[open] i’m scared, but things will be different this time.

[foundfamilies]

Who: Leslie featuring Aefenglom guest stars.
When: Aeveuer 13
Where: The Looking-Glass House...?
What: Memories.
Warnings: So much child abuse. Includes physical abuse, emotional abuse, starvation, child sacrifice, being burned alive.... Less seriously, way too many words. Updated 4/21: the threads also contain the threats of violence/murder everyone keeps making toward the people responsible for the other warnings.

I. The Looking-Glass House

[ As is becoming a habit for Leslie in her dreams, her dream self is in the nightgown she went to sleep in. She's perhaps a little too literal-minded. It's fortunate that she's getting the hang of using magic in the dream, so she's able to conjure a pair of shoes for herself and has the option to do the same with a coat if she ends up in a particularly cold dream. For now, she wanders around this slightly different Looking-Glass House, looking over the mirrors that are no longer as blank as she remembers.

At one point, she turns to one of the others wandering the house. ]

This is a dream...right?

[ Usually, her dreams -- both shared and normal -- are a lot weirder than this. (She will soon learn.)


For those who come across Leslie's mirror, the frame varies from its usual plain state to those who don't know her and increasing towards the much more complicated frame that Leslie sees herself for people who know her better. (Long unnecessary description to follow. Skipping to the next paragraph will not impact one's understanding of this post.) In Leslie's eyes, the top corners of the frame have a pair of shield-shaped heraldic crests carved into it -- on the left, containing three crossed swords, and on the right, containing a phoenix whose tail disappears into flames -- with a person standing in front of them. The woman on the left has long dark hair and a light mask covering half of the visible side of her face, raising one arm behind the mirror so that her hand is held palm up on the top of the frame. On the right, a light-haired man with blue eyes reaches in much the same way, but his hand is reaching to grasp something and his expression is much more malicious than the calm expression of the woman. Between their hands at the top centre of the frame is a white rabbit, a paw extended to begin walking towards the woman but the head glancing back at the man. Below each stands a second person. On the left is a bear of a man, bulging with muscles and a bushy beard, with a broad, toothy smile. Opposite him on the right is an extravagantly dressed woman, her hair done up perfectly. The fan held over her mouth does little to hide the disapproving expression in her eyes. The next layer down has two men on the right: an armoured man whose hair is carved to indicate a dark shade in the same way as the woman, standing at attention away from the mirror, and a smirking man whose hair and robe both have only the outline carved to indicate a lighter shade, who faces the mirror with a much less ruler-straight posture, almost leaning back against the other man. Their opposite is a girl, likely in the middle of her adolescence, wearing a similarly fancy dress as the woman above. She stands facing away from the mirror like the man in armour, but she looks back over her shoulder with an openly disgusted expression. The pictures of these people are both cut off at the bottom by a line of much smaller carvings of people: two maids with a butler in the centre. It's easier to tell that's what they are on the left, as they show much more detail: even their expressions are all slightly different, though they all bear some kind of smile. The servants on the right side are shown as outlines with an identical wide smile on each face as the only feature. The mirroring between sides continues below these. The left shows a canopied double bed over a field of snow, dark tendrils leaking out beneath to gather above it around what appears to be the stuffed bunny that Leslie arrived with. The right has a lovely field of grass, with a bit of a garden peeking out the edge, but the bed is much simpler and fire spews out from under it in place of those dark shapes, a book at the top of the flames.

But the most obvious sign that this is Leslie's mirror comes in something that is still there in the real world: a piece of paper has been pasted onto the mirror's surface, the side facing out blank. If one peels off the paper, it reveals itself to be a letter placed facing the mirror. It reads: ]

If seen within a mirror, the contents of this letter are to be conveyed to Duchess Acela Belkan Salvatore.

I, Leslie, have been in the city of Aefenglom for nine weeks. The mirror in this place was once connected to one in the Rucardius Empire. If I have gone missing in the middle of the night after my first lesson with Big Brother Ruenti, I passed through this mirror into this world.

I am safe and I continue to be well looked after by Lady Edelgard von Hresvelg, who hails from a different planet than our own. I hope that my absence has not caused you inconvenience. It is still not my intent to break our contract and I will return as soon as I am able.

Yesterday, Princess sat close enough to me that I could feel her next to me, though she left when I attempted to pet her. If you have not been receiving my earlier missives, Princess is the name of the cat I have adopted while I am in Aefenglom. This week I was also able to see a shower of shooting stars. A boy here explained to me that these are not actually stars but pieces that have broken off of a comet. It was very beautiful. There were also small bugs who glowed in various colours that flew around during that time, which only made it more beautiful.

But I still want to return, as long as you are still willing to have me.

Warmest regards,
Leslie

[ No one knows much about the mirrors in the Looking-Glass House, but Leslie does know the mirror was once connected to one in the Rucardius Empire. She has been leaving such letters in the Looking-Glass House regularly since about two weeks after her arrival, removing the previous week's to paste a new one during one of her visits to the Coven over the week. So far, she's not seen any evidence that it is working.

Perhaps as you attempt to look at the paper, you accidentally brush the surface of the mirror and find yourself.... ]

II. Inside the Mirror

[ Important notes: while most of these are labelled with the name of a person who made plans with me, all memory starters are open. I don't mind going over the same memory multiple times. Prompts are written in second person for ease of making them open, but narration will return to third person in specific threads. Please also indicate whether you want your character to experience this alongside Leslie or to watch them without Leslie (either alone or with a different character in a duo) and speak to her after you return. The first prompts were written before I realized Leslie could also be there, but I am open to either option.

Titles are formatted as (estimated length of memory) [characters] Title * Name of character who has been plotted with if any

* representing the content of the memory:
-- almost completely negative memory.
- mostly negative, but with some happy moments
+ mostly happy, but with some touches of negativity
++ almost completely happy memory
? both?????

(There are some people I plotted with that are not named on any particular memory, because we did not come to a conclusion about what kind of memory to use. It might be easier to do so with so many options laid out.) ]

a. (medium) [mother] The Mirror Room -- Edelgard

[ Passing through the mirror, you find yourself on a wooden interior balcony running along all four walls over a lavishly decorated sitting room. Even from up here, it's obvious that the large carpet, chairs, and couches are all lush, springy, and bright red, and the ornamental vases and chest of drawers all look to be antiques. Everything about the room below is ornate from the fireplace to even the door to the room. On this floor, full bookcases fill every wall around the balcony save for over the doors -- it's a library, connected to the sitting room below by a spiral staircase in the corner. While there are currently no servants on the balcony, there is a footman standing at attention and two maids cleaning in the room below. This is the house of someone both well-to-do and wanting to live the good life.

It is not, however, the house of a voracious reader. Almost all of the books are in pristine condition, to the point that one might suspect that they have not been touched since they were installed. It seems the rows upon rows of full shelves are merely decorative: a way to appear like a cultured intellectual without having to put in any of the work. There are a very small number of books that show even the slightest wear. Two of those are in the middle of being handled by the one other person currently on the balcony with you.

In some ways, it’s not difficult to recognize a younger Leslie. She looks about eight, which by Leslie standards probably means here she actually is the nine or ten year old she looks like now. Despite the younger appearance, this Leslie appears far more worn than the one of present day.

When Leslie arrived in Aefenglom, people familiar with such things could have guessed that she has been underfed at some point in her life. Over the two and a half months living here, she’s filled out a little more — still small, still slight, since two months can only do so much, but now there are far fewer signs of the possibility.

There is no need to guess with this younger Leslie. It’s obvious at a glance that she is unhealthy, rarely washed, and so very tired. The dark circles under her eyes stand out on skin even paler than she has now, but the most unsettling is likely her expression, which has none of the vibrancy she shows so readily today.

It’s only after she has set three books in a pile on the floor (if they are examined, they appear to be books on history of people and places of this world) that there is any indication she is doing more than just going through the motions. As she reaches to pick up the pile (even three is too many for this malnourished child), she hesitates and looks around guiltily to make sure no one is watching. Since you are not here in the memory, she reaches on top of the books on the second shelf to slide a green book out from where it had been hidden. It’s titled simply: Theories of Philosophy with the word (name?) Nyrokia on the spine.

Looking at it, here she at last smiles. It’s merely a flickering ember to the thousand watt bulb of her smiles over the smallest of good fortune in Aefenglom, but it’s the first true sign of life from her in this memory. ]

b. (very short like it's literally just this) [??? everyone else in the flashback has their heads cropped out] A Child's Prayer --

[ You find yourself in a crowded temple. It really is a beautiful place: light of many colours shift over the floor from the stained glass windows high in the room. A chandelier hung over the altar has long purple banners streaming down, falling over some nearly invisible wire to form the shape of a huge tent over the altar. There's a cross over the altar because despite several changes being made, the author didn't properly file the serial codes off of Christianity for their original religion do not steal. which I have only scraps about so if you're expecting a really deep explanation of the beliefs of Leslie's people, you're going to be disappointed

There are some pews toward the front of the room, but they are obviously insufficient to contain the throngs of people in the huge hall. Some especially rich-looking nobles sit in the pews while many more, some who look to be fairly well-off themselves, stand in the back of the chapel, not approaching the row between the pews despite how crowded it is behind them.

It might take a few times to see Leslie standing in the middle of this crowd, a woman with a tight bun standing next to her with one hand on Leslie's shoulder. She looks a couple of years younger than she is now. They both wear fairly average clothes, though Leslie's are more worn despite being a child who technically is growing despite that she's not really all that much shorter than she is these days. There is no family resemblance between them, so it's not very likely that they are related by blood in any way. Perhaps some form of nanny?

Leslie's head is bowed, her hands clasped together. Most of the people in the chapel are bowing their heads, but Leslie looks especially sad. (There aren't nearly as many people in the crowd clasping their hands. Most are carrying their coats and hats for the outdoors. Neither Leslie nor the woman holding on to her appear to be carrying any sort of outdoor clothing in Leslie's size, though.)

She barely even whispers the words, but since this is Leslie's memory, you can clearly hear her desperate prayer.

