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Chapter Text

Pain. Oh, the pain was the most familiar sensation that had grasped her since her birth.

The sharp sting from a papercut as she handled official invitations. The tug of her hair, pulled tight into an elegant updo, soft waves tamed and styled. The numbness of the cold, hard ground, biting and scraping at the knees of a young child as she knelt by her mother’s corpse.

Cold shackles that dug into her thin, shuddering limbs, and the poison that caused white-hot blood to well up and spill out of her mouth. The multi-layered jagged wound of a shattered heart, knowing that loving glances and affectionate, familial love would never be hers, always given to someone else. Instead, she received vicious glares, white-hot anger, and poisonous words, spat in her direction, their backs towards her.

Despite it all, this was still painful enough. She could feel her legs trembling with the exertion. Penelope stood in front of Yvonne and the five capture targets, a knife at her side, ready to be drawn. The men all glared at Penelope, standing between the two women and shielding Yvonne protectively.

She supposed that it was justified, with the actions she had taken in this time loop and her appearance. Her dress was torn, bruises from the shackles visible on her limbs.

Having broken out from the dungeon, blood dripped steadily from the wounds on her legs. Penelope’s face was partially obscured by her messy, uneven magenta hair, but it was clear that rage had twisted her features more, exacerbating the horror that the torture had left on her face. Jagged scars diagonally across her face and eyes. She looked monstrous.

Lidded eyes flickered around, assessing the situation. “What? Can’t bear to have Yvonne look at what you’ve done to me?” Her voice was taunting, deeper, and had a razor-sharp edge to it. When she looked up, she could see the confusion in their eyes. “What’s wrong?” She crooned.

What they expected was lovely turquoise, the body of the warm, foamy ocean gleaming in every iris. The familiar blue-green eyes they saw every time they shielded Yvonne from the fake. Instead, they were greeted with glowing eyes of fire. Embers that regarded them coldly, like how the hottest fires seem so frigid for a few moments. As they watched each other, the men bore witness to how the reds, oranges, and yellows fell and rose, mixing before flaring up again.

“What the fuck?” Reynold muttered breathlessly. “Her eyes…” Penelope made a hum of realization.

“... To think that this vessel would lose so much stamina after such minimal magic… tch.” She examined a trembling hand as the skin cracked like delicate glass. “I suppose it’s a small price to pay. Though we expected the glamour spell to stay longer.”

“... You’re not the lady,” Iklies realized sharply, his hands twitching towards his sword. “Who are you?” The declaration of something possessing the body of a person, never mind a noble lady or even a fake, was enough to make some of them ready their swords.

“It would do you good to answer immediately,” the crown prince ordered. Penelope, in the deepest recesses of her mind, curled up, watching the events unfold lifelessly. Several loops ago, they had finally come to her. Whispering soft condolences and comfort, telling her of her duty that she failed. And foolishly, she had agreed to help them. Having given up her body for them to use in the fight against Leila because they had promised love and comfort to the traumatized child. Penelope had borne witness to just how far her ancestors would go to destroy Leila. And now, here they were.

“Us?” The voice distorted further. “We are the ancient wizards, who once sealed away Leila. Our descendant kept failing in her duty, so we decided to take over a bit.” They smiled, clapping her hands together. “It’s a shame that despite being the last of our line, Penelope wasn’t able to complete her task. No matter, though. The mission will be finished soon.” Lifting her arm, the wizards pointed at Leila. “You can’t sense the evil, but for us, it’s so obvious.” Her nose wrinkled. “To think that the senses of the humans of the present would be so dull, it’s no wonder you walk around so obliviously.”

Penelope gazed on, though curling hints of hope and anticipation began to emerge in her tattered heart. When one of her ancestors passed their presence over her questioningly, she sent back a simple thought.

It’ll be over soon .

An approving hum and the mental action of patting her head happened before they retreated. Penelope watched on. Because she knew what she needed to do.

Magic sparked in her hands as the wizards drew upon her battered magic core, launching a barrage of attacks that Marquis Verdandi cursed at, drawing his staff to ward off.

All the capture targets’ favorability dropped to instant zeros.

That was also an unexpected side effect of allowing the ancient wizards the use of her body. Explaining just how the system, as they put it, worked as a cheat sheet. She frowned internally. It would’ve been useful if they had given her the system during the previous loops, before they had to step in.

It’s time.

“Yvonne!” Derrick shouted, shoving his sister behind him. Penelope’s fiery eyes looked at him coldly, raising a hand to start another wave of magic. Then, the magenta-haired woman stopped abruptly. Before any of them could rush and take her down, they were stopped by the sharp scream.

