering here and there that Liebeskhilfe was planning to withdraw her blessings from her as she was avoiding her destined partner like the plague!

But something else that also threw Kunzteal out of her mind, was how the girl neglected most of her blessings. What is it worth being bestown all the blessings if she kept only praying earnestly to the path of Mestionora(books)?! In fact, even when being abudantly blessed by Kunzteal herself and offering some really revolutionary pieces of art, Myne never, ever prayed to her.

not even once.

She could sing, play instruments or whirl perfectly, but never in any of those occasions she ever prayed to Kunzteal personally. Well she wasnt totally to blame, as the nature of how her blessings worked, it was similar tohow she dealt with those from the fire kin. It was mostly as a way of convenience. A ditter to gain something and that is all. Thanks to the strenght augmenting prayers she tended to praise the fire kin more still. As... it was convenient.

But maybe... that was were she was lacking? While focusing her pursuit only to Mestionora, she neglected all her other talents and became limited by what the path the books would lead her.

Kunzteal steeled her resolve once more, preparing for once again another loop, another possibly failed weave and watch the poor girl, covered in spiritual and mental bruises and scars, just watching for the impending doom of her thread once more as the gods judge her efforts as... unsatisfactory.

That was, until a certain star children came next to her holding a letter, and in it a seal, one she hasnt seen being used in ages.

Kunzteal knew that getting involved with that accursed goddess could probably lead to her banishment from the pantheon. But the contents of the letter trully caught her attention.

It was a invitation letter from Chaoscipher, a tea party, to discuss about Myne and her endless cycle.

And Kunzteal couldn't help but feel excited about it.

Chapter Text

Under the might of Verdrenna, and chastised by the humid winds of Schutzaria over the land of Flutrane, the harsh and cold rain beffel on the streets of capital city of Hauchletze, the water washed away the filth from the slums, the commoners shilded away from the storm while the farmers under the protection of their roofs, silently prayed and blessed for their crops that are being blessed by Flutrane and aiding the arrival of Forsente for a bountyful harvest even under a severe country-wide mana drought that reduced the Flutrane's givings.

However, the rain also had some hidden meanings other than just cold water that wetten the crops. For the more observant, for those who had a deeper understanding of the holy bible, rain also meant:

Grief.

It was the physical, pure and magical manifestation of Flutrane grieving for her sister Gedulh after all the pain she endured under Ewigeliebe's embrace. To Flutrane the rain meant mourning, hatred, anger, relief, grieving.

But Rozemyne scoffed at that thought.

Sat at the back of a tavern at the heart of the capital, a young woman, maybe barely at the peak of her summer, was alone in the greyish soft darkness of the corner of the stablishment. Still with her hair down, even with a well endowed and developed body deeply blessed by Effloreflume and Gedulh, all well sculptured by Kunzteal; the woman beauty was such that it made quite difficult to discern if she was just a early bloomer still to reach her autumn; if she was a uncaring woman about her appearance; or if she was just a flower thus why kept her hair loose for all to see, besides her half-updo that kept her bangs neatly combed in place.

Well, the truth trully didnt mattered. The woman just sat alone as always, at the corner of the tavern, surrounded by dozens of empty bottles of vize keeping her head down, one arm ungraceously outstreched across her table, with her forehead resting against the wood. And just always, she avoided making eye contact with anyone for far too long.

It wasn't the first time the misterious woman came and it seemed it wouldn't be the last. And it was always the same. She would come, straight up buy enough bottles to take down even the heaviests of the Dunkelfelgerian drinkers after s long thrilling game of ditter and just sat alone at the very same corner for hours and hours. And pretty much no one dared to get closer to her, as those scary eyes were more than enough evidence that she had dozens of squeletons in closet and wouldn't mind adding a few more to the collection.

There wasn't much that was known about the woman, but the keeper had his suspicions through observation and deduction. She didn't seemed or behaved like a regular flower, at least not in the stablishment, but it wasn't uncommon for them to relieve the stress from 'work' through Vantole's influence.