"Dear God, I hope that I won't make a mistake. That I won't answer a question from my tutor wrong, that I won't make my family mad at me. That I won't get on the wrong side of dad, that mom will allow me to eat delicious food. That my father...no, that my whole family would stop hitting me but love me instead. Please, love me." ]

c. (short) [Sperado servants] And Yet They Smiled -- Felix? (more immediately obvious option)

[ You find yourself in an attic, with assorted boxes and other storage packed away. It hasn’t been cleaned in some time, with recent movements recorded by tracks in the dust. The most busy thoroughfare in the dust is one leading from the stairwell to an unassuming door at the back. It’s a wide disturbance in the dust, with a particularly close inspection finding a thinner part that has resulted in extra wear on the wooden floor. It would be logical to conclude that sometimes multiple people come this way, but that a majority of the trips up and down this path are taken alone.

Today seems to be a multiple people day, as a trio of servants walk up the stairs, with the one dressed as a doorman holding a child’s arm — Leslie, maybe a year younger than she is now. The two maids flank her from behind, apparently to keep her from escaping, even though she shows no sign of it. They travel at a decent pace for adults, leaving the much shorter Leslie scrambling to keep up.

Since you were not here in the memory, they ignore you completely as they walk through the attic to that door. Opening it, the footman unceremoniously throws Leslie inside as the maids spread out to keep blocking the door.

What dost thou do? ]

d. (short) [sister] Mistakes Were Made -- Will

[ You find yourself in a room that is on the smaller side, though not extraordinarily so. The ceiling slants down, but other than over the bed, it is tall enough for someone of middling height to stand anywhere else. The far wall is wide enough for a bed (one sheet too short for the bed and a notably flat pillow) and there is space enough for both the foot of the bed and a desk (no drawers, but a travel trunk has been placed underneath) to the left. The right has a chest of drawers (an inch or two off the height and width and it would seem more like a nightstand), and that is a summary of the room’s contents save for the girl sitting on a stool nearly half as tall as the girl herself at the desk, writing notes on a book open in front of her: it’s Leslie, a year younger, seeming to have missed several meals and to have not had a good night’s sleep in months.

It’s clear that the room is rarely cleaned. There’s no clutter — outside of the contents of the desk currently in use, there’s a near complete lack of stuff — but there are smudges of dirt everywhere and some black spots on the wooden walls suggest a potential mold issue in the making. If you look out the window over the bed, though, the view is of a magnificently tended estate from at least the third floor.

Compared to the memory Leslie's dress (decently made but ratty from being worn over and over for years), the fancy, expensive dress on the blond girl (about fifteen years old, give or take) who burst into the room just now fits that estate much better. There's a loud bang as the new arrival slams the door open, looking furious. Leslie jolts in her stool, looking up. When she sees the new arrival, she immediately tenses.

"Did you think it would be funny?" the new arrival demands.

"What -- ?" Leslie is only able to get one word out before the other girl kicks the stool over, sending Leslie to the ground.

With a sweep of her arm, the other girl sends the books on the desk raining down on the fallen Leslie. "Did you think such a petty revenge would be worth getting what's coming to you after?"

Leslie scrambles from her fallen state to kneel in front of the other girl. "Sister, please, I don't know about anything like that."

As the other girl -- as Leslie's sister looks down at her, her furious expression cools into a more disdainful one as she looks at the groveling Leslie. ]

e. (short) [mother] You Must Be Beautiful -- Felix? (the option raising questions Leslie doesn't want to answer)

[ The mirror room -- as Leslie knows it, though there are some tables in addition to the large full-length mirror against a wall -- is neither particularly nice nor particularly dreary for a basement room, but as a basement room, it only has a small window near the ceiling -- the rest of the light is supplied by candlelight.

In the memory, Leslie stands facing the mirror, looking incredibly uncertain about how to feel about what is happening. Her arms are lifted slightly as a long white cloth is being pinned onto her as what will one day be a chiton-like dress is measured to her. A second maid holds up lengths of ribbon in front of Leslie's waist, looking up to the stern-faced woman standing behind Leslie for approval. The woman is dressed in clothes that strongly suggest she is a noble, or at least rich, and she shares the same violet eyes as Leslie. She shakes her head at this colour and that colour, tapping the closed fan in her hand against her shoulder impatiently.

After several ribbons are rejected, the process is interrupted by a soft knock on the door. Entering is a third maid, carrying a tray of...technically, it's a tray of food, but all that rests on it is a wide but shallow bowl of broth and a wooden spoon.

"Put it over there," the woman instructs, using her fan to briefly gesture towards one of the tables in the room.

The maid bows slightly with the tray still in hand before moving over to the table and setting the contents of the tray onto the indicated table. Leslie follows the movement in the mirror. When the woman notices this, she nods.

"Only eat this for a while."

In the memory, Leslie looks disappointed, but not surprised at this pronouncement. She looks underfed already, with dark circles under her eyes to indicate that she hasn't been getting enough sleep, either. ]

f. (long) [Sperado family] The Sacrifice -- Hubert, Lorenz, Hector, etc.

[ Through the mirror, you find yourself at the end of a white bridge crossing a deep canyon, though the centre of the bridge is blocked by a small domed structure with the walls beneath forming an octagon with pillars at the vertices. Each wall is dominated by a tall glass doors, through which you can see a strangely dark fire flicker a mixture of scarlet and black. The sun is slowly setting and there's a chill in the air of an autumn evening.

It might be difficult to keep your attention on exactly what is causing the fire to look that way in the face of the screams of the memory's Leslie.

"Father! Mother! Sister!"

There's Leslie, on the bridge, her face full of fear and desperation as a large man dressed like a gardener drags her by a rope tied around her neck. She reaches one hand out, pleading towards some people behind you, as she grabs a post of the railing of the bridge with her other hand to fruitlessly tries to resist the much stronger adult. Her choked sobs are cut off as the man gives a stronger tug that pulls her off her feet.

(In different circumstances, she might look to be in a decent condition at first glance. She's wearing a fluttery white chiton-like dress trimmed in the same blue ribbon as decorates her hair and her skin seems smooth and clean. At a closer look, it seems that the dark circles under her eyes and other signs of exhaustion and malnourishment have been covered by careful application of makeup, which is beginning to run off from her tears. Her bare legs and feet are also covered in scratches from her attempts to stop herself from being dragged.)

"...What are they doing?"

A different girl's voice is heard behind you. There are six people standing on the ground before the bridge, not counting the driver of the carriage a ways behind them. Unlike the bare arms and legs of Leslie, they are all dressed for the evening chill. Half of them are soldiers in uniform, their expressions ranging from blank to openly uncomfortable, but they continue to stand at attention around the three blond nobles.

It's not a terrible guess to assume these nobles to be a family, with the fifteen-year-old girl who spoke resembling both adults around her, meticulously groomed to the height of beauty by the standards of her society. She holds an open fan to her face, partially obscuring her mouth, but that doesn't hide her expression of irritated disbelief -- it doesn't seem to be disbelief at a child being dragged toward a fire, but at the incompetence of the one doing the dragging. To her right stands a taller woman wrapped in furs, her hair more strawberry blond than true blond. She, too, looks annoyed, violet eyes of a similar shade to Leslie's own narrowing as she grips her folded fan. To the girl's left stands a neatly groomed man of middling height who expresses the frustration that the three share by shouting.

"Throw her in already! If the sun sets before you finish this, I will shove you in the firepit as well!" ]

g. (medium) [Sperado family] No One Thought of Me as a Part of the Family -- Itachi

[ The memory's Leslie walks down a hallway with a plush red carpet. It's clearly the home of someone rich, based on the paintings on the walls and other finery spread about. She doesn't look like she belongs in it, wearing an old dress that wasn't up to its standards even when it was new. Her arms are sloppily wrapped in bandages, with second degree burns visible in the gaps. Based on the insufficient treatment, it's likely that they will scar. Her fingertips are red and fingernails cracked from where she failed to find purchase on stone when she was dragged across it the previous day and there are cuts and scrapes up the back of her legs that disappear into her dress. From her gait, it seems that these are all hurting, but she's gotten used enough to it that she's no longer limping.

Initially, she walks with arms by her sides, but her expression gets increasingly angry as she loses herself in thought and she ends up hugging herself by the upper arms where there may not be as severe burns under her sleeves.

"From now on, I won't listen nor speak to them," she mutters to herself.

Not long after this, she stops at the sound of a teenage girl's voice: "Half a year? How can I wait half a year?!"

Leslie looks at the slightly ajar door from which the voice came and begins to walk towards it to peek inside. If you also look inside the door, you will see the back of the teenage girl's head as she complains to what appears to be her father, her apparent mother looking on in concern. They certainly look like they belong in this finery, based on how they are dressed and immaculately groomed.

"Sweetie, my lovely Eli. We'll know when the perfect time comes," the man says soothingly as the memory's Leslie peeks through the gap with one eye. ]

h. (short, can extend into medium) [father, Sperado servants in extension] Then Jump In Yourself - Mikasa

[ You find yourself in an opulent entry hall with a memory Leslie walking down a staircase on one side, holding onto the railing. As she approaches the door, a blurry form emerges from the back of the hall, walking up to stand about two meters away from her -- she didn't see him, but she can imagine what lead him to be standing at the point where she first notices him.

"Where are you going so early in the morning?" a man's voice asks, and as the memory Leslie turns around to face him, he resolves into a smartly dressed man. His clothes would have been far more expensive than the ones she wears even without taking into account that hers are worn, with some trimming on the edge of the skirt only barely holding on.

The expression on the memory Leslie is not one ever seen on Leslie's face yet in Aefenglom, angrily meeting the disdainful look on the man's face without hesitation. As the stare-off continues in silence for a moment, her expression remains entirely fixed while his grows further disdainful.

"And now you don't reply? Useless trash," he grumbles. The memory's Leslie's expression doesn't falter in the least at the insult. ]

i. (medium) [sister] Sister is the Only One Who Knows - "Mr. Krüger"

[ You find yourself on the cobblestone driveway of a massive estate. While most of the view looks entirely real, there is a crowd of people on the steps of the mansion who are oddly blurry -- Leslie knows they were there at this point in the memory, but she didn't see them herself until a few moments later.