Penelope’s hand had jerkily grasped the knife and slammed it into her stomach, twisting it in further. Magic arched up and through the blade, causing blood to spill from her mouth.

“Foolish child! What do you think you’re doing?!” The ancient wizards, at this moment, sounded horrified. “We’re so close—”

“Can’t you just let me rest already?” This time, it was Penelope’s voice. When her eyes opened, they were blue-green again, dulled and lifeless looking. They looked more like hollow glass. “We’ve been doing this for so long. It feels like years, decades, already.” She stabbed herself again as fire began to creep back into her eyes.

“No. Let me speak. You promised me I would be happy. That I would be loved. You said it’ll be over soon. But it won’t. You made me watch as you used my body for your own deeds.” Her breath became unsteady as she finally regained control of her body once again. It was overwhelming. Everything was too loud. The slightest breeze made her skin crawl, akin to fierce blades against her body.

“I won’t… I won’t be the puppet in your machinations again,” she said quietly. “I won’t be used as someone’s tool for revenge.”

She took the knife and plunged it through her heart before discarding it to the side.

Penelope’s fragile body collapsed upon itself like a house of cards, magenta hair fanning out in a bright halo surrounding her chalk-white face.The light from her eyes spilled as glimmering tears onto the marble floor. Her hearing became muffled as her sight became blurry with tears and blood loss. Even then, the vibrations from the floor, from shoes that clicked and moved towards her quickly, were something that she was distantly aware of.

“...ter. Sister!” Leila had knelt next to the collapsed body of the human who had been a thorn in her side. Even now, she still played the role of sweet, forgiving Yvonne.

The ancient wizards snarled and magic sparked briefly in her palms before Penelope closed them.

No. You won’t mess with my life like this ever again.

Dazedly, she felt their presence slowly extract themselves from her mind, albeit unwillingly.

Huh. I can’t see the system anymore.

The system window, which had popped up in front of her, had flickered before vanishing entirely, words fading away like water blooming on inked paper. The favorability flickered, like it was going to increase, then vanished entirely. And with it, something else seized in her chest, before tearing itself apart. There was a sudden, overwhelming weight before it seemed to lift from her chest. Though her breaths were still labored and shallow, it felt clearer to breathe, somehow.

“A tapestry unfinished before the next one began,” the ancient wizards had once said of her. Her head lolled to the side. Now she understood what they had meant.

Distant gasps reached her ears as the men watched wisps of magic emanate from her body, steaming off the glimmering tears that fell from her eyes. Memories flooded her mind.

Gold-laden forms gleamed in the beautiful sunrise. Sumptuous fabrics, decorated like the night sky, rippled and billowed with each movement. Penelope watched as large palaces rose out of nothing, as civilizations spread across the land. A towering stone throne dominated the cavernous room. Unrestrained, happy laughter.

Bloodied walls. Howls of grief. Loud roars, whinnies, and the sound of blades clashing against each other. Shouts of victory as the sun pulled away the dark curtains of the night, as two armies surrounded the victor.

The night sky was adorned as beautifully as the light which passed through colorful glass. Above, a faded mural watched over the feast. A sunset painted a battlefield awash with red.

Blurry faces, though she could still recognize them. Green hair and eyes. Gentle hands.

A long-forgotten ember glowed deep in the recesses of her mind. With each memory, it flared up until a spark caught. And she was set aflame.

“Get the—” She couldn’t make out the speaker through the blood that suddenly rushed through her ears.

Pounding like the sound of armored feet against the rough terrain. Every sensation, every sound, was too much for her to handle. Distantly, she could feel the torn silk of her clothes against her skin, slipping and sliding over her skin in a way that made goosebumps rise. Penelope’s arms spasmed as she moved to clutch at her throat, gasping.

She regretted it all.

Being so foolish to seek out love from those who couldn’t care less about her. Following the instinctual revenge that the ancient wizards had instilled in her, which she followed so blindly. But perhaps this was it.

“Ah. So this is the end,” Penelope forced her eyes skywards.

Had the chandelier always been this bright and gleaming? The blurry spots of light blended together, distant and inviting, like a bright star against the expanse of the midnight sky. Then, a shadow obscured the piercing light, causing Penelope to squint.

Pink hair. Reynold? No. It was longer. Leila.

The reason for all of her suffering. She felt Leila move her body a little so she faced the demon. It was a bit shocking to see her mortal enemy be treating her so gently.

“You gave up this time,” Leila observed quietly, bowing her head to stare into clouded turquoise eyes. Penelope strained to hear the demon’s words through the ringing. “So easily, too. Stupid human. All your suffering was for naught.”

 “...Haha.” Penelope’s ruined mouth curved up in a smile. “ You’d be surprised.” Her cryptic words make Leila frown, while Penelope’s eyes fell shut for a moment.