But she was... different. She had the bearings and poise of a noble, every movement she did exuded such practiced grace that it seemed to just came as naturaly as to breath. But the woman wore clothes decent enough for a not-so-wealthy merchant, but he couldn't shake the feeling that it was all a ruse. She was downplaying her own wealth, if the paint over her nails and the rouge at her lips were anything to go by. Only high class merchants and nobles had access to it, as if he remembers correctly, rouge was a almost extinct product in the market as it was a export from Gleissenmeyer before the light gate come to close. No flower in his knowledge earned enough to dress up in clothes of such quality or waste such quality makeup in the lower city. It was a profession for the desperates after all. Even the most requested noble flowers still earned a couple of small silvers mostly.

Her skin was also very pale and seemly soft by looks alone,as if treated by the finnest oils. There was no sign of bruises, scratches, sun burns or anything that could sign she was a worker in any workshop. And he for sure never heard about her anyway too.

Also not to forget, the amount of alcohol she bought everytime, was really expensive for a mere workshop employee. She always bought a grand silver worth of alcohol at least once a week!

So there was only two options remaining for him at that. She either was a secret rich heir, maybe daughter of some merchant... or worse...

She was a noble in disguise. And that thought alone was what kept the owner to seek more answers about the mysterious woman afraid for his life. He internally cursed, asking himself what in the fuck is a noble doing going drunk in a shitty tavern at the slums?! But besides all her poise and grace that she exuded all the time she entered, it would always fade away as her cheeks gained a tint of red and rose and her gaze lost its focus.

In the end, it didn't mattered whether she was a noble is disguise or not. As the drunkness overtook her senses, all that was left was a pitifull broken woman at verge of crying but which said tears had long gonne dry. That also made him realize something about their society that so far seemed so... alien.

Nobles are humans too. They can be broken, they can feel such deep emotional turmoils that made such beauty throw away all her dignity and give herself up to alcohol.

In fact, the barman wasn't that far off the mark about his assumptions. But the truth about her was much grandeour than any could expect. She wasn't a mere lay or even a med noble like expected as a common occurence through the fallen noble ladies that might end up venturing in the lower city as their reputation as thrown in the mud, becoming well requested flowers by the richest merchants.

Sat alone in the dark, was none other than Mycaella Tochter Adotie Hauchletze, once also known as Rozemyne Tochter Yurgenschmidt;

Not just a noble. But a daughter of the archducal clan.

Not just a archduke candidate, but a hidden royal princess of the current zent faction.

And somehow, here she was, thrown away at the corner of filthy tavern in the slums of the lower city, almost falling apart under Vantole's influence, and looking barely distinguishable for a flower specially with her massive bossom pressed against the table like that, giving ample view for all to see how large and soft they trully were.

Seriously, how far would she fall, for her to reject and despise her own name like that?

Mycaella? She scoffed, that was barely an excuse to not admit that she felt revulsion at being called Rozemyne anymore. As... that would always be the case, wouldnt? Just another of the constants of her disgracefull life, being toyed by the gods and just always being discarded. She couldn't bear the disgust at herself, the same she felt for being called by the name of who once was The saint of Ehrenfest, the Divine Avatar of Mestionora, the once so innocent, gentle, kind and playful otherwordly child. The proud daughter of the Linkbergs, the woman who crowned the next true Zent in centuries, the legend that took over a foundation to save her lover and became the first ever underaged aub. The once:

Rozemyne Tochter Linkberg Adotie Ehrenfest Aub Alexandria!

But the truth was... If the weave is gonna be undone once again, so why should she even care? Why should she bother? Why care about herself? About anything really?!

Status? Money? Reputation? None of that mattered if she would just start back once again.

That was her decision at that day when she woken up once again in a new pattern. The petty goddess made her a royal princess, seriously?! Were they so desperate to guarantee that she would have no other choice than following the path to get that damned book, that they made her part of the exact same family they made her exterminate and shame time and time again?!

"Heh, suck that hard, you fucking losers" She murmured and giggled to herself in her alcoholic stupor, showing her middle fingers to the entities only she could see. Knowing that she once again defied their expectations.

Ever since the time she saw... those eyes. Those orange golden eyes of the Klassenberg princess looking at her with a look of such betrayal, desperation, as she slowly turned into stone watching her once friend destroy her medal right in front of her... Eglantine eyes at that day still haunt her worse nightmares.