A beautiful carriage is rolling up the driveway -- white with gold trimmings and blue curtains concealing the inside, driven by a man in a long coat, cravat, and top hat. It stops in front of the mansion and the driver hops down to open the door of the carriage and stands aside with his hand out. The one to emerge from this door is the memory's Leslie. Despite her somewhat shabby appearance -- her dress was already not really up to the standards expected from this kind of carriage even before it ended up deteriorating from long wear -- she places one hand on the driver's and lifts her dress slightly with the other, descending from the carriage in an unpracticed but reasonable approximation of a noble lady's actions.

It's at this moment that one of the blurry figures resolves itself into the appearance of a beautiful adolescent girl, her green dress and lace-trimmed shawl flapping slightly behind her as she runs towards Leslie to embrace her.

"Leslie!" she cries out as her arms wrap around a startled Leslie. "My beloved little sister!" She smiles beatifically and it's a convincing act, but it's still an act.

It's not an expression of pleased surprise on Leslie's face -- she stiffens immediately as her face turns from first a strong fight-or-flight intention into genuine confusion. She looks past the other girl, deliberately not returning the hug, towards the crowd that now also lose their blurriness. About a half dozen servants stand among the crowd with varying expressions of surprise and uncertainty, one soon shaking himself out of his surprise to rush forward to hold the parasol in his hands over the girl in green's head. Two more footmen stand on either side of the doors farther back, one craning his head to get a better look at this scene with a similar amount of confusion. There are only two others who do not appear to be servants among the initial crowd. One is a guard who is clearly protecting someone with high standing from his very crisp and expensive uniform. The other is a gloved man in even more expensive coat and trousers, and while he looks no more aware of what is happening here than anyone else, he also looks only barely interested. If anything, he looks a little miffed at the delay this is causing as he folds his arms in front of him, watching to see if anything is going to come of it to make it less of a waste of time.

It's upon looking at this last man that Leslie appears to understand what is going on here and she glares at the girl hugging her. ]

j. (medium, can be subdivided into two short) [nanny] [sister] Now I Know What Her Beauty is Made Of - (at least the second half will be a part of Itachi's explorations)

[ You find yourself in a room on the smaller side of things, with a roof that descends towards a dormer window overlooking a meticulously cared-for estate. The furniture (a chest of drawers little bigger than a nightstand, a table with a wooden trunk beneath it, and a bed) is smudged with dirt from not being cleaned in who knows how long and the walls are dotted with black marks suggesting (and making the room smell like) mold. In the memory, Leslie is lying on her side on the bed, turned away from the rest of the room, covered by a sheet that isn't long enough for the bed (though it's long enough for the small girl) and placing her head on a pillow that is barely thicker than a hand laid flat.

You get all of half a minute to observe this scene before the door to the room opposite the bed is slammed open by an angry woman with her hair tied back in a tight bun.

"Miss!" she shouts as she strides into the room. Leslie opens her eyes at the noise, but refuses to turn her grumpy expression toward her until the woman tears the sheet off of Leslie. "You crazy girl!"

With the sheet removed, the sleeves on the old, too small dress are short enough on her to reveal scars from recent, poorly-treated second-degree burns on her arms. The woman does not hesitate to grab Leslie by the upper arm and berate her anyway: "How can you behave like that towards Miss Eli?! The prince almost misunderstood her!"

"Misunderstood?" Though she asks a question, Leslie's expression is a mix between angry and disdainful.

"Everyone heard it! I, Ria, heard it." The woman -- Ria points at her accusingly. "You got these burn marks because you stupidly played with a kettle while on a family vacation."

The Leslie in the memory's expression remains angry, but there is a level of disbelief mixing in as she's briefly stunned into silence by hearing Ria believe this lie. ]

k. (medium, but dense with talking) [Duchess Salvatore] The Contract +

[ In the memory, Leslie sits on a plush red couch that dwarfs her in the middle of a large, extravagant study, with rows upon rows of books. (Unlike that in the memory of the Sperado manor, these books appear to see use from time to time.) She rubs her face, both it and her hands pink from standing outside for hours in early winter with only a dress that is not even made for the colder seasons.

A door swings open and in walks an older woman in a butler uniform and a monocle, carrying a round tray with a teacup on it, her other arm behind her with a fuzzy white blanket draped over it. Noticing the new arrival, Leslie stops trying to warm her hands and cheeks in favour of holding her arms tucked up in front of herself.

"Are you still cold?" the butler asks, smiling kindly as she leans down to place the tea on the table in front of Leslie. "For a young lady like you, a cup of hot chocolate would have been better, but, unfortunately, we no longer have anyone who favours that sort of thing. Thus, we only have this tea. I put a lot of sugar to make up for it. Please help yourself."

It's no longer only her previous time in the cold making Leslie's cheeks pink as she smiles, unused to such attention. "Thank you."

Picking up the teacup, she initially holds it in her hands, enjoying the warmth and the smell. After a moment, she begins to lift it to drink, but her frozen fingers are clumsy and the cup slips from her hands. Her face is instantly one of complete terror.

"Oh!" she shouts as she tries to chase the cup rolling along the carpet, spilling tea everywhere. "I-I'm so sorry!" Panicked and beginning to cry, she grabs the edge of her dress, intending to use it to wipe up the tea from the carpet. "I'll clean it up!"

In Leslie's memory, the butler's voice initially sounds as though it is coming from far away, getting clearer as it slowly breaks through her panic. "Miss, everything is alright." The butler places one hand on Leslie's shoulder and stops the hand Leslie is using to turn her dress into a washcloth, a concerned expression on her face. "The rug can be washed and the tea can be bought again."

She cups her hands around Leslie's much smaller ones as she helps Leslie back to her feet and guides her back to the couch. "With hands this frozen, it was bound to happen." As Leslie sits on the couch once more, looking confused and worried but no longer crying, the butler takes the blanket she set aside and places it over Leslie's lap. "Here, I got you a warm blanket. Please have a seat and wait on the couch with it draped over you. I will bring another cup of tea soon."

Leslie hesitantly reaches down to touch the blanket. Surprised by the softness, she soon buries both hands into it, rubbing the fabric to enjoy the feel of it beneath her hands.

The butler chuckles. "Is it to your liking?"

Leslie's blush deepens and she still looks unsure, but she smiles, her tears drying. "Y-yes..." she says hesitantly.

The door opens one more time. "I apologize, Miss Sperado." The woman who walks in must be at least six and a half feet tall, wearing a white mask over a quarter of her face.

From the expression of awe on Leslie's face, it's clear that she's never seen anyone like her before. The butler smiles down at Leslie, amused by the reaction to her employer. ]

l. (medium) [sister, mother] I Don't Want to be Your Daughter Either! --

[ As Leslie enters the fancy entry hall of the Sperado Mansion, she finds a well-dressed and beautifully groomed girl a few years older than her waiting for her.

"Where did you go?" When Leslie doesn't answer, the girl asks again, increasingly annoyed. "I asked you, where are you coming back from?"

Leslie walks past the girl as though she isn't there, save for a curt answer to the twice-asked question: "Overnight prayer."

Angry to be brushed past, the girl snatches Leslie's arm. Her features are still beautiful, but her expression is ugly from hate. "Don't lie to me! Don't you think I know you never spent the night praying?" She pulls Leslie closer to her. "What did you pray for that it took you this long? Explain yourself!"

Leslie snatches her arm out of the girl's grip. Given how Leslie in this memory has even less upper body strength than she has in Aefenglom, the other girl must not have been expecting to be resisted -- not that the other girl is exactly muscular, but she doesn't look any more underfed than one might expect from someone who possibly diets from time to time.

"Why do you want to know? And is there a reason I must tell you that?" Leslie asks, looking annoyed. She holds the arm that had been grabbed with her other hand. "I don't care about what you do, so can't you do the same for me?"

The girl, already angry, shifts gears into furious, pointing at Leslie accusingly as she shouts "You -- if I send someone over to the church, then your lie will be exposed!"

Leslie looks at the other girl uncertainly for a moment, but she regains her confidence. "Do whatever you want."

Furious is upgraded to livid. "You!"

But before she can begin to berate Leslie, the confrontation is interrupted by a new voice. "What's this ruckus?"

Both girls turn towards the woman who has entered, dressed in similarly fancy style to the other girl. The reactions could scarcely be more different: while the other girl's expression relaxes into something more relieved, Leslie's turns even colder.

"Why is my lovely daughter yelling like this?" The woman's voice and expression are both gentle and full of love, looking towards the girl and ignoring Leslie entirely. ]

m. (long) [nanny, father, sister, mother] A Father Who Didn't Recognize Her Worth -- Qrow (latter half will also be a part of Itachi's trilogy)

[ You find yourself in the small, dirty room with a bed, a small chest of drawers, and a table with a trunk beneath it. There's the smell of mold from the black dots around the wall. Leslie is sitting up in the bed with a single sheet and a nearly completely flat pillow, warily watching a woman wearing a servant's clothes with a tight bun. The woman, Ria, holds up an exceptionally fancy dress -- far, far more expensive than the tired, old, and slightly too small dress that Leslie wears -- with a forced smile, cajoling, "Look! Isn't it pretty?"

Today, a bowl filled with warm water rests on a tray on the chest of drawers, a clean cloth sitting next to it -- the kind of setup one might use to wash oneself with or with which a servant might wash a noble. Leslie doesn't look like she's been washed recently: in part due to Leslie's wariness right now, but it looks to have been several days since she last washed. This is new.

With the lack of response from Leslie, Ria continues her insincere persuasion: "It's a gift from the Marquess. The colour is a beautiful purple, it will surely look nice on the miss."

Finally, Leslie responds, though her expression remains flat. "That's Eli's dress. Does Eli know about this? She'll make a fuss."

"Oh yes~ Of course Miss Eli knows." Ria's voice is sickly sweet. "It's just an older sister giving her little sister some clothes. There is no way our kind Miss Eli would make a fuss."