How old was she at this point? She doubted that even Leila would know just how many loops there were. The sound of footsteps.

Now, the entirety of the Eckhart family was in her line of sight, Derrick pulling Yvonne away as he looked at Penelope with a mixture of unknown emotions, masked underneath a cautious glare.

When she glanced over, she could see her former knight, Iklies, hanging back. There was a minute of silence before the Marquis cautiously moved to kneel beside Penelope’s fallen form, murmuring a spell. His magic, soothing like the calmest waters, washed over her, allowing some of the agony to leave her body.

“I did not sense it before, but her aura is much clearer. Less obscured.”

“Should— should we get a physician?” Leila looked at the Eckharts, wide-eyed and expertly manipulating her facial expressions to teeter between uncertainty and pity. Penelope hid a tiny, hysterical giggle. Clearly, the demon was impatient to pick at the latter’s brain for information. She really did underestimate how desperate Leila was for information about the ancient wizards to further her goal, to the point where she would willingly try to keep Penelope alive.

It must think that without the power of the ancient wizards, I would be rendered weak. That’s true. For now.

“Yvonne, you can’t be serious,” Reynold protested. “That bitch tried to kill you!”

“Did you not hear what Sister said when she gained control of her body?” Truly, Leila was a phenomenal actor. The trembling in her voice, the tears that began to bead at her eyes like tiny crystals, and the drawn-up shoulders. If Penelope didn’t know better, she would feel the urge to comfort her.

Oh, goddess, here comes the waterworks.

“She said it felt like years. What if it wasn’t her, Reynold? What if all the things she did—” she broke off into sniffs. Yvonne’s trembling hands grasped her dress. “What if none of it was her?” Anguish entered her voice. “Oh, Penelope, you must have suffered greatly.” Penelope ignored her words, beckoning the Marquis closer. He leaned down, her chapped lips brushing against his ear.

“Winter Verdandi. You must… remember this time.” His head lifted, shock and confusion spreading over his handsome features. Penelope’s eyes closed again, lifting a finger to press against her lips. There was a soft, hidden smirk as she imagined the ancient wizards alongside Leila. Victory. “I win,” she breathed, as her chest fell for the last time.

Chapter Text

Her vision blurred, and the first thing she could feel was hands on her shoulders.

“... Breathe!”

Penelope’s chest rose involuntarily, harsh breaths choking out of her throat. As her vision cleared up, Penelope could recognize the rotting food in front of her. It was the same spread that appeared in front of her whenever the loops restarted, bits of the moldy bread missing, with there being a visible waterline where the soup and sludgy beverage were once full. Trembling a little, both from the disgusting food she had been forcibly consuming only moments earlier and from her recent resurrection, Penelope let her body slump against the chair heavily.

“Hey… you alright?”

She looked up to see Reynold, hints of concern leaking through his normally antagonistic behavior. “I—” Her body curled, looking down as she breathed heavily, focusing through her pain. She clutched at her chest, pressing over her heart as if to reassure herself that the wound was gone. “I’m fine.”

“What do you mean fine?! That maid just—” He puffed out sharply, bangs moving with the sudden gust. “Should I call a physician or something?” Reynold touched her shoulder gently, which trembled minutely. The phantom pain of the blade entering her heart and the warmth of the blood that spilled from her chest still ghosted itself over her body. Reynold frowned as his brow dipped in unease. Just how thin was Penelope? All he could feel was bone.

“Don’t bother.” She felt Reynold’s hand freeze before it fell.

After all, I know you don’t give a damn about me. You’d dance on my corpse, even.

“You… You’re right.” He turned to leave. “There’s no physician in this mansion who’d be willing to waste the time to see to you, anyways. Eat whatever you want and die. Who cares.”

That bastard…

Penelope turned away, moving into the bathroom to hopefully get the taste out of her mouth. She washed her face, rinsing out her mouth until the aftertaste had long gone. Re-entering her room, Penelope glanced at the table, which was now empty. Clearly, a maid had stopped by to remove the evidence of today’s commotion.

Thank the goddess for small mercies. I might be sick again just from looking at that.

Penelope changed into a dark dress and set down the lipgloss, wincing as she remembered the needle marks Emily always left on her. The girl remembered just when exactly she was in the timeline.

I’m almost an adult, and yet they think of me as a young child to the point where I’m put on probation .

She grimaced at her reflection, seeing her body with fresh eyes. Her body teetered between thin by nobility’s standards and unhealthy at points. She looked frail. Like she was a glass figurine that would shatter into a million pieces. Penelope examined her skeletal arms, recalling how she could feel her ribs easily as she changed. Her wrists were bony and thin, in a way that would’ve made her past self sweep up the starving child to bring to the monastery kitchens.