Ever since then, the perceived just how... wicked their gods trully were and how fucked her existence trully was. She was a monster. Or... the gods wanted her to be a monster.

But well, jokes on you, she refused to keep following with that crap! That was one of the perks of being a time traveler, you had infinite time to learn and absorb things. After the 26th loop, she pretty much memorized the entirety of the important parts of the wisdom, including its spells. She also had enough time to learn and practice a lot of magic, so she was full of tricks under her sleeves.

Sum that up with the fact that she due to the constant interference of those fuckers, left her with most of her vessel as divine mana... and you get someone that has all tools to fight against her own destiny... maybe...

But what Rozemyne did with all that power and knowledge? She run away.

Fuck being a spoiled royal brat. Fuck being part of an archducal family or whatever shit the gods wanna pull over her.

All she wanted now was to live her miserable meaningless life in peace.

But, deeply, Rozemyne was disgusted by what she had become, a despicable filthy woman who spent most of her time barely councious under the thin veil that separates Vantole's and Schlaftraum realms, a shameless flower — oh the irony, she just had become exactly what once was a severe insult her back in the shrine maiden days... now it was her reality — but instead of doing it for money, she was worse and lower than any flower... as she did it for mere comfort, carnal pleasure and means to forget about everything.

She was just whore.

And seriously, did it even mattered? Her chastity or reputation or whatever would just reset at the next loop. At least it was quite amusing to her, having a mere nasty commoner deflouring and dirtly insulting a royal princess that is.

She trully hated herself, so this level of degradation trully served her. And she must admit it was quite the thrilling experience, throw her status in the mud. But only in the secluded space of a chamber.

But inside, Rozemyne knew that all that, was just her delaying the inevitable, and punishing herself for her own flaws and mistakes. She knew that at some point the world reset back. Either the gods would redo the weave once they noticed the pattern she woven wasn't what they desired, or once she was bored enough with her current reality, she would force them to unwoven it by... alternative methods.

At least now, after over hundred years of trial and error, she managed it. She found a way to live as a commoner like she always wanted back in her first days! But oh the irony, that when she finally manages to live as a filthy commoner like she oh so desires, is when she is doing it as a sick way to chastise herself.

"Pfft... Serves me right" She chuckled once again, finishing her last cup of vize.

Over her couple of loops, Rozemyne learned so much more about herself. Who she trully is She was never intended to be a commoner, trully! Only once she lived a life as a noble entirely from birth to death, just to once again be born as a commoner she understood that... yeah she was always a noble through and through. A despicable, power hungry, scheeming noble just like any other that she used to despise in her Myne days. The peasant life never trully fitted her, she was spoiled rotten as Urano anyway. She just came in acceptance of her true nature.

Just how ironic is that she's now willingly living the peasant life just a mean to harm her own pride, destroy her ego and punish herself by laying down with disgusting filth?

She trully was a revolting woman. But she couldn't care less, as at least she managed to fuck up with these selfish gods that she stopped praying to a long time ago.

Once the last bottle of alcohol was emptied to the last drop, she stood up and walked slowly to the exit, with a satisfied trembling smile on her face, just as always. Wobbling, staggering from how drunk she trully was, caughting the attention of all the filth around who eyed her like a delectable piece of meat. In a playful manner, she scoops a bit of her midnight blue bangs in her delicate fingers, long nails painted with a soft white and pink gradient, and combs it backwards, making her soft and glossy hair sway in a dignified, arrogant way, appropriately true to her status, but also oh so sexy. She savoured the ferocious and carnal gaze of the peasants watching her goddess eternal beauty, the very movement of the soft curves gifte to her by Gedulh.

She eyed a few of them — probably soldiers from their physiques only— the pale golden orbs with a lustful glaze under them, gazing over the scum like a predator eyeing a prey, a seductive smile playing on her rouge painted lips that had a few of them gulping from the pressure of her gaze only.

But not today. She would leave at that, the mehren and the stick was one of her best polished weapons. And they knew oh so well that they could only ever lay a finger on this divine sculptured body if she so is willing. Such delectable flower had the most vicious thorns after all.

