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Chapter Text

Great Tree Moon,
day 15 Year 1174

"What do you mean, you're leaving the company?" the twelve years old Dorothea almost screams, lowering her voice as she feels her vocal chords straining. Her emerald eyes twinkle with tears as she stares at the woman of a certain age waking up in the bed in front of her.

Manuela has a rough time emerging from her slumber, simultaneously hit by the slammed door, her protegee's voice and the natural light of the sun outside her dark, messy room. She sits up on her bed, covering herself with her white sheet although she's still fully dressed up from last night, massaging a temple. "What was that?" the woman asks as she brushes her light-brown, shoulder-length and tangled hair out of her face.

"Phylie told us what you said yesterday night," Dorothea enters the room, gracefully stepping around the clothes littered around the floor. Her beautiful brown mane sway elegantly as she moves to sit on the bed. From up-close, Manuela can see that the girl is already ready for the day - dressed, hair taken care of, and light touches of makeup on her face. Meanwhile, the light touches of makeup that were on her own face are now spread on the pillow and all across her face. Manuela intuitively runs a hand on the side of her mouth. If it was to clean smudged lipstick or saliva stains, that's for her and only her to know. Dorothea stares at her mentor in the eyes intensely, barely containing her tears. "You're leaving the opera?"

"Not right now, I'm not. Phylis is maybe underestimating the time I'm still going to spend here," Manuela chuckles weakly. "First, let me sing one last time on the big stage. Then I–"

"But that's only in over two months!" Dorothea interrupts her, raising her voice again. "You can't be leaving us then, that's too soon!" You can't be leaving me, she wants to scream. She notices Manuela wincing at the sound of her voice, so the girl gets up, walks up to the desk, opens a glass bottle, smells it - yup, that's water - and pours some of it in a whiskey glass. She hands Manuela the glass.

"Thank you dear," the woman answers, sipping. "I know it seems soon to you, but it's not too soon for me." Dorothea grabs a new set of clothes from the wardrobe and hands it to Manuela while taking the glass of water back. She turns around, giving her mentor the intimacy to get changed. "I used to get the roles of the princess, the damsel in distress. I was the ingenue..." Manuela sighs. "Don't get me wrong, it is a great honor for me to play the goddess, but I'm not going to wait around until I get cast as the Grand-Progenitor God in a play."

Dorothea hugs herself tightly, now growing silent. She didn't get any of it, she was too young. Why was it a problem to grow old in the opera, and to see your roles change? As long as you had a roof over your head, a bed to sleep in and a warm meal, at the end of the day, why did any of this matter? What truly mattered is that Dorothea didn't want to lose the one person who turned her life around by bringing her to the Mittelfrank Opera Company. Manuela gave a street urchin her chance to shine, and although it can get really dark in the opera house once the projectors are off, it's leagues better than the life the girl's own father had given her. Would this place be the same without the Divine Songstress she was so grateful for, training and guiding her behind the closed curtains of that stage?

"Plus, will I ever get a better role to bow on the stage as a last hurrah? Playing our beautiful and kind goddess, thanking her for the voice she gave? That's the opportunity of a lifetime, if you ask me!" Manuela says, placing a hand on Dorothea's shoulders, announcing that she's done dressing up. Manuela circles around the girl, smiling brightly at her and lowering herself to be face to face with her. She's still a little disheveled from her rude awakening. "You have to admit, as a diva, I know how to make an entrance... and I know how to exit the scene just as well. If not better!"

Dorothea lets out a chuckle mixed with a sob. She sniffles once and wipes away her tears. After taking a deep breath, she begins tidying up the room, freeing her shoulders from Manuela's gentle grasps. "I'll help you with all this." Carefully, she picks the clothes up from the ground, folds them gently, and places them in a basket in the corner of the room.

"You're an angel, Dorothea. I know I'm leaving the company in good hands with you. I do, truly." Manuela sits at her vanity, brushing her hair with her hands a few more times, then pushing her face up with her hands. Dorothea briefly looks back at the woman then turns away, blushing. Embarrassment due to praise is not befitting of a diva, after all! "What time is it?"

"It's almost noon," Dorothea says, discreetly rolling one of her mentor's empty bottles of alcohol into clothes and placing it in the basket, pretending she didn't see a thing.

"Noon?!" Manuela's orange eyes widen widely as she slams her hands on the vanity to get back up. "I'll never be ready for rehearsal at this rate! I haven't even bathed yet!"

"It's okay," Dorothea smiles. "Phylie talked to the director already. They've decided to start with the scenes you're not in today, they expected you to..." she pauses to think her words, closing the basket, the room looking a lot more tidy now. "Be a little late, as you had a big networking event last night."

Manuela sighs of relief. "I don't know what I did to deserve such wonderful colleagues, honestly. You all are such gifts from the goddess."

Silence fills the room once more as Dorothea smiles. She stands there, staring into the distance for a moment, while Manuela searches around her room for what she needs to shower.

"Say, Manuela," Dorothea finally looks back at her. "When you leave, what will you do? Where will you live? Work?"

"That's a good question." Manuela pauses, taking her time to consider her answer. She finally holds what she was looking for. "Through some of my connections, I could potentially weasel my way into the role of a professor at the Officer's Academy of the Garreg Mach Monastery. After all, I'm a competent swordswoman and a physician." She chuckles. "Can you believe it, though? I'm a great faith magic user, and yet I've never healed or saved anyone's life. I think it makes it all the more important for me to go and try to undertake new endeavors."

Dorothea opens her mouth to answer, the word "you saved me," crawling their way from her heart to her mouth, but they never could. Olive, one of the artists of the company barges in. Her long pink braids move like whips framing her face, the urgency mellowed out by the big, fluffy ponytail behind her head. "There you are!" Olive pants. "Manuela, please we... Nina is... There's blood everywhere! You must come this instant!"

For someone so used to panicking, Olive's urgency seemed stronger than ever before. Her dark pink eyes are wide open, darting from one side of the room to the other. She's visibly shaking, and it seems the adrenaline has made her drop her signature stuttering. All the traces of alcohol in Manuela's blood from last night seem to vanish instantly at the worrying sight. The sudden loud appearance of Olive doesn't accentuate her headache, instead it seems to wake her up fully. Perhaps the woman's wish to save a life may be about to be granted. Or maybe, given the terrifying description of the scene, it's already too late for that.

Manuela and Dorothea exchange a glance, then the woman darts off towards the door. "Where?" she tells Olive who dashes down the halls of Enbarr's opera house. On the stone floor, the three woman's footsteps are loud and chaotic, fast-paced, disorganized. From Manuela's to Nina's room, the whole place seems oddly empty, everyone already getting ready for rehearsals.

Olive stops in her tracks, right in front of the dreaded door. "She was late, so I got worried and I went to check up on her... and then... and then... I found here here like this..."

Manuela puts a hand on the door's handle, getting ready to whatever it is she's about to see. "Dorothea, stay back," she commands. The girl mustn't be subjected to what's going on behind that closed door. There was still time to save her from such visions, from such sights.

The Divine Songstress had seen it all. Such a vicious crime happening in the opera house wouldn't be the first. All it takes is one noble to start believing that they have any kind of ownership over one of the artists, and then it could go wrong oh so fast. Manuela knew what was going to happen next. She'd open this door slowly, her stomach twisting with apprehension. Once the door opens, her eyes will slam shut for a second, postponing seeing the horrifying scene for as long as possible. Then, they will open again and rest on something incomprehensible. First, the blood spilled more or less chaotically, depending on the type of wounds that were inflicted. Sheets permanently stained red that will have to be thrown out. Then, the signs of struggles. A fallen chair, shards of glass littered around the floor...

And then, only then, would Manuela see the body. Sometimes, in the most extreme cases, more than one. At times, those two bodies weren't both victims of murder. Each one was different, you can never really get used to it. These people you loved were unrecognizable. She remembers, she's seen crime weapons protruding from their chest, or laying on the ground next to them, or they had simply vanished. None of these people she'd lost looked peaceful. The lights in their eyes were so violently snuffed out. Manuela's own eyes begin to well up. She knew what was going to happen next.

At times, Manuela regretted taking Dorothea to such a wonderful and lowly place. What was so different from here and the street, at the end of the day? She could have taken her literally anywhere else. Sure, the girl now had a roof over her head, but she'd have to work for it, fight for it. The upside of Mittelfrank was that the people working here were genuinely kind, they were all working in harmony... but it would take only one cog to stop working in unison for the whole organization to go awry. One person wanting to crush the others for the whole castle to come down. Joining the opera was the most incredible decision Manuela had ever taken, but it was also the scariest one. It changed her forever, for better or worse.

And now, she'd put that on the shoulders of poor little Dorothea. Manuela could save her from seeing this, though. She could stop her from witnessing the untimely demise of one of her friends. Maybe she could even spare her from seeing the reaction of Nina's brother, Mills, when he'll hear the news. She swallows back her tears and checks that both Olive and Dorothea are far away enough so that they won't see through the cracked open door.

Manuela pulls the handle down and pushes forward, her stomach twisting with apprehension. For a moment, her eyes slam shut. Then, they open again, and they land on the pristine white sheets of the bed that was carefully made this morning. Walls, exempt of red stains. A beautiful glass vase with a bouquet of white and light blue flowers rest upon the desk, where a chair was meticulously pushed back in. And then, and only then, does Manuela see it...