Grief filled her as she recalled the exact sequence of events that led to her soul being brought to this world, trapped in its time loop. Suffering over and over again. She sighed. It had been a desperate gambit back then. At least she was alive and even had her old memories now. It was a shame, though… her appearance and powers— Penelope paused, peering closer at her reflection.

“What?” Though it was subtle, there was one difference in her features now. Her turquoise eyes, once mistaken for Eckhart blue, were now a lovely green color.

She inhaled sharply. Green. Green eyes.

“My daughter, your eyes and hair are green because you are a blessed child. My child.” Mother smiled, peppering delicate kisses over the toddler’s face.

“Mama!” She giggled.

Her breath caught, though she quickly shook herself out of her thoughts. Penelope wrote down every shred of information that would be helpful to her. To defeat Leila. The magenta-haired lady paused, lowering her pen. Ink dripped back into the inkwell.

Better to be safe than sorry.

Her words, though gibberish and unreadable squiggles to others, were discernible to her. A code that only she could translate. A mishmash of languages, some that were already lost to time.

When she was finished, her looping script filled each margin, cramped together as she wracked her brain for any additional information from each timeline. There were arrows branching off the basic timelines, branching into events that had messy notes. The paper was the subject of crossed-out notes, death flags, and topics to avoid with the five capture targets… This would be enough. However, she frowned at Iklies’s section. There were crucial bits of information missing.

Although he sided with Yvonne a lot, Iklies was loyal to me, or at least the Eckharts, before her arrival. He said he was bought at an auction, around when the festival happens… It would be best for me to arrange for the duke to meet his buyer a little earlier. Who knows how many auctions there are, at how many locations, during the festival? Was he even bought at the capital?

A knock sounded at her door, and Penelope barely managed to shove the papers into a drawer before they opened. The butler stood in the doorway, severe expression present on his face. “My lady. The duke seeks your presence.”

That reminds me. I need to do something about Emily and the head butler as well. It’ll be beneficial to discipline the head staff so they can oversee the servants’ behavior properly.

Penelope rose. “Yes, I understand.” She stared at the butler’s back darkly. Her treatment compared with the blood-tied Eckharts was much more different, and not in a good way. Refocusing on the halls that stretched beyond her, she caught sight of low whispers and glares from the staff.

Her back remained ramrod straight, slipping into the same aristocratic graces that she had learned on her own in the Eckhart duchy — After all, no one would spare even an ounce of time on the fake princess, and then you blame me for how I turned out— and in her past life. A slight frown made its way on her lips.

No. Not a past life.

The butler knocked on the imposing doors of the duke’s office. Unlike in her room, he paused respectfully. “Your Grace, it’s the head butler. I have brought Lady Penelope.”

“Come in.” The door shut behind her, leaving her to the mercy of the duke. Her legal guardian didn’t look up, busy with paperwork, as usual. He sat at the large desk, framed between the heavy drapes which let in the sunlight streaming behind him. And like how it always was with her, Duke Eckhart’s face was cold. “You’re here,” he glanced to the side for a moment, continuing to scribble words on the papers. Her body folded in a respectful bow.

“Why did you ask for me?” She inquired softly, keeping her eyes lowered. Penelope would rather not see the duke’s reactions during their conversation.

“There was a commotion this morning.” Penelope’s face tightened. Reynold must have stormed in like normal and ranted about what happened. She paused to think of what to say. Before she could answer, she heard the duke slam his fountain pen against the desk. She flinched.

“It’s not something Your Grace should worry about,” she answered quickly, immediately wincing at her bluntness.

Who would pay attention to such a disrespectful adopted child anyways? Get this over with so I can avoid all of you and hopefully live.

“Penelope. It has already been six years since you entered this household.” Duke Eckhart’s cold voice prickled unpleasantly against her skin, causing cold sweat to run down her back. His frigid blue eyes, more akin to glaciers, lanced through her body. How long had it been since she spoke to the duke like this, in control of her body? The ancient wizards took care of the interactions with the duke after Penelope couldn’t bear it. How the Eckharts saw her and disregarded any change in her personality, never a bit of concern for her. That man, who promised to be a good father to her… no.

This man, who she had long discarded as a parental figure since that day six years ago. Any hope she had in him broke with his neutrality and distance every time she died at the hands of the Eckharts. He was her benefactor in this relationship, built on teetering lies and surface-level worry. And she had a role to play, now. She scoffed internally. When had she been herself? Without playing the roles that she was forced to take on? 