Leslie stares at the dress, clearly lost in an unhappy memory, before she lays back down and turns her back on Ria. "Miss!" The woman sounds and looks a little desperate -- the first genuine emotion she's shown in this memory.

Leslie squeezes her eyes shut, obviously upset but trying to keep it from her voice. "Leave. I'm tired and I want to sleep."

"No, you cannot, Miss!" Ria is nearly pleading now. "The Marquess has requested to eat together with you!"

Mostly, Leslie looks surprised, but there's a definite undercurrent of fear in her expression as she turns just enough to look at Ria again. After a moment, she asks: "The Marquess?"

Sensing an opening, Ria's tight, insincere smile returns and she moves closer, holding the fancy dress out again, saying in a singsong voice, "It's not 'the Marquess.' You have to call him 'Father!' Try again, say 'Father!'"

Leslie's expression turns flat again. "Stop that nonsense. The Marquess wants to see me?"

Ria nods, a bead of sweat dripping down her face as she holds the obviously fake smile. "Yes, it has been awhile since you've eaten with everyone. He also said there will be a lot of Miss Leslie's favourite foods, made just for today!"

Leslie's expression turns to disgust and anger for a moment before she turns away once more, this time pulling the blanket over her head. (It's not long enough even for someone of her size, so the tips of her feet stick out the other end.) "I'm not going."

"Miss!" Ria shouts angrily, but Leslie stays turned away. ]

n. (medium) [a cameo by Sir Bethrion] How Many Times Can A Child Be Nearly Burned to Death by her Own Family? World Record Run --

[ You find yourself in a relatively small carriage, though it might not be obvious for those who aren't used to carriages of the nobility since it isn't ridiculously small. Two adults would have to squeeze a bit to sit next to one another in it, but the person sitting opposite you in the memory is Leslie, who is alone and much smaller than an adult. She leans back in the seat with her eyes closed, looking weary.

There is a strong smell in here, though Leslie does not seem to have noticed, used to ignoring bad smells. You may be able to identify it as the smell of oil.

The carriage comes to a stop, which isn't suspicious in itself, and Leslie begins to kick her feet a little. If you pay close attention, though, you may hear a carriage ahead of this one start moving again while this carriage remains still. Leslie isn't paying attention to it, looking down at her lap and smiling at some happy thought, even when there is the soft, nearly inaudible sound of clopping hooves from the front of the still-unmoving carriage. Alas, because this is a memory, you can't see in the direction of the front of carriage to see if the horses that should be pulling it are being lead off or not.

Leslie can't stay oblivious when there is a loud thud in that direction, like something very heavy was dropped. She's startled out of her thoughts and looks out the window nervously. The carriage has been stopped for a long time, but she doesn't see any reason for it....

She knocks on the front of the carriage. "Excuse me...did something happen?" Silence. She knocks again. "Excuse me. ...Why is there no answer?" ]

o. (short to medium) [Duchess Salvatore, a dream of her father] The Duchess's Hand...It's Warm. +

[ At first, this memory is strange. You stand on a pitch black field in some white space. There are only two points of colour: one, a fire that is shaped in the vague outline of a man, and two, Leslie, attempting to flee from the fire, tears running down her cheeks. But she's too slow. The fire wraps its hands around her throat and she screams:

"No!"

But now you're in a dark room, where Leslie shoots up in the bed, wearing an oversized collared shirt and clutching the blankets to herself. It looks like that part of the memory was a dream, though the tears were certainly real.

As she looks around the room, not recognizing it at all, a large figure moves in the dark. It's a tall, dark-haired woman in a simple but well-made dress with a white mask covering a quarter of her face as though she were the phantom of the opera. Her voice is calm as she speaks quietly. "Are you awake, Leslie?"

After a moment, Leslie's expression finally relaxes somewhat. "...Ah. Sir Bethrion...saved me." ]

p. (medium) [Sir Sairaine, Sir Bethrion] Leslie Learns to Swear and that Marquess Sperado Ain't All That +

[ In this memory, Leslie sits on a chair much too big for her at a table that is the same, pillows piled on top of the chair to allow her to reach the plate in front of her. She digs into the omelette in front of her, smiling brightly. The man sitting next to her and watching her quietly is very large and muscular, but even he pales in comparison to the middle aged bear of a man sitting across from Leslie, who is watching her eat with his chin in his hands as he nearly sparkles in his delight.

"You eat so well!" His voice is as large but friendly as he is. "Though it would have been better if you could have had something a bit more nutritious after just waking up..." He pushes off the table to stand. "It's a bit late, but I'm sure a few slices of meat won't hurt."

An older woman in a monocle and butler's uniform who was quietly standing to one side until now raises her hand as though preparing to stop him. "Sir Sairaine. As I've said before, Miss Leslie has just woken up. It wouldn't be advisable to give her such greasy foods."

The huge man -- Sir Sairaine -- looks chastised, but points at the younger man sitting next to Leslie. "But when we were injured and ate meat, we were completely fine...?"

The butler is unmoved, chastising him. "Sir, that was only possible because it was you two. Please don't forget that Leslie is just a normal child."

Sairaine sinks back into his seat, drawing in on himself and looking guilty (though he remains the largest person in the room no matter how much he tries to shrink). Leslie, feeling a little guilty herself to see him looking sad, tries to encourage him with a smile.

"Umm...but this is also very tasty. There is cheese and mushrooms inside of it...and the sauce is very tasty, too!" Though Leslie is saying it to try to cheer him up, she speaks with complete sincerity. She's obviously enjoying the meal.

Sairaine is almost immediately back to being cheerful, leaping to his feet once more. "Then shall I go get some more omelettes for you?" If he was a dog, his tail would be wagging.

The other man at the table is less than impressed with this, looking at him flatly. "...Father," he says in a reproachful tone. ]

q. (medium) [sister] I Won't Put Up With It Anymore ? Sylvia, Kurumi

[ In this memory, Leslie stands in the middle of an exceptionally fancy store that seems to serve the nobility from the look of the clothes in the background. She's looking down at the a matching cloak and dress and a fancy pair of boots she is wearing, delighted. "I really like this."

Two of the four adults in the room are wearing a matching vest and bowtie that seems to be the store uniform. "This is the finest dress of our store," the one closer to Leslie says as Leslie pushes the fur collar of the cloak up to press against her cheeks with a wide smile and shut eyes. "I'm glad it's to your liking, miss!"

Behind him, a woman in decent but less fancy clothing smiles widely and gives Leslie a thumbs up. A very tall and broad man watches from his seat on one of the couches in the room. His face looks impassive at a glance, but a very close look suggests that he's pleased but unexpressive.

The first man in the store uniform hands both him and the woman a book. "Here is the catalogue. First, dresses for the lady...."

He continues to talk as the two with the catalogues pour over them, but Leslie herself has moved to give her cloak -- warm enough for the outdoors, so much too hot for inside the store -- to another employee and ask, "Um, where's the washroom?"

"I'll lead you there," he says and the two of them leave the others behind. If they are not followed, the space away from them will continue to get more and more blurry -- after all, Leslie doesn't remember what happened here. If you follow them, though, they go through a door into an extravagant hallway.

After a while, the employee stops and gestures around a corner. "The washroom is right there, and I will wait here."

Leslie nods and, a little nervously, walks around the corner down the side hallway. She doesn't get very far, because there is a girl a few years older than her who jumps out from where she hid behind a pillar and grabs Leslie's arm. The startled Leslie immediately tries to pull away even before she catches sight of the figure, but the grip is too strong.

"You -- !" The girl's features would be very beautiful, probably, were her face not currently twisted in anger and hatred. ]

r. (medium) [Sir Bethrion] There's Nothing to Do but to Buy All The Toys Here + Juza

[ You find yourself on a snowy street filled with rather upscale businesses. Nearby, the memory's Leslie walks ahead of a very large man and a woman who doesn't come up to his shoulder even with her hat. The man and Leslie both wear cloaks with fur collars over expensive clothing, while the woman walking just behind is wearing a less expensive but still good quality cloak and dress.

Wordlessly, the tall man reaches down to offer his hand to Leslie, intending to carry her, but Leslie shakes her head. "These shoes are so comfortable. I just want to always walk in these."

And she does just that, walking with a slight spring in her step as she leads the way down the partially cleared pathway. She's never been here before, but she's sure someone will stop her before she goes the wrong way. The two adults follow behind her, the woman smiling and the man....well, if you look closely, the edges of his lips might be slightly turned up? Or you might be imagining it.

As Leslie passes by a window to one shop in particular, though, she stops dead in her tracks, staring through the window.

"It's a toy shop," the woman comments as Leslie presses her hands and nose against the glass, staring through at the displays: a pair of stuffed bears sitting at a tiny tea party, a miniature carousel made of wood, and all sorts of dolls and plush delights. While the woman stops to look inside as well, the man continues walking without a change of expression.

After a moment, he calls out, "Leslie." When Leslie tears her eyes away from the fascinating sight, the man stands by the door to the shop, pointing at it. Leslie's face brightens like the sun and she hurries to join him entering the shop. As she steps inside, they are welcomed by an aging shopkeeper with hair in a bun. "Oh my, welcome."

Leslie doesn't respond. She's lost in looking everywhere in the shop as though she's never seen a toy in her life. The man looks far less impressed, but maybe his face just does that.

(Also, if you stay outside, the area will slowly blur as she goes in. She still remembers what the street looked like, but she has no idea what was happening outside when she was inside the clothing shop. It's not dangerous, so your choice.) ]

s. (short to medium) [the Salvatore family and servants] "I Placed The Cookie!" ~ Leslie, chapter 22 ++

[ Leslie sits at a large dining table in an extravagant dining room, spread with delicious food. Sitting with her are a couple on the early end of middle age and a couple of twenty-something boys. Her chair is much higher than anyone else's, because in contrast to the small Leslie, the shortest (the red-headed boy) is nearly six and a half feet tall and the tallest (the older redhead) must be over seven feet tall. no one gives any vital data about characters in this comic I have to squint and guess at ages and heights The chair isn't any less deep, though, resulting in her only taking up half the seat even when scooted all the way back.