The floor. She's not used to seeing the floor in someone's room - there's usually a bunch of stuff on there - so it took her a minute to adjust. There truly was no sign of any incident happening in that room since yesterday night.

"Nothing..." Manuela whispers, turning around to face Olive. "There's nothing wrong in there."

"What?" Olive demands an answer, tilting her head. "What do you mean there's nothing...?"

Dorothea runs past Manuela, and the woman tries to stop her just in case she missed something in there, and that Nina's body was hidden under the bed, or behind the chair. The girl slips right past her grasp, though, and looks through the door in turn. "You're right, there's no one in there."

Dorothea goes further into the room to investigate. She moves the chair and looks under the desk, opens the wardrobe, flattens herself on the ground to look under the bed. Nothing suspicious anywhere. No traces of a hurt Nina, or anything indicating that a body had been moved out of there recently. "No, nothing."

"Are you okay," Manuela asks. She walks towards Olive and places the back of her hand on her forehead. She doesn't sense a high temperature. So what happened here? Why did she come running for them?

Olive takes a step back. She inhales strongly and shakily. "I saw something, I promise! She was right there! There was blood everywhere!"

"I'm sure you did, dear," Manuela gently places her hands on the teenager's shoulders and gives them a gentle, comforting squeeze. It wasn't the first time in the company the stress would get to someone's head, although not quite so horrifyingly. Olive must have hallucinated this. The Divine Songstress needed her to have hallucinated all of this.

"Hey!" A boy's voice calls out from around the corner of the hallway. Mills dashes towards them, while Dorothea pokes her head out of the door. "What are you doing in Nina's room?" He looks at Olive's panicked face, and raises an eyebrow as he looks at Manuela. His teal, messy hair obscure some parts of his face, but his vibrant red eyes stare at her defiantly. "What's up with her?"

Dorothea similarly looks up at Manuela, although her upside down eyebrows and pouted lips express more concern than Mills's face. What is up with her?, she asks in silence.

"I ask that you don't jump to dreadful conclusions just yet, but..." Manuela takes a deep breath in, trying to calm herself and everyone around at the same time. "Olive saw something in your sister's room after she came to check up on her. She believes that your sister was... hurt. She came to get me, and... I didn't see anyone here. Your sister wasn't there."

Mills scoffs. "That's stupid. My sister can sense when something is wrong. She would have told me if she was in danger," he crosses her arms, staring down at the three of them, one after the other. "So, okay, I get it. She came to you because you're a physician. Then why is Dorothea looking through her stuff? Who gave her the right to do that?"

Dorothea, embarrassed, exits the room to go stand by Manuela. The girl doesn't dare look at the boy her age anymore, and instead, stares at the ground. He was right to point that out, she knew it, but his words were still a little more hurtful than they should have been. It was as if he had accused her of trying to steal something, and he wouldn't be the first one to.

"Then where is she?" Olive suddenly screams. "If you're so sure she's okay and if you're going to call me crazy, where is she?!"

Mills opens his mouth to answer, frowning deeply, but a voice, almost ethereal, resounds from the same corner Mills came from just moments ago.

"... Where is who?" she says.

Olive's eyes widen as if seeing a ghost. She takes a few steps back, grabs her head in her hands and screams.

Nina, from the other end of the hallway, stares at each and every one of them with scared, red-tinted eyes. Her cloak-like light-blue hair sways slowly as she shakes her head in incomprehension. "You're scaring me... What's happening?"

Chapter Text

Great Tree Moon,
day 13, year 1174.

One, two, three, one, two, three, four. The dancer finishes working on their routine. Seven lit candles surround them, covering them in a halo of light in the darkness of the empty theater. The dark red curtains are barely visible as even the light of the moon can't reach the room. In the shadows. The dancer must practice again and again and again until they reach perfection. Outside, they hear the voices and clumsy footsteps of people coming back to the dormitories. It's late, oh so late, already. The dancer must get some sleep before another day of hard work begins. Just one more routine. One more time. To perfection...

Among the shadows filling the audience's velvet seats is a person, observing. They watch the dancer spinning around, their hands reaching for the heavens. They stumble, start over, and spin around again. As fascinating and captivating as a single star rotating around the planet. A lonely cog in an invisible, perfectly manufactured machine. A jolt of electricity in a brain's neurons, firing a brand-new idea.

The dancer was magnificent on their lonesome. Together, they would, with the shadow, become something even greater.

One, two, three, one, two, three... The dancer gracefully steps around the stage and extinguishes each candle, leaving but only one. They grab it, and the stranger gets up from their seat.

Suddenly alerted by a noise in the audience, the dancer's fearful eyes look into the shadows. To the glimmer of terror in their eyes, there is no light to answer. Trying to convince themselves they must have imagined the noise, the dancer leaves the stage in a hurry.

Still, the shadow follows them with their eyes. A black hole, ready to catch the single star rotating the earth and absorb them. Water in the invisible, perfectly manufactured machine, ready to reach the cog and rust the mechanisms. A moment of forgetfulness, stopping the jolt of electricity in its tracks and transforming the idea into something new and much more exciting.

The curtains barely move as they walk-through them. The shadow enters the backstage area, following after their prey. They follow the sounds of the dancer's footsteps, barely audible. The shadow's footsteps are completely silent, as if they were barely touching the ground. They slip through the door closing behind the dancer.

One, two, three. They seems to be in a hurry. Perhaps they fear that they aren't alone. Perhaps they know that they aren't alone. Perhaps they're pretending that they are alone, but not hard enough that their body believes it too.

The dancer should have left when others were in the hallways still, just moments ago. The shadow knows that waiting for the others to disappear in the long halls of the opera was a bad decision. A bad decision that would lead to their own personal success.

The dancer follows the candle throughout the halls of the opera house, as if guided by its light and warmth. They take a turn, and hope to lose whatever spirit is following them. They don't dare look back at. Their room seems so far away still now, no matter how fast they walk. They may never reach it. Two more turns. Two more turns and they'll be there.

One, two, three, one, two, three, four, for every three steps the dancer takes, the shadow takes four. Their meeting is inevitable, soon the black hole, the rusting water and the forgetfulness will reach the star, the cog and the jolt. They will meet, and both will become one.

One more turn, one more turn and they'll be there.

The dancer grabs their room's key from a pocket in their clothes, ready to open their room.

One, two, one more spin and the key will unlock the door. Three.

One, two, three, four steps more and they'll be inside.

One, the shadow raises their hand, two, they start their silent incantation, three, the formulas take shape in the physical world.

One, the dancer enters their room and gets ready to close their door, two, they finally see the shadow following them, three, tendrils of dark magic surround them, four, they stifle the dancer's screams for help, and one by one, they feel their bones break.

One more turn of their arm, one more turn of their leg, everything is breaking and moving about, blood flowing in and out of their body. Their corpse moves, shaken by the tendrils. One more dance before the end.

The shadow enters the room.

One, two, three, spins of the key and then, they close the door.

The star has been swallowed, the cog has been rusted, the jolt has been stopped.

Chapter Text

Great Tree Moon, 
day 15, year 1174.

"Knock-knock," Dorothea says in a sing-songy voice, opening the door to the infirmary with an empty teacup in her hands. Her gaze immediately lands upon Manuela as she hides a bottle behind her desk. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. Nina was kind enough to let me examine her, just so I could put Olive at ease," she brushes her hair back with her hand. Manuela rests her back against her chair, her head hanging back, looking at the ceiling. "I really don't understand what happened there..." She looks back at Dorothea. "Are you okay? I'd understand if you were a little shaken, after what happened earlier today."

The girl approaches and half-sits on the desk, now turning her back slightly to Manuela. "I have no idea how I feel, right now. I just spent a lot of time speaking with Olive, and I really don't understand what happened." Dorothea slides to the ground, her back against the side of the desk, sitting on the ground. She hugs her legs tightly, hiding her face between her knees. "This isn't the way I expected this day to go, you see? But at least... everyone seems okay, so it could be way worse, right?"

Manuela chuckles softly. "You'll have worse days for sure, trust me. Try going on a casual rendez-vous with a friend and two handsome bachelors, and then the man you were coveting runs away, leaving you to dine with a happy, freshly-together couple," this may have been the situation she found herself in, last night. However, this information is not one she's willing to disclose. Venting to kids after a drink was one of the Divine Songstressmany vices, so it was better for everyone involved that she stopped speaking of this before going any further. "That kind of rejection hurts much more than today's stress."

"Try being rejected by your own father because you were born crestless, so, useless to his social climb," Dorothea says, looking blankly at Manuela.

"Touché," the mentor says, picking up a clipboard with messy notes. "You've had worse days, already." She tries to decipher her own handwriting and the intricately random way she wrote on that piece of paper. What do her scribbles mean? 'Hit barf no' with a little doddle of... a lizard? She shakes her head, focusing once more on Dorothea. "Did Olive tell you anything that could explain what happened?"

Dorothea boils up some water over the kitchen stove. She told herself Olive needed some warm tea to begin calming down, but truly, she was the one who needed it. The girl looks carefully at the selection laid out in front of her. What tea would best suit a 'I saw one of my friends dead, but it turns out she's alive and well' situation? She almost reaches for the sweet-apple blend, her personal favorite, but instead takes the chamomile tea. If it won't help Olive calm down, at least, it'll make her sleepy. That's just as good as calming down, right? Moments before it begins to boil, Dorothea takes the kettle off of the fire, pours the water into two lovely porcelain teacups, and dips the teabags for a few minutes. She throws away the bags and adds a huge spoon of honey to one of the two teas. Honey always makes her feel much better, so Olive will probably appreciate it.