Even in this life, I play a particular role to satisfy someone… in this case, it’s to satisfy the duke’s yearning for his precious daughter. It may have been six years for you, bringing me in to act as a balm to try and soothe your grief… but you have no idea just how long I’ve languished in this hellhole because of it.

She forced herself to relax.

Breathe, Penelope. Keep yourself together. Keep your head down so you live, damn it.

“I do not know if you know this, but it is not easy to step foot inside this household. Only those who have proven their worth through rigorous testing may step through the Eckhart gates. Since I adopted you, I have not held back on resources spent on you. I even allowed your ridiculous extravagances. However, I do not know what worth you have proven during your six years in this household.”

Worth? What worth? The teenager stared down, eyeing the way her crimson-lacquered nails dug into her palms. You were the one who brought me into this household to be your daughter. I didn’t enter in the service of this family.

Penelope steeled herself, words already feeling like bitter poison as she forced them out. “I take full responsibility for the commotion this morning. Anything you have heard of it is true, and I have nothing to refute.” The duke, who was about to continue, stared at Penelope in shock. She bowed deeper, though she could not hide the inklings of desperation that slipped into her words. “I am aware of how childish my actions have been, during this probation, as well as the six years I have been allowed the luxury to stay in the Eckhart duchy. I will take any punishment that you deem fit without opposition.” For a moment, she wondered if she should kneel.

It will be pathetic if I die this quickly after I removed myself from the influence of the ancient wizards.

“What?” The duke looked surprised. “Penelope—”

“I will reflect on my actions properly during this probation, so—”

“Penelope Eckhart.” She stiffened.

“Yes, Your Grace?” He motioned for her to rise. Penelope obeyed, hesitantly. “How long?”

“Pardon?” A hint of confusion entered her voice. Just what was the duke doing? Was he not going to punish her?

“How long has that maid looked down on you, to dare feed rotten garbage to her owner, an Eckhart—!” The duke slammed his hands against the desk, making the ink bottle rattle dangerously. Penelope faltered at the strange reaction.

“It-it’s nothing for you to worry about, Your Grace. I will discipline Emily myself, so you need not worry.” Duke Eckhart paused, observing his adopted daughter. “I will ensure to not cause another commotion during my probation.” There was an oppressive silence for a while, as the duke pondered on his verdict. Punishment, Penelope had said. Punishment.

“You may return to your room,” the duke’s words softened by a tiny margin but hardened again. “Your personal maid will be punished in the dungeons and returned to you after she has learned her lesson.” Penelope winced a little, having had vivid experiences in the Eckhart dungeons, and later on the Imperial dungeons as well. It was not a pleasant place. “Understand that an Eckhart’s words carry great weight, Penelope. Do not let this chance at reflection you have earned today go to waste.”

“Yes. Thank you, Your Grace.” She lifted her dress and slipped into a curtsey before leaving the office. A soft sigh of relief escaped her, as Penelope moved through the halls, eager to return to her rooms. But just as that thought had fully formed, a deep voice interrupted her.

“I’m sure I told you to live as quietly as possible, as though you were dead.” Derrick’s steady footsteps approached her as she turned around to look at one of her death flags in this mansion. “Emily… was a loyal maid who worked in the ducal household for nearly ten years.” He stopped in front of her, looming.

Midnight dark hair with bangs that swept to one side, a deep curtain over captivating Eckhart blue eyes, the color of which put to shame the most scintillating sapphires. All of which was set in a pale, aristocratic face, which carried a familiar frown— a darkened glare as Leila clung to him in her latest gambit — as he gazed at her.

“No one would serve as your personal maid, no matter how much money we offered. She was the only one who volunteered to serve you… but that ends today. Are you satisfied? Having kicked out your last maid with your latest ruckus.”

Tired green eyes met his. Penelope stayed silent.

It’s no use if I try to reply. He’ll draw his sword on me like before.

“Do you not find my words worthy of answering anymore?” Penelope paused. 

“... If you should remember correctly, Reynold was the one who had my personal maid dragged away after she fed me garbage, young master.” She spoke stiffly.

Never will I call you brother again. Never will I call the two of you with such affectionate, familial terms. None of you deserve it.

The faces of her own siblings flashed in her mind, causing her hands to clench in her skirts.

Never again will I desecrate the memory of my brothers with you.

Chapter Text

“... What?” Derrick’s expression slackened.

Young master? When had she called him that? Before, she had always called him brother with a tender look on her face, which never failed to make his own twist in rage.

Because how dare she. How dare this fake call him that, an appellation which only Yvonne and Reynold could use? That hesitant smile she bore as she tried to reach out, tried to take Yvonne’s place— he always turned away in an attempt to keep his mask in place. That little girl, who was so desperate to insert herself into the esteemed Eckhart family, now stood in front of him. A woman on the cusp of adulthood.