She walks out of the tavern, wobbling and swaying her hips back and forth, until the very end that she is out of their sight. Turning around an empty alley just at the back of the tavern.

"Rucken" She gently murmurs a spell and suddenly a ivory colored wand shows up at her hands. These fuckers really believed that she would be forced to go to the academy to obtain her divine will? Well, fuck them for giving her so much divine mana and overlooking the consequences.

She built her very own schtappe, thank you oh so much for being such stupid arrogant deities that never considered this a possibility.

Rozemyne trully out maneuvered the gods this time, she forged her own death avoiding needing to stamp a medal, made her own schtappe through divine mana and now was completely out of sight for most of the gods... trully, there was absolute no reason whatsoever for her ever becoming a noble again if she so desires. The least ceremonies she participate, the least the gods will know about her whereabouts and avoid then being dragged to their nasty schemes.

However, she did missed the easy life of being surrounded by atendants, scholars and etc. At least it wasn't so... lonely.

"Grutrissheit" She chanted, transforming her wand into a diptchy, well besides the cursed spell that if someone ever heard a "commoner" like her spelling, would probably put her to the chop block; It wasn't the damned book she hated so fucking much. It was more like a personal diary that no one would be able to sneak in and steal. Where she stored all her spells for quick access.

It was quite the useful tool really. Infinite blank pages that could be filled with the usage of stylo, avoiding the entire need for the introduction of paper to the duchy. As well, Rozemyne now kinda... hated books with a passion.

Oh the irony, the once self proclaimed bookworm, now hated books.

"Copy and Paste" She picked one of the magic circles in the diptchy with a second wand she just conjured, lifting the copy in the air and pasting it against the wall and then expanding it with a quick diagonal movement of the wand, before saturating the circle with mana and activating it.

Rozemyne chuckled once again, as she always did whenever she was about to break some really big rule from that world and society. Because truth be told, she was above all else. It took her many lives and deaths to realize that all her humbleness was merely an act due to her japanese upbringing.

She was above all. After all, only the Zent is above all. And she is the eternal Zent of Yurgenschmidt throught all the patterns and weaves.

"Well, I am also technically part of the archducal family of Hauchletze, so the aub wont be too mad with me if I do something only him is supposed to, right?" She chuckled and activated the circle, which imediatelly teleported her back to her humble teleporting hall. There she walked through the room, filled with lots of tapestries with embroided circles in them, and some empty ones for copy and paste. After some debating she decided to just teleport to her humble house at the Hauchletze capital anyway, she could maybe spend some time in Dunkelfelger or Immerdink, but eh, she was too drunk to care. She only wanted to plop into her bed and sleep profusely now.

So she did, after teleporting and getting out of her hidden room at her lowly peasant house, she took down her clothes, dressed some appropriate night gowls for a noble lady like her, waschened herself to remove the filth from being in the lower city and ploped into her rutreb smelling pillows.

It didn't took long for schlaftraum to meet her into his palace once again, but this time she quickly realized that something... was... amiss. The place reminded her of the times she took jureve.

She didn't liked this not even a bit.

And sure enough, not long after she was met with the sudden appearance of a round table and a triplet of chairs. A wondrous tea set was right over the table with a few of her own cookies and pound cake! Well, she wouldnt pass the offer if those pety gods trully had found her. That just meant her time playing around was comming to an end pretty soon. She would just need to make sure to enjoy her last moments to the last bit until the next reset.

She didnt even cared about waiting for her hosts or doing poison checks or whatever, property be damned. None of these fuckers were worthy of her devotion and respect anyway. When she was meeting them personaly was something, as she could be crushed by their mana and it hurt like hell. Other entirely different thing was inside Schlaftraum's realm.

Rozemyne deduced that from all the gods, Schlaftraum was probably one of the few she still kept some sort of respect, as he was one of the few gods that was absolutely impossible to run away from. His domain was the dreams, every living human being was over his influence with or without a medal. So if her past experiences tell her something, is that Schlaftraum kept her wereabouts under the shroud of Verbergen. Otherwise her other escape attempts would never work in her favour.