With the two teacups in hand, she carefully makes her way to the table where the shaken teenager is sitting. "There you go," Dorothea says, gently putting the tea without honey in front of Olive - by the time she reached the table, the girl decided she needed the honey more. "Do you usually put something in your tea?" she asks, just in case.

Olive looks back at her with a hurt look on her face, her brows furrowed. She must have noticed that she didn't get honey while I did, Dorothea thinks.

The girl sits in front of her friend, on the other side of the table. "So... Now that things have settled down, do you want to tell me about what happened? Step by step, from the beginning?"

"I... I can't explain it. It doesn't make any sense," Olive sighs, shaking her head. Her two braids fall sadly on her lap as she looks straight down at the table. "How do I even start explaining something nobody believes in at all?"

Dorothea looks up at the ceiling. That's true, how do you even start such a story? She doesn't believe that Nina was hurt, that's for sure, but she's willing to trust that Olive did see something. Maybe they should start explaining this story from what they can both agree on?

"So, in summary," Dorothea starts, picking up her tea to take a sip. She suddenly pulls the cup away from her lips, the water is still too hot. She bites her lower lip in apprehension. "So... You were supposed to meet with her earlier today to practice before the official rehearsal started?"

"Yes... we often get together to repeat," Olive places her hands around the cup of tea. "She was-" she interrupts herself. "She is such a good dancer, I've always got something to learn from her."

"I don't know," Dorothea says, staring at her knees. "Did you know Oli and Ninnin were often meeting to practice together? I had no idea about this."

"I think Nina mentioned something about this, when I was checking up on her..." Manuela scratches the side of her face.

"Forgive me for this impromptu examination, Nina," Manuela says, leaving her clipboard on her desk. She's already put a few random doodles on that page, but of course she'll be able to read whatever is written on there later on. She's a professional, after all. "I think a thorough inspection will put Olive's mind at ease."

"... Thorough?" Nina's gaze shifts from the floor to Manuela. Her wide eyes and raised eyebrow express some worry at the idea.

"Well, only the basics, really," Manuela waves with her hand rather dismissively. Swiftly, she ties her hair into a messy bun, and approaches Nina, who's sitting on one of the beds of the infirmary. "Did you have... any memories of something happening to you? Did you hit your head recently, for example?" The physician stands behind Nina and begins parting strands of her hair, checking for signs of a bruise, or some swelling. The young woman shakes her head. "Good," Manuela says, a little frustrated. This would have entangled this situation so perfectly, if she'd simply answered yes... 

The physician moves to one side of Nina to the other, moving her hair out of the way of her ears, checking for blood that may have flooded from the ear canals. She places a hand under Nina's chin and gently pushes her head up to look into her nostrils as well. Nothing. With this information and the lack of any visible wounds on her patient's head, Manuela takes a few steps back to the desk, and writes something amongst the doodles. She taps her pen against the clipboard. "Dizziness?" Nina shakes her head. "Vomiting?" She says no. "Persistent headaches?" The patient answers in the negative. "Memory loss?" Still a no. "Alcohol abuse?" A silence.

"What? No..." Nina answers, her upper lip raised slightly as she frowns at Manuela. The latter brushes over the fact that it feels like a rather judgmental look. It serves no one to begin arguments in such situations.

"I'm not trying to imply you drink yourself to sleep every night, Nina," Manuela says reassuringly. "Those are necessary information I need, because drinking alcohol, prior to an injury to the head, may accentuate symptoms." Another silence. Manuela pats her hair with a hand. "Or so I've heard."

The physician takes a few more notes, before scratching the back of her neck with her pen. "Where were you, when Olive went looking for you? Why did she say you were late, when rehearsals hadn't started yet?" Manuela turns over her clipboard and goes to sit next to Nina.

"I woke up early and decided to go out for a stroll around the city, that's what I usually do during my free mornings," Nina says, shrugging slightly. She curls up slightly, as if trying to disappear. "As for why Olive said I was late, sometimes, we do meet to practice together... Usually, we ask each other about it, and I have no recollections of agreeing with her on that." Manuela turns her clipboard face up once more and takes notes. "I haven't forgotten we were meeting, if that's what you're writing. I simply don't think we did..." The doctor lowers her pen.

"So... They do meet often at those hours, they just didn't agree to today?" Dorothea asks, restlessly moving around the room again to sit on one of the beds.

Manuela massages the side of her face. "Or one of them is misremembering something. I could very well see myself setting up a date with a friend for the next morning and forget I did... don't you?"

"Well..." Dorothea answers, not finishing her sentence. The weight of the years crushes down upon Manuela at the realization that the reason she may forget things does not affect her young protegee just yet... It's even worse than if Dorothea had just ignored the question entirely.

"Regardless," Manuela clears her throat, changing the subject to avoid facing her own mortality and the passing of time. "I still had a question or two I had to ask her, before I could let her go just yet..."

"So you were out? You're usually always with your brother, right? Were you perhaps... visiting a gentleman?" Manuela asks, a playful smile upon her face. Nina, however, doesn't seem to find the implications funny. She looks up at the ceiling, and shrinks a little more.

"I wasn't. I was... alone. I barely know anyone in this city, outside of the opera," she says. Those words don't ring true to Manuela's ears, but it's not her job to spy on the young woman's private life. She was seemingly physically well. In regards to her health, there was nothing to worry about.

"All right," Manuela says. She sighs, getting up from the bed. "Listen, far from me the idea to pry into your past... It's hard to miss that you and your brother are pretty secretive. You wouldn't be the first to run away from something by joining this opera," the physician looks directly into Nina's eyes, a very serious look on her face. "Is there any history of dementia in your family? Or any other... diseases that may cause... the loss of one's mind?"

Nina's head twitches. That question somehow seems to strike a nerve, but she silently shakes her head. It's clear that though she's trying to remain agreeable, the interrogation is starting to irritate her, and that Manuela should put an end to this whole mess as soon as possible, before permanently damaging her relationship with at least one member of this company.

"Then, allow me to cast a healing spell on you, just in case there's anything I've missed," Manuela says, putting a hand on her patient's shoulder. Nina nods. The physician closes her eyes, singing a quiet aria of praise to the goddess, as a beautiful light embalms her hand, before spreading to Nina's entire body. Manuela looks proudly at her friend, and the young woman smiles, a sense of relief at the thought that this whole thing is now over.

"Great. For now, I have nothing to prescribe, and I think I've got everything I need to put Olive's mind at ease, at least," Manuela gets up from the bed, as she absentmindedly scribbles again on her piece of paper. She places the clipboard on her desk. "I hope you'll forgive us for putting you through all of this, seemingly for no reason."

Nina nods her head, whispering an "It's okay," then moves towards the door, finally free to exit the infirmary. As she places a hand on the door's handle, the young woman turns her head slightly back inside the room. "Manuela?"

"Yes?" the physician answers. "Do you have something else to share with me?"

"I wanted to thank you..." Nina says, not fully turning to look at her. "For being so thorough. A lot of people would have simply stopped and moved on, because asking the wrong questions could put a target on your back... But you didn't even stop to even consider that risk." Nina opens the door, and takes a few steps outside. "That's very brave of you..."

Manuela is left with a shiver running down her spine at those words. The door closes, leaving her alone in the empty infirmary. These words were weirdly ominous from someone like Nina. There was something she knew or was hiding, that much was clear. But what? Why? In the now silent room, the muffled sound of Nina's heels outside had never been so loud.

The Divine Songstress sits at her desk, unlocks a cabinet and pulls a bottle of alcohol. As she's getting ready to uncork it and drink directly from the finish, she sees the door opens ajar. "Knock-knock," Dorothea says.

"What an odd thing to say, right?" Manuela says, rubbing her eye. She was still a little in shock at the words of Nina, and they reverberated endlessly inside her head. "I don't want to say it was a threat..."

"But it unfortunately kind of sounded like one, yes," Dorothea shakes her head. "Although, you know, Nina is not the best, socially, so it may just have been an accident?"

Manuela rests her head in her hands, with her elbows on the desk. "Ugh, what is happening right now?" she says, her voice husky and loud. Dorothea looks at her a little surprised. "I'd usually never doubt the words of a member of this opera company, especially not people who've been here for years... and now look at me. One incident and everything seems suspicious and threatening..."

Dorothea goes to stand by Manuela's side and gently wraps her arm around her shoulders, both hands holding her mentor gently. "Hey, don't you fret about it like that. It's okay to feel this way, this was a stressful morning for everyone involved! I'm sure tomorrow, everything is going back to normal," Dorothea says with her soft, soothing voice, almost in a whisper. Manuela raises her head to look at her. "Plus, you don't have to take everyone's burden, you know? If Olive hallucinated something, or if Nina is lying about missing rehearsals, you don't have to fix it all. You've got your own stuff going on..." the girl says, realizing her own hypocrisy. Of course, Manuela doesn't have to sacrifice her own sake for someone else's, but Dorothea still needed the Divine Songstress by her side and wasn't ready to let her go just yet...

"Thank you, but I'm a physician, Dorothea," Manuela smiles rather sadly, her brows upturned. "Worrying for others is part of my job."