Her eyes were dull. Hollow. She called him ‘young master’. 

“I apologize for causing a commotion today. I will endeavor to live quietly as if I were dead, as you put it.” The only sound was the rustling of her dark skirts, as she curtsied, lowering her sight to stare at his dark boots. “I have already gone to see His Grace about forgiving Emily and allowing her to stay as my personal maid. So you need not concern yourself with me, young master.” Her nails dug into her palms, through the layers of her skirts. “ I ask for your forgiveness this once.”

He stared, stunned.

“... I will let this go this last time.” Derrick eventually answered. “Keep in mind that this will be the last time I will let your arrogance pass.”

Penelope felt her eye twitch but curtsied again. However, it seemed like her luck had finally run out, and when she turned to leave, her legs buckled. The curtain of magenta hair fluttered as her body fell.

Oh, that’s right… I ate garbage today because of Emily, and my body hasn’t recovered from dying yet. I have no strength left in my body—

A large hand shot out to catch her arm, easily supporting her. She stifled a gasp of pain as his pinky carelessly brushed her needle wounds, turning to be almost face-to-face with him.

Too close.

Derrick crowded into her space; if she leaned back a little, her back would be pressed against him. Penelope grimaced and tilted herself forward, hoping Derrick wouldn’t drop her. He was so close that she could feel the grip of his sword brush against her hand. The very sword that had cut her down in so many lifetimes.

Kill him.

A voice in her head suggested sweetly.

Take that blade of his and force it through his body, how dare he look at us with conflict in his eyes—

As quickly as it had appeared, she shoved the voice into the deepest recesses in her mind.

“Shouldn’t you call for a physician?” His low, melodious voice broke her out of her churning thoughts. “You look ill.” He was still holding her.

“No, young master.” She gently detached her arm from him, backing away to a safe distance and swaying before offering a strained smile. “I just promised that I would live quietly so that you need not concern yourself with me. Please excuse me, I will be returning to my room now.”

Penelope left, the steady click-clack of her heels drifting into silence as she left Derrick standing alone. Returning to her room, Penelope exhaled in relief, collapsing onto her bed. 

“Ugh…” She slapped her face a bit, trying to ignore how her body trembled. “Focus.” She kicked off her heels before tucking her legs underneath her, adjusting her skirts. Bright emerald eyes closed and she breathed slowly.

That’s right.

She focused on her tattered soul, running a ghostly hand over it. This was why she freed herself from the ancient wizards. Had she allowed another loop to happen with them still in her body…

My soul would have shattered. Across worlds.

She sighed, gathering her magic to try and piece it back together.

“What is Kleio doing?” The child asked, pointing at the workspace. “Why is she fiddling with those broken pieces?”

“That’s kintsugi. It is a method of repairing pottery with lacquer, mixed with gold, silver, or platinum powder. An art from the far east that sought to embrace flaws as history, not as something unsightly.” Her brother gently smoothed a hand over her soft curls, as they watched their older sister hard at work. “It’s a good metaphor for life, too. Be proud of your scars. They are evidence that you lived and survived.”

A kiss was dropped onto her forehead.

Something twisted in Penelope’s chest as she watched her soul join back together, until it was no longer as damaged. Although her core was far from healed, it was the best she could do with her limited magic. As her soul fused back together, though, pain began to spark back in her body. She could feel the cloth underneath her, the way her hair brushed her shoulders. The way it all hurt.

“Using so much magic is unadvisable. While your ability is plentiful compared to others, your body is a poor conductor. A shame, though it is expected, with how diluted the bloodline has become. If you keep on insisting to use magic without our help, you will suffer consequences.” The words of the ancient wizards echoed around her head, chiding as her physical body trembled and spasmed. “Do you understand, Penelope?”

“Yes. I understand.” She gritted out through the pain.

Her soul was shattered and pieced back together. The majority of which was still jagged and untouched, and her memories of her alternate life were hazy. There was a sense of wrongness in her chest, a gaping maw where her heart was. However, she dismissed it.

A series of sharp knocks jolted her out of her thoughts, her eyes opening as the doors swung open. Bright light spilled into her darkened room. Wincing at the brightness, she could make out a tall figure. It was the butler.

Perfect timing.

A frown made its way onto her face as she slipped into a more comfortable position.

“My lady, it is the butler.” Without allowing her to even speak, he continued. “I came to you as there is an urgent matter that needs to be addressed as soon as possible. It is nothing, really, but we must select a new personal maid for you.”

“A maid?” Her eyes narrowed. Was it so important that he’d barge into her room like this?