Well... they kinda didn't. She either died somehow or the gods found her somewhere and dragged her back to the noble path. She hoped that maybe in this current life, she was so corrupted by the filth that she would never be accepted as a noble once again. Mycaella was trully disgusting, noble society would eat her alive if they ever so dreamed about what sort of endeavours their precious princess was into. She chuckled at the thought

She probably would be put in the white tower for such transgression. Not that it would be of any worth, schtappe sealing cuffs could only seal a schtappe... but she could manifest her by molding the divine mana. If she was pety enough she could even unload her divine mana directly into the foundation and steal the duchy for her.

That actually sounds kinda fun to do. She might get herself trapped in a white tower in the next loop just to attempt this villaneous move.

Once she heard steps coming closer, she didn't even bothered to stand up or offer any greetings, just eyed who was pestering her now... only to be surprised by both a goddess she never expected to be here to begin with, and another one, who she never ever saw before... but a single glance at new mysterious, vicious looking woman was enough for Rozemyne to get shivers down her spine and sat straighter in the chair with her smirk widening just a bit through excitement that such feroucious and dangerous looking woman brought by her looks alone.

I love her eyes

Chapter Text

I love her eyes

Such a vicious, venomous gaze, filled with hidden intentions and malice. The eyes of a true predator measuring its prey to find the best course of action. Such a mesmerizing gaze that reminded me of my time as one of the Vixens of Klassenberg

Such were her thoughts as she eyed the ferocious, unknown woman in front of her. Or was she truly unknown? For only divine beings could enter such spaces, and since she already met the entirety of the pantheon... that woman could only possibly be the one and only Chaoscipher.

Rozemyne was mesmerized by her sheer beauty, rose-purple hair with a pair of wavy sidelocks framing the sides of her face, pointy, sharp eyes gazing at her with blood red eyes much deeper than any of Dunkelfelgerian lineage. The woman wore a surprisingly revealing outfit, an off-shoulder black kimono with red and golden flowers, rich embroidery all over it. 

A red obi highlighting her curves even further, making her massive bosom practically scream to be released, and due to the nature of the outfit, just a mere pull and they would be free in their full glory.

Her hair was decorated with golden and silver hairpins in a complicated braided bun, large dangling earrings and a large omni-elemental necklace right over her breasts, perfectly fitting right in the middle, adding even more focus that kept your eyes coming back to the large udders. It looked eerily similar to a engagement feystone... 

To say she was absolutely slaying in that outfit would be an understatement. Rozemyne even questioned herself, how in the god’s name the God of Darkness managed to keep himself faithful to his only wife, with such a temptress around? Or how even Ewigeliebe resisted with such a stunning babe around?

But well, her improper thoughts were disturbed by a short cough from Kunstzeal and a giggle from the other goddess. Even her giggle carried a dangerous atmosphere to it, so much was hidden under so many layers of deception. Rozemyne immediately had one thought running through her mind.

I want to be just like her

"My, seems someone was quite eager and already... 'poison tested' our treats." She teased, but her gaze and smile were just like Elvira's. It was a well hidden chastisement for her previous behaviour. She sat straighter at the chair and took a small sip of tea to hide her current turmoil.

"Pray tell, I wasn't informed of such a meeting in advance. And I might still be under the influence of Vantole, so pardon any improper behaviour on my part. So what have I done to deserve such a wondrous meeting?"

It was Kunstzeal who answered first.

"Well, Myne, you may try to keep it hidden under your smile, but it is clear that you are nurturing a deep hatred for us gods, if your actions have been anything to go by." She sighs deeply and keep a stern face as she glares at the rebel woman. "As you well already should know by now. This weave was deemed a failure. And the highest seats decided that it will soon be rewoven to a new pattern."

Rozemyne tried to ignore the past chastisement and cupped her cheeks in the classical Angelica pose to faint ignorance and answered:

"My, my, is that so? Pray tell, if that was all, then such a meeting wouldn't be necessary right? We could have waited until the weave was completely taken apart and I climbed back the towering stairs for our usual conference, no?"