The woman speaks, smiling and buttering her bread. "Beth."

The black-haired boy across from her frowns. "Mother...." Bethrion has begged his mother to stop calling him by the short form that came from the plans to have a daughter, but his mother is undaunted.

"When you have finished eating, come with me. Ruenti," -- the redheaded boy, Ruenti, looks up from his plate, his frown significantly more expressive than Bethrion's -- "like I told you yesterday, when you're finished, bring Leslie to the library."

Leslie, who seems to only be hearing of this now, looks to the woman. "Excuse me...may I ask what is going on?"

When the woman turns to Leslie, her manner of speech doesn't really change, but there is a lack of the casual orders and disregard for their opinions on names that she showed with her sons in the content of her words to Leslie. "Ruenti will be teaching you from now on."

"Teaching me?" Leslie looks over at Ruenti, who turns his head away with a hmph. His father glares at him.

His mother doesn't acknowledge Ruenti's sulk. "He may not look like it, but he's a rather famous magician." Ruenti doesn't look any happier at this, but his mother continues unabated. "When your clothes arrive, you will start to learn the basics of wielding a sword. Since you lack stamina, I worry for your safety. So, after you have gained more stamina, you will move on to learn proper etiquette, dance, and other minor things. Will you be able to do it, Leslie?"

Leslie, who has held an expression of surprise throughout listening to the lessons she will learn, snaps into a serious, determined expression, both fists held up in front of her. "Yes!!" ]

t. (medium) [Big Brother Ruenti] Being a Genius Means I'm Not Inadequate +

[ In this memory, Leslie sits behind a table in what appears to be a two-story library, a balcony encircling the walls of the second floor of bookshelves above. She's holding pink, blushing cheeks as she silently thinks back to some embarrassing incident. But there is not much time to see this embarrassed Leslie before the other occupant of the library, a tall redhead in his twenties, slams a pile of books down on the table, startling her out of her recollection of an embarrassing moment.

(If you take a glance at the titles, it seems to be thick books on languages -- archaic and holy -- history, etiquette, and philosophy.)

"These are the things I will be teaching you from now on." The man looks down at her, not looking especially excited to be doing so.

Leslie, as though she has only just remembered something, stands and bows so quickly that her twin braids go flying out behind her head. "Ah, please treat me well."

The man flinches and pulls back, looking uncomfortable and irritated. "Hey...do you have to bow that low?" He turns and begins to walk towards a different desk, saying over his shoulder, "I'd still do this even if you didn't bow since Mother assigned me this task!"

Leslie looks completely lost as to what caused him to react like this. "Yes...??"

He doesn't explain further, instead telling her, "Sit down. Come here three times a week at the designated time."

Leslie had begun to look over the books currently on the table, but at the order, she sits back in the chair. ]

u. (medium) [Ruenti] In Which Ruenti Gains the Title of Big Brother and Looks Less Like a Pill ++

[ When you arrive in the vast, gorgeous library that clearly belongs to a rich family and one that values learning, Leslie is already deep in conversation with a tall, bespectacled man who half-sits on the edge of a table with two sandwiches placed upon it: one filled entirely with meat next to him and one with vegetables next to Leslie.

"Now you see," he says, looking at the seated Leslie, "they're arrogant enough to call themselves the sky. You can only imagine how annoyed the imperial family must be, thinking the Salvatore family might be superior to them. And our personalities don't exactly help, either. You've met Mother." (Leslie nods even though it's clear that both of them know this already.) "She is not the type of person who easily bows to other people."

Leslie lowers her head as she thinks, one hand rising to her chest and her eyebrows bunching together in concentration. After a few moments, though, her head bolts back up at the man, her expression now full of worry. "Were the rumours about the Salvatore family being monsters spread by the Salvatore family themselves?"

It seems that Leslie isn't especially healthy yet, despite evidence that she is being well-looked-after in this house in her clothes, the food in the library, and her lively reactions, because this outburst provokes a short coughing fit. The man, smiling in amusement, lifts a cup of juice from the table and brings it to the coughing Leslie, who tries to calm her cough by drinking it.

"That's right -- it was the Salvatore family's doing. Well, it's not like we don't have monstrous personalities and strengths." It seems that he's only entertained and not in the least bothered by such a description of himself and his family. "What, don't tell me you haven't noticed our rude personalities?"

Leslie looks down at the cup of juice she now holds in her lap as the man continues to airily talk about his family's intentionally self-inflicted bad reputation. "Either way, we don't mind being called monsters. It's a good thing, since the emperor's family aren't as hostile toward us as a result."

There isn't a response immediately, but Leslie looks back up, seeming to have found words for the thoughts she pondered as she looked down at her cup. Her eyes are wide and pleading. "That's not true. You've all been so kind to me." If anything, she sounds a little desperate and forceful in her words, as though afraid that he will think poorly of himself if she doesn't correct this. "You're not rude, and you definitely aren't monsters!"

The man continues to smile, but it shifts away from amusement into something warm...and maybe still a little amused. "You say that, but we are only kind to you." ]

v. (medium) [Duchess Salvatore] The Trial of the Salvatores -

[ Leslie sits on the couch of an extravagant study, wearing a fairly simple but very well-tailored dress. A mug of hot chocolate sits in front of her, while the tall woman with a white mask over a quarter of her face sitting across from her has a small tea set. Both have yet to be touched for more than a sip, Leslie looking more curious about why she has been asked to come here than interested in the hot chocolate. (Not that she will not be interested in the hot chocolate. It's not exactly a secret that Leslie has a sweet tooth.)

The woman, after some thought, opens by saying, "It seems that Marquess Sperado will be taking me to court."

This has an immediate effect on the Leslie in the memory, her hands clenching into fists in her lap, a scared expression crossing her face. She tries to sound calm, but stutters. "W-why is Marquess Sperado holding a trial for the duchess?"

The woman, the duchess, meanwhile, seems completely unconcerned about this possibility, picking up her teacup and saucer as she continues to explain. "Who knows? Could be because I'm confining you or that I abducted his daughter."

Leslie leans forward. "That's!" She finds herself unable to find the words to turn it into a sentence.

As calmly as she might discuss the weather, the duchess takes a sip from her tea and continues. "The marquess said that I kidnapped you in order to learn more about the Sperado family's power and that I threatened him. They did not give you any medicine when you were sick and they even starved and tormented you, but rumours have been going around that he came to me for help to save his daughter, but in the end, he only got a severely hurt arm."

Leslie can no longer remain sitting, her eyes overflowing with tears as she stands bolt upright. The duchess shows concern for the first time in this conversation -- not at the upcoming trial, but at Leslie as the child begins to yell. "That's a lie! The one who tried to kill me is Marquess Sperado and the one who saved me was you, Duchess!" Her tears begin to flow even faster now, her voice getting choked up. "The duchess has never tried to hurt me!" ]

Comments

eyes emoji

[usurpers]

[ there was something off with that lady in green the second eren found his eyes drawn to the flash of color and glamor. servants rushing to deliver and an overall sense of deception oozes its way through the building's fancy architecture until it was pooling across the floors and scented on his tongue. her beaming was false and the confusion all around her (leslie's, the most) has him immediately searching the room for more clues out of habitual curiosity. the dragon had little to use in terms of context, but he could gather enough.

even the child had collected as much by the time his attention turns to her and her frayed dress. he asks himself what are they planning, and assumes that he'll have an answer soon enough— it just doesn't remove the soft pang that he feels. another child with their gift taken without warning, without say and time, or strength, to retaliate in full. freedom was seized and oppression greedily sat at the head. ]

EYES BACK

[foundfamilies]

[ there certainly is something off about the lady in green. she's a good, practiced actor, but she's perhaps not quite so unreadable as she thinks she is.

she pulls back from hugging leslie to look her in the face, continuing to hold the concerned-sister act. "You have no idea how worried I was when you when you suddenly took the carriage and left." she reaches up with both hands with the intent of cupping leslie's face. "Oh, my beloved Leslie. Are you feeling okay now?"

judging by her expression, what leslie is feeling right now is disgust. before the lady in green's hands reach her face, leslie shoves her away with both her hands and all her strength. the lady's caring sister mask slips for a moment in displeased surprise, stumbling back to her feet due to being unprepared for even someone as small as leslie shoving her.

"Le-Leslie...." her expression is only short of being annoyed because every part short of her eyebrows lowering is busy broadcasting that she doesn't understand how this could be happening. her eyes dart back toward the richly dressed man standing by the steps for half a second and a calculating look crosses her face, but by the time she looks back to leslie, her act has recommenced.

"Leslie! You really have no idea how worried I was about you!" her hands come up toward her face, tears starting to glisten in her eyes.

the only two people in the yard who do not look on her with concern and sympathy are leslie and the richly dressed man (boy? he's probably reaching the end of his teens give me vital statistics momster duchess so i don't have to guess it). leslie continues to glare, her hands turning into fists as she silently watches this performance. the rich man continues to watch the whole thing dispassionately, not seeming to care much about it at all.

the lady in green, only seeing the faces of the coachman and the one holding her parasol and not caring about leslie's reaction, continues on. "I was so...!" her legs tremble enough to even be seen beneath her dress and she collapses to the ground in tears. "How could you do that to me?!" her hands come up to cover her eyes as she breaks into sobs.

the sympathetic faces all turn to leslie, now angry. how could this child do such a thing to her caring older sister? their faces seem to say. even the servants of the household who should know that this is merely an act.

depending on where eren stands to watch, he might be able to see between the lady in green's hands to see the triumphant sneer crossing her face. she is certain that she has won. but leslie continues to glare silently for several seconds, her own calculations moving through her head.

all of a sudden, leslie moves in closer to the lady in green until they are only inches apart. "Do you really worry about me, big sister?" she makes no effort to sound even the least conciliatory.

the lady in green flinches, her sneer fading as she starts to lower her hands. there's the briefest moment where she is openly confused by this development, but she's soon back to smiling beautifully. "Of course, your big sister is always worried about you." she envelops leslie in another hug, cradling her head and upper back.

leslie smiles, too, but there is nothing nice about hers. it's much, much different from the kind of smile she's shown eren back in aefenglom many times. she turns to whisper in her big sister's ear: "Big Sister Eli, who cherishes me enough to even throw me in the fire."

the lady in green's -- eli's -- teeth grit and she hisses back. "Shut up. What are you going to do if the prince hears that?"

the rich man -- probably the prince -- continues to not care. ]

[usurpers]

[ he knew that there was something about her and now he’s seeing it. hearing it. eli was supposedly trying charm the disinterested man with lies and worse— an attempt at murder for what? he knows humans would go to great heights to seize power, and had once seen the memory of an infant sacrificed to fire to throw a curse at an enemy, a horrible one. one that only caused massacre years later for those even less involved in a lifelong grudge.

leslie is not only smart— she’s on the same playing field as the adult. normally, this was none of his business— but rationale and usual limits slip away in the realm of dreams. the dragon’s head snakes even closer to theirs, to listen to every word they spit at each other underneath the rouse of two sweet sisters. even from afar, the taste was prominently bitter, regardless. ]

The Sacrifice

[petcromancer]

[Hector watches in impotent fury as Leslie is dragged. He can't effect this memory, although desperation has already overridden reason enough to make him try. Hector usually doesn't fight-- he has friends for that-- but he can use brutal force when need be. He moves toward the gardener with murderous intent...only for his hand to pass through the man's throat, ghost-like, rather than grasping it.]