“Yes, a new girl must be assigned before dinner—”

“Head butler.” Penelope’s voice was sharp, cutting off the butler. She stared at him, emerald eyes darkening at the sight of the straight-backed servant. “What is your name?” He stopped, confused.

“Huh…? What…”

“Your name, head butler,” she said impatiently, a scowl beginning to overtake her features. 

“It’s… Pennel, my lady.”

“And what is mine?”

“My lady, why are you suddenly asking these—”

“Butler.” Penelope’s voice grew cold. “Answer me.”

“... It’s Penelope Eckhart, my lady.” Pennel shifted a bit, apprehensive at the sudden change in mood. Clearly, he had expected her to answer quickly and for the conversation to be over in mere seconds. After all, she never had any preference for any of the staff who worked in the duchy.

“That’s right,” her head tilted, bangs shadowing her eyes, “Penelope Eckhart. A noble. And yet, butler, I have never heard of etiquette where a commoner, especially without a last name, enters the room of a noble as he pleases, much less a noble a part of the household that he works in. Do you perhaps know something that I do not, head butler Pennel? Is there something that makes you exempt from this common etiquette? And on top of that… a random man who enters the bedroom of a young lady… what would the rumors say?” The old butler’s face grew pale at the implications.

“... My lady, how could you say that—!”

“Must I explain every little thing until I lose my voice?” She glared. With the way the light splashed across her darkened form, her eyes seemed to glow malevolently. It was like something dropped onto the butler’s shoulders, a heavy, oppressive weight that forced his knees to slam against the wooden floor.

“I- I apologize, my lady—! In my haste, I have wronged you. Please forgive me…!” The gaze of the old butler, who once looked down at her, trembled as the princess reasserted herself. Penelope felt herself relax a tiny bit.

She stared at his repentant form with satisfaction, not calling for him to rise. After all, she had not only allowed him to do as he pleased for six years but also in countless time loops. All of which he never followed her orders properly. He could suffer a bit more. “For the time being, I find even the sight of you offensive, butler. From now on, if you have any business with me, send someone else. Am I understood?”

“But, my lady, the selection of maids in this mansion is—”

“Yes or no, butler. I gave you a simple question. Have you gone deaf with your age? Do you not understand?” She repeated frostily. 

“... Yes. I understand, my lady. Then, attending to your dinner—” Pennel tried again. Her eyes narrowed into slits.

“I don’t need it today. Ensure that Emily returns to serve me tomorrow. I know Reynold has personally punished her. If he has something to say against it, tell him it is my order.” Penelope ordered. “You may leave.”

“Yes… my lady.” The doors shut behind him as Pennel finally retreated, plunging the room into darkness again.

I won’t be a victim again. I have no intentions of dying like this.

She gritted her teeth. No one ever needed to listen to her, no matter which time loop. Since they could all blame it on her tantrums and childish personality. Her violent acts and vitriol.

Did they think a pure heart would be nurtured in such a hostile environment? The duchy disparages her for her outbursts, and yet does not take responsibility for the child they have molded.

They always listened to Yvonne, the true lady of the family. They attended to her every need with devotion. Had even a single one attended to me well, offered a shoulder when I needed it… what would I be? Would I have been happier? Would I never had have to suffer through the time loop? A lady worthy of the Eckhart name

Penelope sighed. “There’s no point crying over spilled milk.” She flopped back onto her bed, eyes closing in exhaustion. And so she dreamed, flying above golden fields and sprawling cities.

In a land far away from the Eorka Empire, in a world that ran parallel to its own, stood a land wrought by war. In the north was a land of eternal winter; with towering fortresses and its people hardened by the harsh climate. There were shouts as cavalry gathered, the sound of wings beating in the air, pale feathers scattering into the streets below. Inside the Gautier estate, three people watched the sights grimly.

“Thank you all for your support.” A green-haired woman broke the silence. “I understand that Gautier has sent many of its troops and even the Lance of Ruin to aid in the war against the Empire,” she turned to look at the older man sitting in front of her. He had red hair and golden-orange eyes; scars ran up and down his face, dressed in deep green and black clothing, armor strapped to his form.

“It is nothing,” Margrave Gautier dismissed. “This is only my duty as a head of Faerghus’s high nobility. Though it must be difficult for you, Saintess… well, Duke Fraldarius does his best, but he is still human. The majority of our leaders are practically children.” His son stiffened at his side. She hummed.

“I understand your trepidation, Margrave.” Her voice was gentle. “Rest assured, that the Kingdom and Church will see victory at the end of this war. Have Sreng’s attacks grown more manageable, then? For you to be able to send such large amounts of forces to aid in the war?”