Caoscipher, who was just observing so far, tightened her gaze even more towards the girl, but her smile didn't not change even a bit. She took the lead then:

"You're correct in your assessment, but as ladies we must abide by some etiquettes and conventions. A lady's elegance and how she conducts herself veiling intentions and emotions under the auspices of Verbergen is our most precious weapon that should always be sharpened like a blade. A dull knife is the most dangerous to its user. Letting your emotions take over proper customs and leak your resentment can end a negotiation on prices you aren't exactly willing to pay. Griefechan smiles more brightly to those who wield Sehweit and Duldsetzen. But your own stupidity left you with no other choice." Rozemyne almost grimaced but resisted because of her lady training. It felt almost like a slap to the face. Caoscipher called her out for her stupid tantrums, but not for her hatred. She just needed to be more... subtle about it.

Seeing that her admonishment had the desired effect, Caoscipher smiled and took a sip of tea, before continuing the conversation. 

"Dregarnhur has woven out threads of fate today for matters beyond the domain of time as we speak auspiciously under the shroud of Verbergen away even from the scrutiny of those who rule the high seats in the heavens..." She took a long sip of tea to bring some moisture to her lips before continuing, but Kunstzeal took the lead first: 

"Myne, lets forsake the dance of grammaratur for a bit as I am in need to be blunt with you because you so deserve after all that has been done. It hurts us profusely to watch your suffering in those uncountable loops without any purpose. You're disgracing yourself in the name of Vantole and Beischmach, forsaking all your dignity as a lady and furthering yourself away from the blessings of Heilschmerz and Deurleben. And i speak in the literal sense. If you keep threading this path those gods will remove the blessings they bestowed upon you. You're a human through and through, it scared me profusely the prospect that you might be forsaken of Heilschmerz and the frequency of reweaves will increase even further."

Rozemyne was caught completely off guard by that. Kunstzeal admonished her by having turned into a shameless drunk whore. That... pissed her off. What does they expect from her?! At the point she is, those are the only things that can sate her pain and loneliness, as her once beloved books now only serve to bring terrible memories and torment her nightmares. She needs Vantole to fall asleep otherwise her errant thoughts will torment her perturbed mind in silence of her bedchambers.

She has turned addicted to the hearing of her own moans, the bed creaking became a beautiful melody that takes away her worries as she can only focus on drowning herself further and further in the bliss. When focusing on carnal pleasure is when she can feel somewhat in peace with herself even if it does disgusts her profusely whenever she comes sober and looks at what she has done and become.

And disgusts her even further to see a nasty commoner laying side by side in her own bed. But her disgusted self is sated by the fact that soldiers know to fuck oh so much better than any other noble ever could. And as she won't ever get pregnant or contract any STD due to mana, they are the absolute best partners a horny slut like her could ever desire... if only they weren't trash lowly commoners...

She does miss mana mixing though, it added a whole new layer of pleasures that were almost as addictive as a drug, but noble customs and their lack of understanding on how to fuck and achieve pleasure threw all the benefits of mana mixing out of the window.

Rozemyne even considered taking some devouring slaves for herself and training them as her personal fucktoys. But finding devouring commoners ends up being extremely difficult as they usually die before even being baptized! And unless you are in Ahrensbach, there are almost zero market for human trafficking due to the problem with medals. And even in Ahrensbach the devourings were turned into soldiers or mana wombs mostly and dealing with their contracts was a pain.

She was already far too gone in this. She was a nympho, if they ever made her a child once again, that would be an absolute torture! To be away from sex and alcohol for years . Not even considering that she could be tormented by her memories for the entirety of those years... yikes.

It was Caoscipher to came to her aide in this:

“Now, now, let’s not be too hasty. It is natural that she has recurred to these… means as a way to cope with the intense trauma and pain. But I am also worried about your health in this case. You need to keep your brain sharp to thread carefully if you want us to aide you in freeing you from this cycle and putting on end to this farce.”

And just like that, what was once anger and frustration by the selfish request of the gods, melted down as Rozemyne was caught completely off guard and her noble mask shattered like a thin layer of glass. Her eyes displayed a myriad of emotions. Confusion, hope, sadness, despair, angst... so she had to confirm what they were talking about. There's no way it was... it... right?