Fuck!

[All plans to not curse in Leslie's presence are gone. He's already witnessed one memory where a friend died, so he can't even reason to himself that Leslie must escape somehow to live another day.]

You monsters, you'd better pay for this.

[He seethes as he watches Leslie dragged toward the fire, while the gathering of people around her watch with indifference. Even in Wallachia, shithole that it is, they only burn adults at witches.

He looks from one noble figure to another, memorizing the face of each witness to this crime, so that if he ever sees them in this world, or in Hell, he can know them and punish them the way they deserve.]

you can thank the four translated light novel chapters for the broken fingernails detail. : )

[foundfamilies]

[It will not help his mood at all when he hears Leslie's voice again, begging as she tries to crawl away on her stomach against the pull of the rope.]

N-no, p-please....

[His attempts to kill the gardener may have done nothing, but he does pause in dragging her for a moment, the rope going briefly slack.]

I-I'm sorry, Miss Leslie.

[Leslie has not abandoned trying to get away, so she does not look back to see what he's doing and there's a moment of...it's not quite hope, but a step below that: the thought that there could be hope is beginning to occur to her. Even that much doesn't last long, though. The gardener had only stopped pulling on the rope to grab the loop of rope around her neck for more leverage in continuing to drag her.]

Calmly...follow me!

[She does not. She hooks her fingers against the stone of the bridge. She does not find purchase, but it is not for lack of trying. Despite her small frame, she presses down so hard that streaks of blood follow her fingers with a horrible sound, her fingertips being rubbed raw and a few of her fingernails even cracking. After a moment, though, the gardener is able to lift her up until she can no longer reach the ground with her arms and she is back to futilely trying to drag her bare feet against the much stronger gardener.

Leslie turns her head back towards the fire as she hears the gardener push open the glass doors of the burning pavilion, catching sight again of those dark flames. With one last burst of strength, she darts to the side to grab one of the columns. It's such a sudden change in direction that the gardener even loses his grip on her, but he immediately reaches for her again when Leslie looks up at him and pleads as her tears fall down her face.]

I...I want to live. Please....

[The gardener already looked reluctant already, but now he looks extremely guilty and pulls back slightly. The guards, even the ones who looked like this was just another day, look uncomfortable as well. This discomfort does not spread to the nobles. The man clicks his tongue in frustration, not interested in waiting to see whether the gardener will do what he's been ordered.]

You useless fools.

[He grabs a spear from one of the uncertain soldiers and marches down the bridge. Leslie looks up at him.]

Fath --

[She doesn't even finish a word in her pleading. The man she calls father slams the butt of the spear into her stomach, knocking the wind out of her and sending her into the fire. He points the spear tip toward her.]

Don't you know that you dying in place of your sister is your destiny?!

[Leslie has regained some of the wind knocked out of her lungs, at least enough to scream as she falls into the fire. The man doesn't even acknowledge it.]

Naïve brat! Don't you know you're useless?

[And you thought you wanted to kill this guy before.....]

[petcromancer]

[Hector is doesn't specialize in curses. He works in biological alchemy. But he's still muttering every curse he knows, even if he doesn't have the talent to enact them, just in case. Hector hates his own father, but right now, he hates Leslie's more. Any man who could do this to a sweet child like Leslie deserves a deeper pit of Hell than Hector knows to exist.

He spits at the man's feet and turns to watch Leslie's struggle. A stab of pride cuts through his anger. She's fighting, every step of the way, with all the meager strength she has in defiance to all of the odds.]

Keep fighting. I don't know if you survive this, but this isn't your end.

[She can't hear him, of course, but Hector needs to try.]

child's prayer to start

[bolstafir]

[This is only Qrow's second of these strange dreams, and when this one lands him in a place he actually recognizes, one he's long-since suspected to hold some of the answers to the mystery of their presence here in Aefenglom--he's ready to jump on the opportunity to investigate. All of the mirrors are glowing, but there's a strange paper pasted over one of them, and as he moves to peel it off, it ripples from the contact, and he falls right through.

...Into some manner of house of worship. Qrow feels a little uncomfortable immediately, never having been particularly a religious sort--and the gods Ozpin told him were real had supposedly abandoned Remnant a long time ago. But what arrests his attention immediately is the little girl, and the words she speaks at that altar: Please love me.

Instantly, he stumbles backward, desperate to find an exit. He shouldn't have seen this. He shouldn't have seen this and he feels sick, because he knows this. He's lived this, though he never believed a higher power would come to save him, to make the tribe want him--it was up to him to make himself necessary enough. He feels like someone's reached into his chest and squeezed, like he can't breathe. He shouldn't be here, within someone else's desperate hope that feels so much like his had been, once upon a time. He needs to get out of here. How the hell does he get out of here?]

starting strong now 1/2

[foundfamilies]

[Unfortunately for Qrow, he's not in a place but in a memory. There are doors, but all but one lead to completely black space (not dangerous, but perhaps worrying). Even if he tries the doors and finds the one that Leslie knows the way -- the main entrance -- he will have to make his way to the back of this memory crowd of petitioners, where the people grow more blurry and indistinct the farther away from the little girl. She didn't get a good look at them. If he can make it through the door, he will be greeted by a large square to a city -- or so he might guess. The entire world out here is as blurry as the people at the back of the crowd and completely empty: she knows the area, but she has no idea what was happening during the time she was in the temple. The farther out you look, the blurrier it gets, and past the square, the entire world is a blank black like behind those doors. She arrived here by carriage and she has no idea what the rest of the city looks like.

And no matter what he tries to do, because this is her memory, he can hear her continue to pray as though he were right in front of her and she were speaking in a normal tone. "Please, God. Please let them love me. I hope that I will not be found in the wrong place. That my sister will not hurt me if she finds me in the wrong place. That --"]

the icons in use in her bad memories get almost no use with Aef Leslie

[foundfamilies]

[Mercifully, it cuts off there as the whole place turns to black and then he finds himself back in the Looking-Glass House, in front of the mirror with the letter pasted to it. None of the stained glass windows, none of the strange blurriness at the edges, none of the praying crowd....

No, the last one isn't quite right, because that little girl is here now. She's not exactly right, looking a year or two older now and in a rather high-quality nightgown instead of the sort of ratty clothes she wore there and she is looking at him in concern rather than the sad gazing at her feet, but it's her.]

Excuse me -- are you okay?

[She didn't see him re-emerge from her mirror, but he does look a bit out of sorts.]

as is right and proper. she must be protected.

[bolstafir]

[There's no escape from her voice in that temple. If there is a hell, it must surely be something like this. Her voice is going to haunt him, in dreams other than this, that much he's certain of.

When he finally opens the door that leads him stumbling back out of the mirror, he all but falls over from the momentum, bracing himself against his knees and breathing like he's just run a marathon. He hears Leslie before he sees her, her concern earning her a reflexive, brusque "fine" before her voice clicks in his head as the same one and he jerks upright, eyes wide. He goldfishes for a good couple moments before his throat is ready to cooperate with him at all again.]

You....

[It's her and she's so young, barely older than that memory which means it's recent rather than ancient history, and she's probably better off even in a place like this, isn't she? Someone must have taken her in, if her clothes are anything to go by.

Nonetheless, Qrow looks absolutely miserable, as though he'd like to run away but is utterly rooted to the spot.]

I-I'm sorry. I ... I didn't mean to see.

sacrifice

[bloodypath]

[This was...]

[For one moment, Hubert forgot the distinct ethereal hallmark of the dreams, and forgot the other mirrors. For one moment, when his eyes settled on the rope around her neck, Hubert jerks forward almost as if it were choking him as well, taking a single step and one hand moving forward.]

[But what might've been the beginnings of a run develops no farther. His hand hovers by his waist, still. He doesn't turn to look at the speaker, and only after the threat does Hubert's frozen stance melt back into his usual ramrod-straight posture.]

[It is nothing more than a memory. It's no easier to stomach for it. If it weren't for the sharp focus in his eyes, unable to tear away from that choking rope, Hubert might've even looked impassive.]

[bergamotrose]

[A memory though it was, the dawning horror of the reality of what was happening held Lorenz fast to his position. Such callousness, like what was being displayed by the noble party behind them, left Lorenz all but biting his tongue to remain silent. Though his posture seemed like his usual attentive stance, his fists were clenched by his side.

Even if that wasn't Leslie on the bridge, this behavior was unforgiveable.

For a moment Lorenz forgot time and space as well. The rope, the viceral need to make right the wrongs that were happening, and the icy cruelty that he read in the eyes of the onlookers all sparked a wave of fury through him.

This was a memory; nothing more.