"Well, if it relieves you of some of that burden, you're not the only one worrying about them..." Dorothea smiles kindly

"Do you think she may just have forgotten?" Dorothea asks Olive. "Did she miss your practice, in the past?"

Olive shakes her head. "Never. Nina's very careful and considerate, you know? It just doesn't feel like her..."

Dorothea tilts her head to look at her teacup. It's true. It didn't feel like the Nina she knows, that's why she was trying to look for an explanation so strongly. There has to be some rational explanation.

"What about what you saw? Do you think there's any chance you... imagined it all?" Dorothea swiftly continues her sentence as she notices the look of anger Olive throws at her way. "I mean, you've been waking up early to practice, right? Maybe it's exhaustion... ?"

"I've never imagined my friends unconscious when I was tired, nor did I ever think I saw their blood. Have you?" Olive lets go of the teacup she didn’t drink of, then wipes her eyes with her sleeves.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." Dorothea gets up from her chairs, walks to the other side of the table and puts a hand on Olive's shoulder. "I'm just... trying to understand what happened."

"And trying to understand means you have to make me doubt what I saw?" Olive says, scoffing sadly as she gets up from the bench.

Someone on the other side of the room clears her throat. Aqua, one of the opera's singers sneaked into the refectory while the conversation was happening. The teenager, around the same age as Olive, stares at them from away with her golden eyes. Long blue hair surrounds her with a water-like aura, neatly tied back with a white hairband, if not for that long strand running along her nose and cutting her face in two parts. "Excuse me?" she says. "Are you okay, Olive? Can I steal her away, for now?" The songstress asks Dorothea, taking a few careful steps in their directions.

"Of course..." Dorothea says, picking up her teacup. "You two can talk here, I'll be on my way." She walks past Aqua, smiling at her.

"Thank you," Aqua smiles softly back. The corners of her eyes lower gently, showing that she sincerely appreciates the space to speak with her best friend.

Dorothea stays at the door of the refectory for a little longer, sipping her tea and trying to hear the two teenagers' conversation on the other side of that door. Nothing. The two whisper amongst themselves. Her empty teacup in hand, she crosses the halls of the opera to join Manuela at the infirmary.

"Knock-knock," Dorothea says, as she enters the door.

"So you see?" Dorothea smiles. "We're not the only ones willing to take care of them. Everyone in the opera genuinely cares."

Manuela traces the sides of her clipboard with her long fingernail, looking lost in thoughts for a moment. After a long silence, she finally says. "You're right. Like I said earlier, my colleagues are angels."

Dorothea chuckles. She sits on one of the beds, and silence grows heavy once more. Both her and Manuela won't even look at each other. Something is happening in this place they love, and they can feel it oh so clearly. "Okay... Now what?"

Manuela shakes her head, remaining silent for a little longer still. "I unfortunately have no idea. Wait for things to calm down, and hope they'll get better?" Her hand reaches for a bottle under her desk, but she doesn't pull it out in the open. Her fingers wrap around it, in a way she finds comforting. "In a place such as this one, when things go wrong, they tend to go very, very wrong."

Chapter Text

Great Tree Moon, 
day 20, year 1174.

In a place such as this one, when things go wrong, they tend to go very, very wrong.

However, this time, things went back to normal quite rapidly. The talks of the incident involving Olive and Nina came and went. None of the company’s members cared to know the truth behind this ordeal anymore. The whispers and rumors turned to dust, leaving in their stead the melodious voices of the many actors, rehearsing their lines in every corner of the opera.

For it was an important show that was about to take place. Earlier this year, the young princess and heir to the Adrestian Empire was brought back to her homeland, along with Lord Arundel, who will come to serve as regent to the Empire. Although the von Hresvelg house now lacked any significant power, it was still an incredibly joyous event for the Empire’s inhabitants. One day, the young Edelgard would come to serve as the face of this Empire, and if there’s one thing opera singers know, it’s that a good face is a the very big first step to success.

To celebrate this joyful return, the opera’s manager had the great idea to retell the tale of the Ten Elites that helped shape the world as it is now, as well as their history with the goddess and the founding of the Adestrian Empire in the first place. It was a sort of renewal, the Empire ready to rise up again at the return of its heir. It was high time to cement the power of the Empire, its rich history, and how strong it was no matter the insurrections or wars that have occurred in its territory.

Manuela, as a faithful believer in the teachings of the goddess, is ecstatic to play the Progenitor God in this story. An important role, which required powerful and high vocals and a strong presence on stage, which are skills she had acquired after years of practice. One last time on the stage, and what a great role to end on, for her.

In the role of Saint Seiros is Aqua. The teenager is a haunting vocalist and a great dancer, which fits the role perfectly. Her agility and physical skills translate extremely well into the fight scene that she must do for this role. She still has a lot to learn in the acting department, being rather distant and cold instead of firm and warm. However, with enough training, everyone is certain that she's going to execute that role simply perfectly. Aqua is sure to become the next sensation, drawing the fans to her presence, just as Seiros does still to this day.

As for the Four Saints, in the role of Macuil was cast Raphael, and in the role of Cichol, his brother, Reynal. The two pale, lean men and their bright, golden hair, were some of the best male vocalists of the opera. Their calming and vibrant green eyes denote a sensitivity that is going to make them shine in such important roles. Of Saint Macuil, Raphael has the peace-loving attitude and his desire for a better, kinder world. Saint Cichol and Reynal, in turn, are opinionated and strict, no matter the situation. They are both known for the love they have for their family, however.

Mills, Nina’s brother, is to play the role of Saint Indech. Fierce, agile and strong (despite Mills’s size!), those are the qualities he possess that make him a great fit for this role. Furthermore, the boy’s musical and dancing skills make his physicality particularly interesting as an actor for this role. It also helps evens out the ages of the Four Saints, with the last of these actors being just as young.

Indeed, Dorothea is set to receive her first big role, the role of Saint Cethleann, the kindest and gentlest of the Church of Seiros’s saints. The girl’s age and apparent innocence are a perfect fit for this character, while the role will allow her to showcase her incredible vocal abilities. Surely, Dorothea is to enchant the public in that role that seems perfectly tailored for her. With each rehearsal, her acting improves, and she soon will have nothing to fear against the other, more experienced members of this company.

Last but not least, in the role of Nemesis, is Seaton. The young man is an incredible dancer, and is sure to give the audience the most glorious fight scene against Aqua, once Nemesis loses his mind in the play. Seaton possesses Nemesis’s sincerity, as well as his strength. What he has that his role doesn’t is great wisdom thanks to his intuitive mind and powerful divinatory skills. Perhaps, if Nemesis had possessed Seaton’s insight, he wouldn’t have fallen down the path he was drawn to… With his long dark hair and somber red eyes, Seaton is certain to captivate the audience all throughout the play.

Finally, regarding the Ten Elites, they are to be played by the chorus, composed of 10 members. Among them are Olive and Nina, which is certainly why they were practicing together this whole time. We also find Phylis. The fiery red-head is more used to playing entrancing and seductive roles, but she is happy to be part of the group for once. Her red eyes have seen the stage’s projector for many years, as she is one of the oldest members of the company with Manuela, although neither of them would recognize it happily.

Finally, the third popular member of the company that would be part of the chorus is Lea Airone, Reynal and Raphael’s little sister. With hair as bright as theirs, a skin just as fair and green eyes even more brilliant, her brothers are used to being upstaged both in singing and dancing in the chorus. Therefore, she is more than excited to see her brothers join the main players for once. She awaits her turn impatiently and often comments about it snarkily. Most aren’t aware of her sass, though, as she doesn’t speak the common language of Fódlan Instead, Lea talks in an old, soon-to-be lost language of Duscur. One day, though, her incredible voice will land her an important role, she’s certain of this. She only needs to master all the sounds in that language correctly, which is harder than she ever expected.

The other members of the chorus were either newcomers, amateurs, or part-time singers, joining in from time to time to help with whatever the Mittelfrank Opera Company needed. Some were also fans, excited to interact with the divas like Manuela. Some of those took that love for them a little too far.

Among all those people, working together to make something great, peace had come once more. Most were professionals after all, and they knew the two months they had left to prepare were going to be gone before they could even realize it. The incident, as it came to be known as, was forgotten in just a few days.

Manuela enters the refectory with her breakfast. Given what happened, she has been a lot more aware of her surroundings and a lot more focused. It has become rare to see her arrive late anywhere. This morning, however, wasn’t one of her early ones. Dorothea, who’s already almost done eating, waves her over. She’s sitting with Seaton. “Hello, Manuela!” they both say in unison.

“Good morning, Dorothea, Seaton,” Manuela sits down at the table, her meal in front of her. She also carries a cup of coffee. “How are you both this morning?”

“Great,” Seaton says, finishing a very light breakfast, with fruits, and bland cereals. He stares at Dorothea’s sugary plate of viennoiserie. “Just… enjoying our breakfast.”

The girl answers with a bright smile. “As for me, I’m feeling rejuvenated. It’s the start of a beautiful day, I think,” her eyes dart around the room as she says this, looking from one table to the other. Perhaps she’s trying to reassure herself, looking at all of those people enjoying their morning as normally as they can. Manuela begins to look around as well, smiling at the people simply living their life. It feels good, after all the chaos they went through earlier that week.

At the next table, Olive is waiting with a full plate and a steaming hot cup of tea in front of her. In her hands, a pink book she seems to be reading from. Soon, Aqua joins her with her own plate of bread and butter, with a few fruits. The two chat in a friendly manner, the golden-eyed singer having probably erased all of the doubts in Olive's mind.