"End this farce? W-Whatever you mean? My looping nature became intrinsic to the maintenance of the garden. How are you expecting to... stop it? If it is related to the perfect weave, I am still trying but nowhere even close!"

Kunstzeal giggled at her expense, but it was quite clear that Rozemyne just didn't want any false hopes. It was quite amusing to see.

"None of that child. It is a fact that your thread is bound to the weave and taking you out of it would cause some massive problems. However, it is not entirely impossible. With the proper groundwork we can give you your well deserved rest and put an end to all this insurmountable suffering."

At that moment, Rozemyne’s eyes became wet and glossy. Propriety be damned once again, as the tears that started to flow over her cheeks kept pulling the next ones. It was a torrent of emotions coming out, gladly she was at Schlaftraum's realm otherwise her mana would go on a massive rampage.

The tears kept coming over and over, her dignified face crumbled and all the pain, all the seemingly eternal suffering swelling at the depths of her chest came all out at once, like a big explosion.

Her divine mana boiled like never before and a huge shockwave shook the entirety of the dream palace. And out of the cracks on the space itself, flew red strings, tightly knit together but once they came out of the cracks on the reality, the said strings separated and spread across the view.

The strings became planes and the planes became memories.

The memory of a little girl screaming for her life while her body was forced to grow years in mere minutes.

Memories of a young woman running into the supply room of a duchy, and immediately kneeling next to her once beloved.

Memories of the same scene, but this time she was too late. The grieving screams of a young lady who lost who she loved the most covered the entire place.

Then the memories of the same girl going back in time to fix her beloved thread with her own, just to have half of her belly open, with her guts flowing out of it, the excruciating pain being such that her mind was barely able to process how much she was suffering. The blood pooling under her body, as she watched the same creature that just tore her belly open, blow up the head of her beloved seconds before her eyes shut for good.

Memories of a hurt, handcuffed girl barely in her teens, desperately running through the woods, bruises all over her body, deep knife cuts leaving traces of blood in her unfortunate but useless attempt to escape. The sound of wings flapping behind and over her; The same girl tripping on her own feet and falling head on a rock, the pain was nothing compared to the despair as she heard the rapid footsteps approaching...

The memories of a woman in her late twenties slashing the guts of a ternisbefallen open in a desperate attempt to retrieve her best friend, only to find that the beast had only swallowed half of the pink haired girl.

Many memories of a little child, a teen in dark robes and wearing a myriad of colorful capes, a beautiful woman and a pretty mature lady, screaming in agony over and over again, filling the entire dream palace with their pleas for mercy, forgiveness, or help, for someone to save them or who they loved.

The memories all turned into a white blur as all her previous versions were shown kneeling before a young lady who looked just like her, with a sickening smile on her face as she ordered her to just do something different.

Memories of the girl sitting at a table with other seven powerful entities, discussing something. As the memories flew by, the girl seemed less and less overwhelmed by their presence and gradually her fear and subservience turned into annoyance, hatred.

It then flashed quick images of a young kid slashing the throat open of a young man and throwing up immediately after with tears swelling in her eyes.

But incredibly the exact same scene repeated itself, over and over, but each time, the girl looked more unfazed by her actions. Until at the last flash she is shown not only slashing his throat open, but stabbing all over his body over and over and over and over in a burst of rage as her entire face distorted from one of a little child to that of a hateful monster.

The girl was showing up in different situations, with different apparent ages, but all locked in some sort of room, frenetically scribing on parchment while her nose bled from the stress. All their faces were of a woman losing her sanity and sacrificing her own health to achieve something.

A disturbing image was then shown, the young lady with a soft smile and a creepy blush on her face, next to an empty bottle of vize on the grass, holding one of her arms stretched across the border of her own duchy, holding her own medal. While the other arm is attempting to burn said medal with the banishing ceremony. She grows frustrated as the magic refuses to obey her, she slams her fists over and over against the walls in a fit of rage until they are burning in exposed flesh, then she breaks the bottle on the wall and cuts her own throat open without a moment of hesitation.