This was unacceptable.]

have fun, you two

[foundfamilies]

[An unfortunate side effect of standing in front of those nobles is that she's facing the two of you when she looks up from where she is trying to crawl on her stomach against the pull of the rope to beg.]

"N-no, p-please...."

[There is no response from those nobles, but for a moment, the rope pulling her goes slack as the man dragging her stops.]

"I-I'm sorry, Miss Leslie."

[Leslie doesn't quite show signs of hope -- she's too far into despair for something so small to inspire hope -- but there is the dawning thought that maybe there could be hope in the future.

But even that much doesn't last for more than half a second, because the only reason he stopped dragging her was to reach down and grab the part of the rope wrapped around her neck to give himself better leverage. He seems to feel some guilt and reluctance for this act, but not nearly enough to not obey his noble employers.]

"Calmly...follow me!"

[She does almost exactly the opposite of that, trying to dig her fingers into any possible gap in the stones of the bridge. She finds no purchase, but it's not from lack of trying. Streaks of blood stain the stones as she presses her fingers against the bridge with enough force to rub her fingertips to the point of bleeding. There are occasional small gaps when a finger bounces off some small edge in the stones of the bridge, but she presses back down immediately, desperate for any way to stop the much stronger man from pulling her towards the dark flames.

Mercifully, the sound of nails scraping across stone is short, because the man's new grip allows him to pull Leslie back up and she can't grab the bridge with anything more than trying to brace her bare feet against the stone. She continues her futile struggle up until the point where the servant dragging her opens the door to the burning pavilion. She looks over her shoulder for the first time this memory to see the flames.

With one last burst of strength, she darts to the side, managing to even escape the grip of the servant out of surprise after so long of her futile pulling in a different direction. There's nowhere to escape, though, and she only manages to get her arms partway around one of the columns built around the pavilion. Collapsing to her knees, she looks up at the servant and pleads.]

"I-I want to live..." [Tears overflow from her eyes.] "Please..."

[The servant looks even more guilty and reluctant than before. He doesn't step away, but he draws his hand back slightly from where he'd been about to grab her again and he hesitates. The soldiers -- knights of these nobles' manor, in fact -- also look uncomfortable, moved by the plea of this small girl.

They are not moved to action, however. And this discomfort does not spread to any of the nobles watching. The richly dressed man instead clicks his tongue in frustration at this continued delay.]

[unyieldingmarch]

[Edelgard is unable to resist the compulsion to reach out to touch a mirror. She knew who's it was immediately and without difficulty, and while she's loathe to pry...she can't pull back before her glove has touched the glass and she's pulled into a room not her own.

The entire setup is curious. The finery is noted, but so to is the lack of wear on any of the books. As a reader, that bothers Edelgard, as who would gather the trappings of intellectual pursuits without engaging in them? Such a pointless waste of resources and squandered knowledge.

The girl is easily recognized, though. Edelgard had known her the whole time she'd been in the city, and it cut her deeply to see the state of her ward. Confusion and anger bubbled up in her as she moved to put a hand on the girl's back...only to have it pass through.

Of course. Mirror phantasms. Lovely.]

...oh child...what have these dreadful people done to you.

[foundfamilies]

[It will not be long before she gets a partial answer to that question. A loud crash sounds from the lower floor, startling this phantasm of Leslie.

Below, a maid accidentally knocked one of the paintings in the room to the floor when cleaning the wall. As she tries to hang it back up before someone sees, the other two servants in the room quickly step several paces away, as though avoiding the blast radius of disapproval if she’s caught by one of their employers.

At first, Leslie takes a couple of deep breaths and reaches to open the book now that the noise turns out to be nothing, but a second sound makes her freeze. Loudly clicking footsteps of someone hurrying in this direction, outside the room, on the second floor. As soon as she unfreezes, she immediately shoves the book that made her smile back into its hiding spot, her head swivelling between the two closest doors as she tries to guess the direction of the approaching footsteps.

She guesses they are to her left and gathers up the pile of books to make her way to the right door. (Even though it’s only three books of, granted, decent size, Leslie wobbles under their weight. She’s even weaker here than when Edelgard first met her.) But it will not be difficult for Edelgard to realize first that Leslie has guessed wrong — something that Leslie realizes too late, stopping as the door in front of her opens.

In walks a strawberry-blond woman, likely in her thirties, dressed much more appropriately for the richly-decorated room. A dress only barely barely covering her shoulders of many expensive fabrics, spreading below the waist thanks to a hoop skirt of relatively moderate but noticeable shape that is the style in this place and time of Leslie’s world. A brooch with a red precious stone surrounded by a skillfully shaped gold ring of raised patterns and a necklace many smaller jewels embedded in similar gold designs. A folded fan in her hand with designs in gold leaf along the side. Her makeup and bun have been set by expert hands. She either looks after herself very well or, as is more likely, employs people who look after her with great expertise.

Initially when she enters, she looks like a pretty normal woman, a little miffed by the possibility that the crash from earlier means something broke. But when she finds Leslie in her way, attempting to backpedal, her eyes (the same violet shade as Leslie’s) narrow and a frown sets in. She is not even trying to hide that she hates Leslie.

“You. What are you doing here?” she asks icily.

(Below, all three servants relax. The madam has been distracted and they’re not going to be the ones in trouble. They return to their work, the second maid helping the one who dropped the painting to adjust it to its proper place in a friendly way, as if she never planned to abandon her coworker to the wolves. Regardless of what happens up here, none of them will even glance up. It seems this is a completely unremarkable sight in this mansion.)

“I needed —” Leslie begins to try to explain, but the woman continues as though she’d never asked a question, pointing her closed fan at the child accusingly.

“Leslie. The tutor said you couldn’t properly answer the question he asked you.”

“It’s because I haven’t learned it yet...” Leslie’s arms are shaking a little and not entirely from the weight of the books.

The woman jabs the fan towards her — not to hit her, but to further accuse. “Answer, don’t talk back!” she snaps.

Leslie flinches and hangs her head. She looks ashamed of herself, despite how ridiculous both accusations hurled at her are. It looks a little like the expression made when she admitted she used to mispronounce Hresvelg, but it’s far more intense and on a much less lively face.

“Yes, Mother....”]

[trusttheshovel]

[Kurumi ought to be careful with touching mirrors, really, but seeing this specific mirror had her reaching out to it instead. She realizes who it belongs to, and she's going to feel bad about prying into what the mirror will show, her fingers merely brushed against the glass before she's pulled in... It can't be a bad dream, right? Much to her surprise, though, it's a rather pleasant memory. She finds herself in a fancy store with exceptionally expensive dresses around, the kind of shop she could only ever admire but can't ever buy.

She spots Leslie soon enough, in a cute dress, and a smile curls on her lips. Yeah, this is a rather pleasing memory she landed in. She'll just stand somewhere watch this, as someone nobody will notice in the room, before following after them, Leslie specifically, just so she doesn't stray too far from the memory version of her small friend. She still follows after Leslie, like an invisible friend accompanying her to the washroom. Of course, she'll just stand outside the door once they get there. In a way, this kinda reminds her of the club's rule in school; never go out alone to the bathroom.

But then, unexpectedly, another girl jumps out of nowhere and grabs Leslie.]

Oi, let her- [Acting on instinct, she immediately goes to grab the other girl to pull her away from Leslie but her hand phases through without effect instead, like she isn't there, despite what her eyes are seeing. Or rather, she isn't really there. This is just a memory, after all. How stupid of her. Her hand clench before straightening her posture, watching with a scowl and her teeth grit.]

the icon is literally from the moment described at the end of this tag

[foundfamilies]

[Leslie, of course not reacting at all to Kurumi's attempts to help her, looks up at the other girl -- Eli, though Kurumi will not learn that name in this memory -- her expression a mixture of surprise, fear, and anger.

It's a long couple of seconds before Leslie recovers from the shock enough to speak. "Why are you here?"

Eli glances around the hallway they find themselves in, looking to make sure she hasn't been noticed. "That's what I want to know! Do you know how expensive this store is?"

It seems Eli has decided better of standing in the middle of the hallway accosting someone three years her junior (and appears five years her junior at first glance). But instead of letting Leslie go, she pushes her into an alcove where fewer people might notice and shoves Leslie into the wall hard enough that Kurumi will hear the impact.

Leslie winces as she collides, but at least Eli has let go of her arm now. She holds her wrist where Eli had grabbed her, suggesting the grip had been hard enough to hurt.

Eli takes a step back -- still close enough to block Leslie's routes of escape -- and opens her handheld fan. By now, the livid hatred on her face has settled down to something more on the lines of disdainful. It's easier to see how beautiful she is, by both birth and efforts of servants, but the illusion is doubtless already shattered.

"This store is well known for being exclusive to only a select few...." She hides her mouth behind the fan, though it does nothing to actually hide the disdain. "If you are here, that must mean it's not financially stable." She does not sigh, but her tone suggests that she would were she less drilled in manners (which excluded "don't slam your sister into a wall"). "It seems that I will have to go to a different store next time! Someplace that has more elegance and understands what a good customer looks like."

By the time Eli has finished speaking, Leslie looks neither surprised nor scared any longer. She looks angry. Her mouth opens to reply, but she shuts it. A moment later, she speaks in a tone that Kurumi will not have heard out of Leslie -- it's calm, but there's an undercurrent of anger.

"The reason why you're angry is not because this store is expensive or exclusive to only a few customers. It's because someone like me 'dared' to come to the same store as you."

Even behind the fan, Kurumi will be able to see one of Eli's eyelid twitch. She wasn't expecting to receive any sort of comeback.]

e, we're going for it

[finesseblade]

[ He's been pulled into this dream—no, a memory, but someone else's—as though through a trance, though the second he's in the room he snaps out of it to the sight of Leslie being fitted for a dress, and a woman who might be her mother, or perhaps a sister.

The low light is less a struggle for him, bright eyes reflecting the candlelight unnaturally. The motion of the maid by the door catches his attention—he smells food, but all that's brought in is a meager bowl of liquid that looks like something he remembers Ingrid complaining about, when they were children and she hadn't yet learned to keep quiet about her family's poverty for the sake of her pride.