On another table are the three Airone siblings, quietly talking about their lives. Reynal frowns at something his sister says, while Raphael chuckles softly. The latter seems to say something, which upsets Reynal even more. He suddenly looks around, as if making sure no one heard that. Manuela quickly glances away at the second he looks in her direction. Personal talk is personal.

Finally, on the last table available are another group of three. Phylis, Nina and Mills are getting up right then and there, taking their empty plates to be cleaned by the kitchen workers. As they walk away, Phylis comes to Manuela, Seaton and Dorothea’s tables. “Manuela, hello! And hello, you two as well. Do you mind if I steal her from you? It won’t be long, I promise,” Phylis says, winking at the two younger people. The Divine Songstress stares at her barely drunk cup of coffee. She’ll be very disappointed if it gets cold by the time they’re done talking.

“Of course,” Seaton says, smiling politely, extending his hand towards them. “Spirit her away all you want, if she consents to it, of course.”

These words seem to wake up this weird feeling in everyone present. The freezing sensation of an unanswered question still lingering in the air, one that people are doing their utmost best to forget. ‘Spirited away… Like Nina’s body Olive saw?’ the few seconds of silence seems to ask. It’s Phylis who ends up breaking this too quiet a moment. “Well, when you put it like that I really am not sure I’ll be bringing her back. I mean, look at this beauty of a woman!”

Manuela chuckles. “All right, all right, stop it with the flattery, you,” she says, taking a sip of coffee before getting up. “I’ll be right back.”

Phylis ties her shoulder-length hair into a ponytail as she leads Manuela outside of the refectory. “So, I’ve heard people were already running their mouths,” the red-head says, sighing.

“About?” Manuela asks, a little confused. Have more information come out about what happened with Olive and Nina? Is it where that sudden tranquility comes from? Perhaps this whole situation has been resolved. After all, Phylis was just speaking with Nina during her breakfast. A hopeful look draws on Manuela’s face, one that her interlocutor sees, and unfortunately has to ruin in just a few seconds.

“The fact that you’re leaving the opera after this play,” Phylis says, raising her eyebrows downward in sympathy. “That’s all my fault, I’m really sorry. I had to run my big mouth and tell a few people, and, well,” she shrugs. “These people have their own big mouths, perhaps even bigger than mine.”

“That?” Manuela lets out, having already put that whole ordeal aside. “Please, that’s already long forgotten. I’ve had other fish to fry since then.” Manuela waves her hand in the air dismissively. Phylis sighs of relief.

“Of course,” she smiles. “Still, it’s only natural I apologize for sharing things you told me in confidence. I ruined your exit, I feel like.” Phylis shakes her head, but then throws an hopeful glance at her friend. “No hard feelings, then?”

“None,” Manuela smiles as she puts a hand on Phylis’s arm. “Truth be told? I was going to tell the others soon enough, I wasn’t planning on making a big surprise out of all this.” The diva puts her hands on her hips, with a playful look on her face. “And you just made it so everyone was speaking about me while I wasn’t even there. I don’t mind being the talk of the town. What's a diva without her myriad of followers, speaking about her behind her back? You know what that’s like, of course.”

“Ah! I see what you did there, Manuela,” Phylis smiles playfully back. “Had I known you’d be so happy to be talked about, I’d have shared many more of your secrets already.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, there,” Manuela shakes her hands in the air. “A woman must keep some secret!”

Phylis giggles, and the two chat a little longer, reminiscing about the past. When Manuela goes back to the table, Seaton is gone, and her coffee is cold, as she feared. Dorothea’s smile from earlier is gone, replaced by a concerned frown. “Where has Seaton gone?” her mentor asks.

“He said he felt… odd. A premonition of his, perhaps?” Dorothea answers, furrowing her eyebrows in doubt. “I hope it’s not…”

Manuela’s face drops as well. She looks around. Olive pulls out a flask from her bag and begins drinking water, while Aqua is sipping in her cup of tea. At the Airone’s table, the three siblings begin to gather their stuff, ready to leave. Their conversation seems to have calmed down, switching to a more tranquil tone. Phylis, Nina and Nills are long gone from their own table. Trying to find a silver lining, she thinks out loud. “Well, perhaps it’s just that he got jealous of your breakfast, hm? You know how careful Seaton is with his diet, and you were eating something he tries to avoid.” Her words don’t sound true, even to her.

“You’re right, that must be it…” Dorothea says almost blankly, trying to reassure herself as well. Manuela goes back to her breakfast and cold coffee - rehearsals will begin soon.

Regardless of the stressful moments the two performers are doing amazing during rehearsals. With almost every repetition of a vocal or dance sequence, both Dorothea and Manuela get better, perfecting their acting, refining every expression. The characters they play are big, so they can be seen from everywhere in the audience, with extremely expressive faces, huge movements and a clear, loud voice. The director seems absolutely delighted by the work of those two divas, and instead focuses on other members of the company. He needs everyone to reach that level before two months. 

If Dorothea got to the the level she was at, it was all thanks to Manuela’s attention, care, and all her advice. She’d been a great teacher, that was for sure. Meanwhile, Phylis is being a great teacher as well, but to Olive and Aqua. Dorothea watches curiously, holding a pouch of water that was brought to her by Nina.

“Olive, I thought we’d worked through that already,” she says, a slightly disappointed tone in her voice, as she takes her own sip of water. “I need you to keep the energy going up until the very end. I know you’re embarrassed… but what are you afraid off?” Phylis places her fists on her own hips, a smirk on her face. “I know we’ve said in the past that your dancing should be a feast for the eyes, but don’t worry, the audience doesn’t bite. You’re allowed to break their teeth if they try, though.”

Dorothea smiles as she listens to talk for a little more. Once Phylis is done giving her instructions, she goes back to the stage to practice, while Nina finally brings a pouch of water to Aqua, who’s wiping sweat away from her forehead with a towel.

“There you go,” Nina says. “You’re doing great,” she says, a warm tone in her voice.

“Thank you,” Aqua smiles. “For the water, and the compliment. I appreciate it, truly.”

Aqua quickly drinks, and she and Olive go back to the stage to rehearse a scene where Seaton soliloquies about his fall into madness.

“Seaton… Bad…” Lea says, suddenly appearing next to Dorothea while she was looking away. The Airone sister stares at Nemesis’s actor, a sad frown on her face.

“Bad? You think so?..” Dorothea asks. He seems great to her. Raphael joins her, an apologetic smile on his face.

“I think my sister means he’s not at the top of his game,” the eldest brother explains apologetically. “I'm sorry if that sounded a little rude... You know how it is, with the language barrier.” Lea retorts something incomprehensible to Dorothea, but the Airone girl's slight frown indicates that there has to be a disagreement between her and her brother. Now that the siblings mentioned it, it appears to Dorothea clearly that Seaton’s performance is not up to bar to his usual level. Something truly is bothering him today.

The rehearsals come and go, scene after scene the actors repeat their lines, follow instructions, better their moves and refine their voices. Comes a scene where the Progenitor God helps Seiros fulfill a miracle, saving the life of an innocent. 

Aqua comes to the stage and begins to sing. Her voice cracks with a burbling sound. She coughs, perhaps having strained her voice a little too hard on that day. Manuela approaches her, placing a hand on the teenage girl’s shoulder. Both of their eyes widen as they notice the blood red liquid overflowing out of Aqua’s mouth and onto her hand. Before the Divine Songstress even has the time to catch her, the golden-eyed singer falls to the floor, blood spreading in-between the stage’s planks.

Chapter Text

Great Tree Moon, 
day 19, year 1174.

The shadow prepares a concoction. One they learned from the dark, the agglomeration of all the other shadows. The many shadows run around the world of Fodlan, striking in the dark and slowly putting all their pawns into place.

The concoction is a mix of plants, very specific ones. Alone, they don't specifically do something bad. It's not a potion or an elixir, either, it isn't made to heal, it will never heal anyone. It's made to further their plans. To sew chaos until no one notices what is happening in the opera. Little by little, drop by drop, the shadows will flood the company with thoughts and theories until they won't be able to think anymore. A wave of uncertainty will slowly creep up on them, making them lost and afraid.

At the moment, everything is going according to plan and the shadow has to strike while the iron is still hot. The next big event has to come just as the people of the opera are starting to forget what happened, and not to a moment too soon. Then, perhaps the shadow will take a well earned break, while they let the wounds left by their two close attacks fester and gangrene the rest of the opera's members. Their people had done this a thousand times, they knew how to handle this masterpiece of a plan.

The shadow mixes their brew, slowly, carefully, in a small pot in the comfort of their room. A fire spell keeps it warm. They don't need much of that concoction, just a few. Drop by drop is all they need. The shadow has done good work until now, getting inside of everyone's head, creating tensions where there were none, weaving lies and truths to prowl and attack when necessary. They're feeling extremely proud of themself, confident and assured. The concoction is the next step in the plan, and with that, nothing else will stand in their way.

A smile draws on the shadow's face. They know who the concoction is for. In the opera, there are people with big roles to play, ones that without, the show will turn into disarray. That's who they're targeting, an oh so simple target.