The same girl, who was sitting at the table next to the two goddesses, held her own throat as the phantom pains caused by the memories hurt her exactly like the day they happened.

She started to scratch her skin deep with her nails, drawing blood across her arms as she felt the phantom pains of numerous stabbings, or bites from feybeasts, burning flesh when hit by some vicious magical tools, her bones creaking when once she was tossed out of her highbeast and fell straight to her death, hitting innumerous tree branches in the path...

The woman screamed, she just screamed, digging her nails deep into her flesh after uncountable minutes stuck in this state of endless suffering and pain, that a last memory came to be.

The very same memory that haunted her nightmares. The pair of orange golden eyes looking at her with an indescribable despair, betrayal and sadness. The bright pair of eyes slowly fading and losing their light as the blonde woman’s tears dried on her face, leaving ugly marks all across the once soft and perfect cheeks. The woman, kneeling down, with her hands cuffed at her back, could only shake her face slightly in a plea for forgiveness as her body slowly turned into rock. She gradually lost the movements of her neck as she watched her own medal burning in front of her once considered friend. The shock, the pain of betrayal, the incapability of looking anywhere else than straight into the eyes of the one who did this to her... those orange eyes were permanently burned into her memory as she watched her friend turning into dust and being carried away by the wind, but not even for a fraction of an instant did Eglantine take her eyes away from hers.

After all that, Rozemyne somehow seemed to calm down, as a smile crept into her face; a sickening smile of a madwoman about to lose her sanity. But, besides all those painful memories, Caoscipher words brought her happiness unlike anything ever could.

She smiled and cried out of sheer joy, as if she was a kid who got gifted the most expensive toy that she always wanted. The goddess couldn’t just keep watching in silence such a horrible scene. They both rushed next to the falling apart girl, Kunstzeal embraced her head and caressed her hair for comfort, while Caoscipher whispered words of comfort in her ears while gently drying her tears with her thumb. Kunstzeal had the idea to sing something to her, a music capable fo calming her nerves, but as the art goddess there were just too many musics in her mind that she turned incapable of making a choice. 

So it was Caoscipher who took the chance to sing a lullaby that Rozemyne… or rather, Urano, might know well. 

They had some ideas on what the poor being had been through, but due to the lack of prayers their views were distorted. Now that they had a full view of at least a fraction of what this poor child had gone through... they both felt the urge to throw up but had to keep being strong for her sake.

It was sickening. It was vile. And they both silenced vowed that this would come to an end!

Rozemyne kept crying, now with a smile on her face for a little longer, Caoscipher song, the nostalgic melody was a deep, emotional song that she used to love as a teen, it’s lyrics were powerful, deep and quite dark… but it’s message was even more powerful. Especially because it was the exact same song, she used as Urano to cope with the pain of losing her father. 

Even if she was hated by life itself, she must keep living.

She smiled at that, and from that smile, she herself brought her voice to sang a part that resonated so well with herself. A first time in some many… years.. centuries, that she ever used her japanese. It honestly hurt to know how much she missed her mother language. Even more more, how after all those years she hasn’t forgot her mother , her original mother completely. Even when distancing herself completely from all her other families, Urano’s mother held a special place in her darkened heart. 

“ I might just die tomorrow, you know., 

everything might just end up being for naught,

morning, nights,

Springs and autumns.

Unchanging, someone dies somewhere.”

And her soft voice just kept going, immersed in the lost memories of her good old days as the bookworm freak who threw all in her life, wasted all her time reading… and now regret every second she could have spend with her true mother . The one that will never be replaced, as there wont ever be a reweave of Urano. Earth is in a separate pantheon after-all. 

“ Hated by life itself,

in the end, we’ll die anyway.

You will, I will, 

one day all of us will rot away like fallen leaves, but regardless, we live on frantically– Shouldering out lives, frantically we live. Killing, Struggling, laughing, shouldering it all… but living”

After that, Rozemyne slowly turned her head up, calmed down, finally able to voice what brought such joy to her heart. The great irony of melody that once served to keep her living through the pain, now brought her strength to keep living to achieve her one and only goal:.

"Finally! I F-Finally! I-I-I... I will finally be able to die..."