He frowns, brow furrowing, but there goes the maid without do much as an apologetic look. ]

...Leslie?

[ The Leslie in the dream doesn't respond—which means this is not the girl herself, but a figment. So then where is the real Leslie? Is she even here? ]

e for 'ell yeah

[foundfamilies]

[ The real Leslie also doesn't respond, but she is here. The Leslie in the memory doesn't smell anything like the smell he's used to from Leslie -- only the smell of old books and whatever base scent she might have below the ones that stick to her are the same. She's been recently washed, but the smell of a musty, moldy room still lingers. The scent of Leslie from Aefenglom drifts from a dark corner of the room.

The real Leslie sits, back to the people gathered there, knees hugged to her chest, head down. She doesn't want to see this memory, even if she has to hear it.

In the memory, the woman, who is probably in her thirties, returns to the choices of ribbons. Eventually, she settles on a bright royal blue. ]

q!

[stardustish]

[ the memory starts off pleasant. sylvia can recognize this as leslie's -- her small stature, long white hair and striking purple eyes make it hard for her to assume it's anyone else's -- and when she sees leslie enjoying what she's wearing, it brings a smile to her face. it's a sweet thing to see, and she wants to believe that this memory will be entirely pleasant.

but given what she's seen from others, perhaps that's a little much to ask for.

especially when leslie starts heading towards the washroom, and she's suddenly jumped by an older woman. sylvia immediately steps towards her, brow furrowed. ]

Hey!

[ she's just acting on instinct, though, because she knows she can't do anything to change this. she has to let it play out. she stops herself midway and watches the scene unfold with narrowed eyes. ]

actual footage of leslie taking names in this particular scene

[foundfamilies]

[ the older girl -- eli, though sylvia will not learn that name through this conversation but I don't want to keep writing "the older girl" -- actually looks in sylvia's direction, but it's entirely coincidental. she seems to have realized, after the initial anger passed, that this is not going to look good for her if someone sees her threatening a child. she looks up and down the hallway, considering her options.

leslie speaks first. "Why are you here?"

"That's what I want to know. Do you know how expensive this store is?" eli seems to have finished her reconnaissance of the hallway and pushes leslie into a small alcove. thanks to a cabinet on one side and a large vase on the other, it's more difficult to see leslie from down the hall.

eli doesn't seem to have thought about sound travelling, though, because she slams leslie into the wall of the alcove hard enough to make a loud thump. leslie winces. unfortunately, the sound is not enough to catch the attention of the employee who is waiting for leslie to return from the bathroom.

on the bright side, eli does release leslie's arm, stepping back slightly. leslie takes that moment to rub the spot that eli was holding her with her other hand.

"This store is well known for being exclusive to a select few..." eli muses, unfolding a fan to hold in front of her mouth. it does nothing to hide her expression, which by now looks like she just stepped on a bug and is looking at its crushed remains. "If you are here, that must mean it's not financially stable." as she continues, her tone sounds put-upon, ignoring the way that leslie is glaring at her. "It seems I will have to go to a different store next time! Someplace with more elegance and understands what a good customer looks like."

though leslie continues to glare quietly at first, she doesn't look upset. she's angry, but in a way where she is being firm rather than hiding hurt. that anger is still in her tone as she speaks, but she speaks slowly and calmly as she pronounces every word carefully.

"The reason why you're angry is not because this store is expensive or exclusive to only a few customers." her voice grows more forceful. "It's because someone like me 'dared' to come to the same store as you."

eli's eye twitches. she's not used to being talked back to. ]

h

[stopfen]

[Mikasa honestly regretted touching the mirror. There hadn't been...Well there hadn't been any thought in it. She'd seen the bunny, recgonised it as Leslie's. Then that burning need to be there, make sure things are okay took over. And then she was just stood in a hall.

A very fancy hall. And a very fancy man.

One whose clothing gets a frown. Because to her Leslies clothes were nice, less worn than what she'd worn at that age. But having a comparison like that made it obvious. Then he speaks, and lives up to the all nobles=asshole. Getting him narrowed eyes and a hiss from the fae, whose focused on him. Trying to stand between even if it did nothing. This had already passed after all.]

returns to the land of leslie's mirror

[foundfamilies]

[As she tries to stand between them, the past Leslie speaks up. It's still the same voice that Mikasa knows, but there's none of the warmth that Mikasa might be used to.

"I'm useless? I don't think so."

The noble looks mildly surprised at the response. Surprised, as he doesn't expect any disagreement, and mildly, as he is so not expecting it that he barely registers it at first.

Leslie's voice remains steady as she continues. "Think about it, Marquess Sperado. If I'm not here, you would be in a difficult situation." The edges of her lips turn up for a moment, though it would be hard to describe the expression as a smile. "Right?"

The noble takes a tiny step back: barely more than a shuffle of his feet, but it's enough to be noticeable. "What -- what?"

Now the realization that he is being defied has sunk in and the surprise soon gives way to anger. It's clear from his face: this is not how it's supposed to go. In his mind, it's this defiance from a child that is the wrong being committed here.

He points at her accusingly as he turns to shouting. "You've become very cheeky just because you survived the fire!" Leslie's expression, now back to a line-faced disdain, doesn't twitch. "Do I need to beat some sense back into you?" Another comment that passes without Leslie backing down even a little.

The noble's arm drops. He's not quite shouting anymore, but he is still speaking loudly and forcefully. "This is all for your sister. For the family!"

L. would love to watch with leslie, at least in part, if that’s possible 👍

[digiorno]

[He reads the letter. Doesn’t realize whose it is until he’s much of the way through and then finishes reading because by that point, why bother stopping? He’s already intruded. It doesn’t occur to him to examine why he finds snooping into a child’s correspondence so much more distasteful than all the snooping he’s doing into adults’ lives tonight, but he’s uncomfortable as he puts the letter back against the mirror.]

[And brushes the surface, just so.]

[This time it really is an accident, but nothing to be done about it. Once he’s in, he’s in — and there’s Leslie before him, with a brittle and unkind older version of herself interrogating her for . . . something. He can’t tell what, exactly; that she stayed out? It doesn’t really matter, does it? The atmosphere twists fingers around his throat, familiar and cloying. There’s the prickling of a shoe about to drop, even as the girl who isn’t Leslie continues screaming, berating, bullying.]

[Despite himself, he thinks of Fugo and his brothers. Tries not to but it can’t be helped. He doesn’t know all the facts, which makes it far easier to draw comparisons, to borrow anger from there and carry it over here. It helps buoy him through the dragging seconds of this memory, even though he knows the comparison is probably wrong and certainly unfair.]

[Leslie holds her own, in any case. From the place he’s found himself, hiding without meaning to, back pressed to the wainscoting along the entry hall’s wall, he can’t help but twitch a tiny smile at Leslie’s defiance. It’s good. It’s good to see. Not the rest of it, but this — this is good.]

[The pair of violet eyes sweeping into the room drag his attention away from Leslie entirely. Or no, not quite; he can still sense her movements, see her posture out of the corner of his eye, feel some dark emotion overspilling from her and spreading through the room, although he doesn’t know what it is. Although he might just be projecting. Because he knows who this is to Leslie, and he doesn’t need the whole story to understand what this woman’s saying without speech. Leslie might as well be invisible. She might as well not exist. There is no Leslie, in her mother’s eyes.]

[He thinks he might be sick. It shows on his face, sickly pale as ever but with eyes gone red with high emotion, pupils blown. His fingertips twitch, but otherwise he’s still. Waiting.]

ask and ye shall receive (eventually)

[foundfamilies]

[The older — perhaps fifteen years old — girl rushes into her mother’s arms, crying out, “Mother!”]

[Her mother opens her arms to receive her. “Yes, my daughter. What is the matter?”]

[The memory’s Leslie stays standing in place. Her expression itself doesn’t express as much emotion as Leslie is wont to do beyond a certain firmness of resolve, but her hands clenched in fists by her sides suggest that she is either angry or trying to keep herself steady — or perhaps both.]

[“Eli, my lovely baby.” If Giorno had not (correctly) guessed that the woman had a second daughter being ignored in the room, she would have looked like a picture of the ideal of motherhood. A soft, warm, but still concerned expression is on her face as she gently strokes her daughter’s hair. “What happened for my beautiful daughter to act like this?”]

[“Ah...it’s nothing.” The girl — Eli — looks a little bothered, but there is no sign of the rage from earlier. “It’s just that...”]

[It’s not a case of cutting herself off mid-sentence, trailing off before providing an explanation. Not “It’s just that I was....” The tone suggests ‘that’ is the whole of the answer. That conclusion is only strengthened when her mother, hands protectively on her daughter’s shoulders, finally looks towards the memory’s Leslie with an expression of contempt. “That?”]

[It’s Leslie. To these women who ought to be her family, she is no more than a ‘that.’]

[Eli also looks over with her arms crossed and a discontent expression. But this time it’s her mother whose eyes — the same violet as Leslie’s own — fill with disgust. “You.” It may not be shouted, but it’s full to the brim with hate. “What did you do to my daughter?”]

[Leslie doesn’t meet her eyes for long before she turns her head with an expression of scorn. The memory Leslie says nothing, but Leslie’s disdainful voice is heard anyway.]

“My daughter,” she says.

[It’s not that Giorno is getting to hear the thoughts Leslie had back then, though the voice is expressing very similar thoughts as went through her mind three months prior. There is a second Leslie in the room.]

[This one is less underweight, more healthy. Though she is only dressed in a nightgown, she is still better dressed than the tired clothes worn by her past self. It’s the Leslie who has spent the past two months in Aefenglom, being well-fed and happy. But she doesn’t look happy right now. Her expression is colder than any she’s shown in Aefenglom, not much different in scorn from the memory’s Leslie. Her arms are crossed, but it looks more like she’s hugging herself than expressing anger. She never wanted to see this house again.]

[She hasn’t noticed Giorno yet, her eyes fixed on the tableau of the memory before her, but she continues to scoff, talking to herself.]

She was the one to give birth to me, yet she never considered me her daughter at all.