In the small pot, the water and the plants mix and clash. Chemical reactions happen, molecules melting and merging into a brand-new liquid. The shadow watches with pleasure as the mixture turns around in the pot, swirling almost indefinitely at the delicate turns of the wooden spoon. Soon, inside a victim's body, new chemical reactions will happen, slowly coating the walls of their throat, the heat of the fire long extinguished but still burning their flesh ever-so-slowly. It will take a long time before that victim notice the pain that has started to creep up on them, before their blood begins to spill. The shadow hopes to see it happen in their presence.

The shadow fetches a small glass bottle. They carefully pour the concoction into it, looking at their perfect creation. Odorless, but not colorless. There is also a risk that the taste will not go unnoticed however although, given the state that everyone has been left in, will they even care? The shadow thinks they surely won't. They'd be right to think so.

And then, once the target is dealt with, the shadow will spread like a disease. Another of those shades will emerge from underground and magically take the place of the bright, cheery and disgusting souls of the people living above ground. Although the shadow's people move like a disease, they aren't truly one. The people from above, their worship and their goddess, those are the diseases that the shadow is more than happy to eradicate. Long have they lived in hiding, and delighted they are to finally come out of the backstage area, enter the stage, and destroy those people they despise.

Together, the plants turn the concoction into a poison. It's ironic, that from their home underground, the shadow has learned to use plants from above to destroy those who live there. They're so preoccupied with their insignificant little lives that they don't realize a common enemy is devouring them from inside, like the larvae of a wasp inside a twitching, hollowed caterpillar. Drop by drop, devouring, they shall.

The next day, drop by drop they fill a drink for those they hate, and with trust in their heart, the concoction is drunk.

Now, the shadow begins to think of what next there is to do, for their work never stops.

Chapter Text

Great Tree Moon, 
day 21, year 1174.

"There she is!" Nina screams to get Manuela's attention, pointing from the window at the street in front of the opera. Phylis, her hair undone and a thin coat on, is walking away with a packed suitcase in hand.

Manuela sprints to another window, her eyes fixated on one of her oldest friends quickly running away. She darts through the halls and makes her way to the first flight of stairs. She barely makes it down to the ground floor without tripping, but she doesn't stop running, her sandal's short heels clacking rapidly against the cold stone floor. In the corner of a hall, she's stopped short in her tracks by the sound of tears coming from a nearby room. She throws a glance through the door left ajar. There, in a corner, Dorothea sobs softly, cowering in a ball. Manuela looks at her for a short while, biting her lip, then shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Dorothea," she whispers before darting away again. She must catch up to Phylis before it's too late, her protegee can wait.

The cold of the early spring's morning hits her, freezing her burning hot blood just as she steps outside in her slit, off-shoulders dress.

Her hair and makeup are a mess, her dress all wrinkly as she slept in it, head resting on the infirmary's desk, keeping an eye all night on Aqua. The poor girl was in critical conditions for hours. Things had started to settle down in the opera, and with the events of the previous day, they weren't about to any time soon once more.

Manuela's skin turns red at the contact of the cold air, one arm swinging widely as she runs, while the other keeps her tube dress in place. "Phylis!" She shouts out as she sees her friend taking a turn in another direction. Phylis ignores her, continuing to walk away. Manuela picks up some more speed, panting heavily. She has endurance, she needs it as an actor, but not that kind of endurance. As she catches up to Phylis, the Divine Songstress grabs her by the arm, finally stopping her. "Phylis..." Manuela repeats sadly.

Phylis's suitcase swings widely as she frees herself from her friend's grasp. "What? If you came here to convince me to stay, tough luck." The dancer's usual sarcastic tone here hides a lot of pain, as well as a profound sadness that her irony just can't hide away.

Manuela's eyes shine bright with tears, as she forces a smile on her face. "Phylis, are you serious? Are you expecting me to beg on my knees for you before buying me a drink first?" Phylis scoffs in amusement, her own tears beginning to well inside her eyes.

The two women enter their favorite establishment: "Camille & Adagio's", a charming little bar near the opera house. As soon as Manuela steps foot inside, a little girl with burgundy braided pigtails runs up at her. "Auntie Manuela!" she shouts excitedly, throwing herself in the diva's arms, who catches her in extremis.

"Hello, Amira," she says, smiling at the little girl. As she wraps her arms around her, Manuela raises her head to look at the girl's father. "I thought you were going to get her to stop with the whole 'auntie' thing!" Manuela says, a frown drawn with her eyebrows. Adagio, a strong, muscular man with purple hair, a matching beard and a square jaw shrugs playfully. He begins preparing the two usual clients' order with his only arm left, the other having been amputated after an injury during the Insurrection of the Seven. Camille comes out of the kitchen, dusting off her hands by clapping them together. Her long blonde hair is in an elegant bun, tied carefully with a fashionable handkerchief. She wears asymmetrical jewelry, with a flashy pink dress and a long purple coat. "And I thought we'd agreed you'd not come back here if you drunkenly danced on our tables again," she frowns. "You're early."

"Of course, and I respected that!" Manuela says, her eyes wide. She lets go of the little Amira, who runs back and sits by her mother. Camille throws daggers with her eyes at the Divine Songstress, who sighs. "I didn't, did I?"

"No, you didn't," Phylis says, an apologetic look on her face. She nods hello to the owners.

"I'm genuinely sorry, Camille," Manuela bows her head in shame.

"You were jumping from table to table, Manuela!" Camille throws her hands up in the air in exasperation, as if she had to have this conversation time and time again, with many, many clients. Her eyes dart to Phylis's luggage. She pauses a second, looking at both women in the eyes. "Fine, sit down, we'll get your orders ready. Same as usual?" She leads them to the count to sit on the stools.

"Don't you go asking that now," Adagio scoffs in amusement. "I started making them the usual already!"

Although the two other women chuckle, the barman's wife seems to disagree with the hilarity of the statement. "Well, just start making the drinks before our clients even get here, now, why don't you? I suppose Adagio 'I've defeated 10 men before the battle even really started' is not famous for his patience." Camille rolls her eyes, then smirks. "Amira, do you want to help mommy make some food?" The little girl jumps from her chair enthusiastically and follows her adoptive mother to the kitchen.

"Unbelievable, that woman," Adagio says, returning to the drinks, a smile on his face.

"That's true," Phylis says, giggling as she nods. "You're right to not to trust her words, her tales are always ten times taller than reality."

"What?" Adagio says, his eyes widening in surprise. "What she said was true, I did defeat ten men before that one battle even started! Twelve, even, I'd say!"

"Unbelievable, that man," Phylis repeats, using his own intonation. She sits on her stool at the very far end of the counter, dropping the luggage by her side.

Soon, Manuela joins her, putting a hand on her knee. "You're leaving, then?"

Phylis nods in the direction of her luggage. "I thought it was pretty explicit," she says playfully. "Have you seen what's happening these days in the opera?"

"Tell me about it," Manuela says as she rubs the inner corners of her eyes. "The Airone siblings are keeping an eye on Aqua as of right now, but I've been up all night to make sure her state would stabilize. I know all the signs are there, but I can't imagine someone from the opera would poison another." Her voice breaks almost imperceptibly.

"Do you think it's someone from outside?" Phylis asks as Adagio brings them their drinks. She thanks his with a nod.

"I'd love to believe it, Phylis, I truly do, but..." Manuela immediately grabs her drink and downs it in one go. She shakes her head, then taps her glass to indicate to Adagio to start making another one. "Aqua was at the opera all day, rehearsing. When would someone else find the opportunity to hurt her in such a way? It has to be one of us."

Tethys sighs. "If I've got to watch my back around the other artists like I have with the public, I'd rather go solo. Plus, that'll give the opportunity to see my brother, at the school of sorcery in Fhirdiad. It's been a long time coming," she says, watching the ice cubes swirling as she runs a finger on the glass's rim. "Maybe you're right. It is time for us to make our grand exit. I think the opera's only at the beginning of its fall, and the next generation of divas... Just don't stand for what we stand for."

"Wait," Manuela blinks and shakes her head in confusion. "Why are you saying this? Do you believe it's one of the younger members? Do you know who in the company did this?"

"Of course I don't, Manuela, but it's plain to see," Tethys shrugs and takes a sip of her own drink. "Maybe we caught lightning in a bottle, when our generation came together at the opera. Look at all the other companies; we were lucky that none of us were trying to tear each other down like they do."

Manuela opens her mouth to answer, but Phylis shakes her head and clenches her jaw, raising a hand in front of her, indicating that she's not quite done. "Listen, I know it sounds silly to say now that someone said they saw a body, and someone else most likely got poisoned but... I've got a bad feeling about this, and my intuition is never wrong. There's something... Dark going on at the opera, something I don't like. That's why I'm not waiting for the right time to leave like you are. I think you're making a mistake," Phylis looks very intensely at Manuela. Her red eyes are teary, but fiery. There's a determination, a fear, that permeates from that look. Then it shines with a sort of amusement as the dancer half-chuckles. "I know, I know, there's probably half of us in the company who claim to have psychic abilities of some sort, but I promise it's true. I'm maybe not as good as Seaton, or Naiza, or Nina, but..." she stops her sentence there. In her chuckle, a tear forms at the corner of her eyes. She prevents it from continuing its journey down her face almost immediately with a quick swipe of her finger.

"I can't say I blame you," Manuela puts her hand on Phylis's arm and gives it a gentle, comforting squeeze. "I decided to leave the opera before all this, and before the idea even crossed your mind. When I ran after you, it wasn't to convince you to stay with us, obviously but..."

Manuela places her elbows on the counter, before rubbing her eyes with her hands. "I just wanted to say goodbye," her voice cracks under all the pressure she's under, and her shoulders begin to shake with silent sobs. "Even though it's happening a lot sooner than I was expecting..."

Adagio places Manuela's second glass next to her, then quietly backs into the kitchen as to leave the two women some intimacy. Phylis's eyes fill with tears as well as she gets up from her stool. She wraps her arms around Manuela, and rests her head against hers. "I'm sorry, Manuela. I wish I could see this show through with you. I'd love one more chance to share the stage with you, but... I don't think I can pretend that everything's fine for two more months. I'll miss you very, very much."

Manuela turns around to hug back Phylis. "It's okay," the divine songstress says, tears still filling her voice. "I know the goddess watches over you, Phylis, so if you feel like it's time to leave, it must be," She chuckles, then coughs. Manuela lets go of the hug and turns to take a sip of her drink. She sniffles, and wipes away her running makeup with a long flap of her slit dress. "I thought I'd get less emotional with age, that with every outburst I'd get stronger, but that's clearly out of the equation, by now."

"There's still time, Manuela. You're still young," Phylis chuckles, then abruptly stops. "No, wait, we're still young." Phylis suddenly perks up, as if struck with an idea. She kneels and begins unpacking her luggage, looking for something hidden deep inside. When she finds it, she hides it behind her back. "You know, you're not the only one the public gave a nickname too. Mine's 'The Beloved Rose of Mittelfrank'. So I thought I'd include something in my outfits that would suit my title... But you'll need it more than I do."

Phylis presents her friend two beautiful golden daggers, with a leg strap under them, one where both blades could be attached. "I thought, well, if every rose has its thorns... every beautiful leg should have its dagger! Don't you think?"

Manuela's eyes shine with tears again, but a smile draws on her face. "Thank you," she says, taking the weapons. "It's a beautiful way to put it." The two laugh together, finish their drink - pay for them of course - then, they leave, both going down their separate paths. Manuela holds the daggers tightly to her chest. This time, there was no dancing on tables. Neither had the heart to.

Back at the opera house, she relieves the Airone's siblings of their duties and gives them leave from the infirmary. "You're in a better mood," Reynal says blankly, frowning. It's always hard to know if he's being judgemental or not. "Has she come back?" the middle child of the Airone family immediately notices the shift in Manuela's mood at that question, and he doesn't even need to wait for the answer. He nods knowingly, then follows his siblings out of the room.

Once the door is closed, the slightly tipsy Manuela goes to check in on Aqua. She checks her pulse and takes her temperature. The physician uses a stethoscope and listens to the victim's breathing. It's rather difficult, sounds painful, but she still doesn't hear any blood in her respiratory tract, which is more than comforting. Although it is still cause for concern, the state of Aqua, if not improved, hasn't worsened. Manuela sighs of relief at that.

There's a knock on the door. The show's director, Naiza, enters the infirmary, holding a water pouch nervously. "Hellooooo," he says, in a volume he attempts to contain. He's always been quite eccentric. "How's she doing? Better?" His long, extremely well-taken care of white hair wraps elegantly around his shoulder, and his usually smiling eyes are ever-so-slightly open as he expresses concern.

Manuela nods, sitting on one of the beds and brushing her messy hair back. "Yes, she's doing... She's fine, for now," the physician keeps her voice low, as to not disturb Aqua's necessary rest.

Naiza moves around the room and stands next to the bed. "Good. Let us pray to the goddess for a prompt recovery, then," he says, beaming. "If my crest of Cethleann is ever to perform a miracle again, I sure hope it does now. We'll throw a huge party then, teehee!"

"Your cheerfulness warms my heart, Naiza," Manuela says, surprised to smile in such a situation. "I pray that, although Aqua can't answer, she can feel it as well." Naiza smiles gently at Manuela, happy to be of any help to the diva that can apparently do it all. Manuela's eyes smile back, before lowering to the ground. For a moment, she seems lost in thought. "Say, Naiza," the physician ends up saying.

"Tell me," Naiza answers, moving to sit beside her on the bed. "Is there anything I can do to help?" He takes a sip of his water. "Want some?" he offers his drink.

"No thank you, I've been drinking already," Manuela answers, still in her thoughts. "Right now, there's no possible way to tell when Aqua will get better," she says, not making eye contact yet. "If it takes her too long, do you think it's possible to postpone the play? I wouldn't want her to miss such a big opportunity because of something she had no control over. She's to play Seiros, after all."

Naiza commands her gaze back to him by tilting his head in front of her. She can see his long, silky hair in her peripheral vision long before she sees his face. "Of course, teeheehee!" Manuela sighs of relief. "If it comes down to it, we may even cancel the whole thing!" the director says, a cheerful tone in his voice.

Manuela blinks. "Wait, what?"

Chapter Text

Harpstring Moon,
day 21, year 1174.

Dorothea paces up and down her tidy room, decorated in a maximalist style, trinkets lining the desk, plushies covering her bed. Posters of other divas from this opera hide the paint of her walls. In the last month, she’s been handling all of her doubts, emotions, and practicing on her own. The girl had grown too reliant on her mentor. She had finally come to terms with the fact that Manuela wouldn’t always be by her side.

Things were getting tough, but the Divine Songstress was right, Dorothea had lived through worse, and she had to adapt and deal with it. It was difficult to learn to fight tooth and nails once more after becoming domesticated. The roof above her head, the kind words and the lessons ended up being shackles that were keeping her down.

Some days, though, it wasn’t easy. Sometimes, Dorothea needed an adult to tell her what to do or how to handle all those emotions swirling around inside her mind.

The girl sits on her bed and gently nibbles at her nails - she’s trying to stop biting them and cutting them too short. Things had seemed to calm down again, a month after Aqua drank poison. However, everyone lowering their guards once more seemed even scarier than when tensions were at an all time high. It was when things started going back to normal that Aqua got hurt. No one had been found out to be a culprit in that attack, so, with time, many have started to speculate that this was an accident, and that the teenager herself had drunk something that wasn’t meant for consumption. It was impossible to be sure as of yet, though, as Aqua, while she was conscious at times, was mostly unable to speak and needed a lot of rest to make a full recovery. Her vocal chords had been severely damaged, and no one dared to utter the words that it may be permanent. Many held hope that the goddess would answer Manuela’s prayers, and that through her faith magic, Aqua would be able to recover soon and play her role as Seiros once again. A true miracle.

Dorothea herself had no hopes of such things. The Progenitor God wasn’t the kind of entity that answered people’s prayers. When the girl lost her mother and ended up fending for herself all alone in the streets of the capital, the goddess didn’t want to hear a word of her suffering. It was thanks to Manuela that she was able to get a chance at a normal, happy life. Now, the new divine figure in Dorothea’s life was about to abandon her too, for some greater cause.

She shakes her head, trying to get rid of her negative thoughts. Looking at a clock on her wall, night was about to fall on Fodlan, but it was still a little too early to go to bed. Dorothea jumps up from her bed, then sets off into the hallways determinedly. If the goddess had no answer to give her except for a heavy, deafening silence, the girl knew she had to turn to other forces to get the answers she sought.

At the other side of the hall, two angelic-like entities stand, holding a pink book with a locket, one that looked quite frail. Raphael and Lea are standing there, their skin so pale, their hair of gold and pure white robes make them light up the place, all the lights reflecting around them. As they spot Dorothea, they perk up and walk her way.

“Hello,” Lea says, her voice meek, bowing her head politely. Against her chest, she holds the book.

“Greetings, Dorothea,” Raphael’s voice is smooth and warm. “You seem troubled. Do you need anything?”

“Ah, thank you, but no, I’m okay,” Dorothea forces a smile on her face. The two siblings exchange a look, clearly unconvinced. The girl’s eyes lock on the work of literature in Lea’s hands. “What’s that?”

“Ah! Perhaps you may be of help,” Raphael says, smiling warmly. “We found this journal in the mess hall,” he points at the book. “Have you seen it somewhere? We unfortunately cannot check ourselves who it is, as it’s locked.”

Lea pulls on the locket as if trying to rip it off. It seems clear she’s tried already, not really worried about the privacy of the journal’s owner. “Closed… Lost,” she says, looking sadly at Dorothea. She then speaks in her own language, looking at her brother.

“What? No, I can’t ask th-” He looks a little taken off guard at the words of his sister, and switches back to their melodious Duscurian language to finish his sentence. She talks back, shrugging slightly. When he turns back to Dorothea, Raphael switches back to the common language. “My apologies, Dorothea. Say, Lea was curious. You don’t know anyone who knows how to open a lock, by chance?”

Dorothea shakes her head, a little hurt that they’d think this is something she or someone she knows could be able to do. “No. But can I take a look at that journal?” she answers. They hand her the book, and she begins to examine it. She’s definitely seen it somewhere, but can’t really place it at the time. She turns it around, staring at all the details. It’s rather light, well-kept, with silvery details. She takes a look at the lock and frowns. “Someone already forced it,” she says.

“What?” Raphael says, and Leanne looks curiously. “Someone opened it without a key?”

The girl nods, pointing at the bend in the metal. The Airone siblings stare in surprise. “Someone strong could probably open it up again, then you’ll be able to check the owner’s name, all though…” She throws them an apologetic look. “Were it my journal, I’d prefer it if you kept it locked and just asked around until you found out who it belongs to. Not that many people have eaten in the mess hall tonight, you know?” Dorothea would be lying if she said she didn’t want to open that book too, though. Snooping around and reading people’s journals is definitely the dream of any person with an ounce of curiosity. Perhaps her own thoughts would start making much more sense, if she could just reach and grab someone else’s.

The Airone siblings nod. Lea takes the journal back and smiles warmly at Dorothea. “By the way,” the girl says, suddenly. “Happy Saint Macuil Day, you two! I didn’t get to wish it sooner. It must be exciting to have a day dedicated to the role you’re playing”.

The three of them smile together, exchanging a few pleasantries. At some point, Lea puts her delicate fingers on her forehead and frowns, which Raphael explains as a sensitivity to troubled environments. The three Airone siblings are blessed and afflicted with a very fine attunement to other people’s emotions, he says, and with all the stress of the play happening soon, the opera always gets a little too intense for the three of them.

Then, Lea and her brother take off, looking for the journal’s owner. Dorothea watches them leave, listening a little more to the beautiful language the two share. Then, she goes her own way, quickly arriving at another room’s door.

The girl knocks, hoping the person she’s looking for is there. Through the wooden door, she hears some movement inside, crystals clinking, a chair moving. Soon enough, though, Seaton opens and, after lowering his gaze to the much smaller Dorothea, he smiles. “Hello, can I help you?” he says, his voice calm.

Dorothea nods, now growing silent. She searches for the words, how to express all the questions she needs to ask. “You’re good with cards, right? I mean, divination. Can you tell me about my future? I’d love to know more.”

Seaton smiles softly. “I’d be happy to read the cards for you,” he says. Dorothea beams. Finally, things will start making sense! “Unfortunately, I can only provide pointers, or warnings, not a perfectly laid out path for you.”

Dorothea’s smiles drop, lost in incomprehension again. Seeing her reaction, Seaton continues. “There is no future set in stone, so the spirits of the cards can’t tell you everything. It’s our choices and the choices of others that make up the future we live in. What I can do for you is to offer some guidance, so the choices you make may be more enlightened.” He pauses, before proceeding. “Are you still interested?”

“Yes, please,” Dorothea says without even thinking about it. She takes a step forward, almost inviting herself in. Seaton chuckles.

“Please, do come in,” he moves out of her way, letting her inside. His room’s decor is simple, but beautiful. Divination tools are littered around on all the surfaces. Crystals, candles, decks of cards, books on the topic (and also about nutrition), star maps and more Dorothea never even heard about. With the layers of thin, colorful clothes in front of the windows, letting in a night light filtered blue, the place has a truly magical feeling.

After grabbing a deck on his desk, Seatons sits on a mat, his legs crossed, and offers the girls to do the same on the opposite side of him. “Please, join me,” he specifies. Dorothea follows his instructions, her hands caressing the soft, beautiful mat. She definitely needs to get one for her own room and lay there, from time to time. It would be rude to do so in that instant, though.

“So,” Seaton says, as he begins to shuffle the cards. “What in particular do you wish to know about? Something that can’t be answered by ‘yes’ or ‘no’. It’s important, for the spirits to gather and give us a prediction.”

Dorothea pauses to think and reformulate all her questions into one, coherent sentence. She’s anxious about her future and what will happen to her after this play, and wants to be selfish and only ask about herself… However, with what happened to Olive, Nina, Aqua, Phylis, her thoughts are mixed into a giant mess of worries, so she also wants to know what has been happening recently, and if things will continue to go wrong. She also worries about the written play they’re putting on, as rumors have been going around that the story they’re about to tell itself has been cursed. People in the opera are finding proof that any time an opera company has tried to bring this play to the stage, something went wrong. The company closed, or people left, sometimes feet first into the tomb… Of course, those are usually second-hand accounts. It’s always about someone knowing someone, not someone who was there to experience it all.

So, after thinking it through, Dorothea manages to speak out one question. “What’s been going on in Mittelfrank?”

Seaton’s head moves backward in surprise at the question. He then nods, empathically when he notices Dorothea’s own surprise at his reaction. “Don’t worry, it’s usually that people ask about their own future, their profession, or especially their love life…” It sounds like Manuela has used his service more than a few times. “I was a little taken aback that someone as young as you wanted to ask about the past and present in such a way.”

Dorothea shakes her head. “The past and the present of this opera are my future. I can’t see myself anywhere else, I’ve never really been anywhere else. I need to know because this is my home.”

A warm smile draws on Seaton’s face. “All right. O! Spirits of the cards! Cast your light upon the path before us, and the one that lead us here!” His voice suddenly got way louder. He raises his hand holding the deck of cards to the sky, almost as if it was an offering. His eyes are closed and his brows furrowed as he focuses. “I beg that you answer our call. Please, tell us, with the past, present and future, what has been going on in Mittelfrank?”

Dorothea leans backward, expecting a big show of light and magic, but instead, once he opens his eyes again, Seaton begins to shuffle the cards rapidly. The deck spins in his hands, turning some cards around, and then spinning the deck once more. It’s impossible to know which cards will he get, and which way will they face. “Dorothea,” he says, placing the deck in front of her. “Focus on your question, and cut the deck in two.” The girl takes a deep breath, then obeys. Seaton nods, and shuffles it once more, still focusing on the question himself.

“All right,” he exhales deeply, feeling that the cards are ready. “Here, the past,” he holds a card up, facing himself, then quickly turns it around in-between his fingers. “‘La Gloire’,” he says, as he reveals the first card to Dorothea. It shows a blue-haired man placing a crown on his head as the sunlight beams around him. The card seems split in two in the middle, and the lower half of the card shows the same man holding his head in pain, as if the crown was too heavy. “This is a sign of glory. The spirits say the past of this opera was beautiful, a raving success.”

“Was? That means that it’s over, then?” Dorothea says her voice breaking, feeling her heart twisting in sadness. She missed the glory days of her home, and was only there to see its downfall.

“Not quite yet,” Seaton says, placing the card to his left. “Let’s see what the spirits have in store, for the present.” He draws a second card, revealing it just as dramatically as the first one. “‘La Querelle’,” Seaton places the card in the middle. It’s designed in a similar way, split in two, with the same red-haired man on both sides. Except that this time, the sunny side where he holds flowers is down, and the moonlit one where he parries an attack with his sword is up. Seaton chuckles sadly. “You probably know this already, but we’re going through a tough time. There’s… in-fighting between us. Suspicions and anxiety are… threatening our happy days here.”

Dorothea looks dejected, her shoulders drooping as she stares at that man fighting for his life on the card. She looks up at Seaton, hoping that the final card will be a good one. He nods, understanding that she wants to get this over with. The man draws his final card, revealing it with less flair this time. As he looks at it, his eyes shine bright with emotions. “‘La Réunion’,” A woman with a long green ponytail holds a sword and looks happily forward, extending her hand to someone we can’t see. A cherry tree blooms behind her. The bottom part shows the same woman, her back turned as spears come to stab her. “It’s a sign of hope. Our glorious past is not quite lost, and we may be able to return to it, someday. We need only face our fears, and not let them control us.” Seaton smiles at Dorothea, exhaling happily. “We have fight left in us. We can go back to what we once were.”

“Thank you Seaton,” Dorothea gets up, smiling brightly as tears of joy gather in her eyes. A sense of warmth spreads through her, they have fight left in them indeed. “I won’t let Mittelfrank down. I won’t let anyone here down!”

“Thank the spirits for their guidance, Dorothea,” Seaton chuckles. “Do you have any other questions?”

Dorothea shakes her head. “Thank you again, to both you and your spirits.”

As Seaton grabs the deck of cards, Dorothea begins to turn around towards the exit. She hears the sound of a card’s caress, and then, three soft thuds, made by cards falling on the rug. “Wait!” Seaton says. As Dorothea turns back, she can see one of the cards falling, face down on the ‘La Réunion’. The second one covers ‘La Querelle’, and the third stands between the two, a bridge between present and future. Seaton looks at Dorothea, his eyes wide. She returns the terrified gaze.

As if going back in time, Seaton turns around the new ‘future’ card. A blue-haired man is under the moon, people pointing their fingers at him as he leaves in shame. “‘L’Infamie,’” Seaton says. “People will distrust us, fear us, and judge us as monsters.”

He turns the card in the middle, a future that is soon to come. A grey-haired woman watches her hand as blood red rage flows within her veins. She’s surrounded by purple flames. Under her, another image of herself in the sun, clenching her fist with determination. “‘L’Égarement’. The people of the opera, or maybe the opera itself, they will lose their ways, their values.”

“Seaton, if you’ve put these cards there while I was looking away, this isn’t a funny joke,” Dorothea says, looking at him with fear. How could he spin the tale of victory he’d told her, then make it crash down with terrible stories? Why was he now painting this horrible picture after telling her that she shouldn’t lose hope?

Seaton throws a brief glance at Dorothea, his brows furrowed in worry. He turns the last card, the one covering the present. A white-haired woman looks around in fear as black clouds surround her. On the sunny side, she holds a book of knowledge as a bird flies peacefully by her side. Seaton’s hands tremble. “‘Le Nuage Noir’,” he raises his gaze to meet Dorothea’s. “Right now, a bad omen is being spoken. A black cloud that may suffocate those who seek to discover its truth.”

Maybe the curse is real, and it's been cast now.