The margrave shook his head, sipping his tea. “There is not much we can do— Sreng, thankfully, has been suffering from infighting between the warrior clans. I ask you to watch over my son, Sylvain. He is—”

“I understand.” A smile lifted her lips. “Have faith in your son, Margrave.”

Chapter Text

The next morning, Penelope woke, staring at the carved wooden ceiling. For a sweet moment, her memories were hazy. Was she still dreaming? She pressed her needle wounds, wincing as the familiar throb of pain reassured her that she was still alive. That she had successfully broken free of the ancient wizards’ control. When she finally finished getting ready, sitting down at her table, a knock interrupted her thoughts.

“M-my lady, I-I have prepared your breakfast…” Emily stuttered, visibly shaking as she set down a plate in front of Penelope, the cloche removed to show a simple breakfast, yet utterly extravagant compared to yesterday’s trash. Penelope cut the steak into small chunks, flipped the salad leaves, and tore the bread into tiny pieces. When her inspection returned nothing of note, only then did she begin to eat, taking tiny bites, ignoring the way her stomach twisted in hunger.

“Emily.” She finally spoke, not a hint of warmth as the utensils clattered onto the table.

“Y-yes, my lady!” The brunette jolted out of her churning thoughts.

“Give me the needle.”

“W-what?” Emily began to sweat. There was no way her lady could have known. “What do you—”

“The needle that you’ve been using to rip up my arms each morning.” A choked gasp ripped itself out of Emily as her knees buckled, kneeling on the floor.

“M-my lady, I-I’m sorry! Please forgive me!”

“Did the head butler not warn you? I hate repeating myself. Hand it over.”

Emily’s body trembled even more as Penelope snatched up the needle, inspecting it. This was the source of the stabbing pain in her arm every morning for every loop, the six years she spent growing up in this duchy. Pain which she’d grit her teeth to stop pained cries from leaving her mouth, always leaving her in foul moods, the tip of the iceberg that caused another fit. A sigh left her, deft fingers twirling the thin object.

“Look closely, Emily,” she beckoned, as she raised the needle. Emily flinched, wanting to close her eyes but obeying nonetheless.

“Ugh—! M-my lady!” Emily screamed as Penelope raised the needle and drove it into her own hand again and again. “L-lady Penelope! Why… why are you doing this, my lady—!” Emily hiccuped, horrified at the sight.

Tiny bruises had begun to bloom along the veins the needle had pierced, the instrument soaked with her blood. Penelope smiled calmly at her maid. Blood ran down her hand steadily, dripping onto the floor and staining Emily’s apron. Her hand clenched, causing more blood to spill.

“Why are you crying, Emily?” Her voice was consoling. The bloodied hand grasped the brunette’s chin sweetly, leaving tallies of blood as she stroked her thumb underneath Emily’s eyes, catching the tears before they fell. “After all, aren’t you the one who left these needle marks on me?”

“W-what?” Emily whispered, stunned at the uncharacteristic gentleness and at her lady’s words.

“I begged the duke to let you continue to attend me as my personal maid, and even ended your punishment early out of my goodwill, despite Reynold being the one to toss you into the dungeons. Even after all that I have done, you still had the audacity to leave these marks on me.” She continued to stroke her face. “Starting from today, I will accept everything you give me as my maid without hesitation. But if you slip up even a little bit, these little bruises will grow one. By. One. Someone will eventually take notice. Someone like Reynold. Or…! Or,” she smiled gently. “Maybe a noble from another house. Rumors will spread, right?” She tilted her head.

“My-my lady…”

“And that someone will begin to wonder: Who dares to mock the Eckhart duchy so blatantly, to wound its only princess? Does the duchy condone such abuse, of an adopted child? What would happen to Eckhart’s perfect reputation?” She wretched the younger girl’s chin up. Penelope bent to meet shaking brown eyes. “ Emily. Do you understand what I’m saying? ”

Wide brown eyes stared at the cold visage of her mistress. Soothing words underlaid by a warning. Cold eyes the color of poison. Penelope dropped Emily, the latter left to gasp and heave at her feet. Work-roughened hands pressed at the reddened skin at her own neck.

“Your mistress is finished eating now. You should do your job properly, right?” Penelope began to clean the blood off of her hands, smiling sweetly. 

Emily scrambled to her feet, clearing off the plates as Penelope tossed the soiled napkin onto the cart.

Emily… Emily… You’ve served me even when Yvonne came back to the duchy. But fleeting attachment is no reason to keep you around, especially when I don’t have the luxury to do so. You’re the type of spineless child who knows exactly where your interest is.

Loud and heavy footsteps approached. She recognized them immediately. The smile dropped from her face.

Reynold’s boot slammed into her ribs, causing a dull wheeze. She tried to curl up but he kicked her again, face contorted in anger—

“You. What the hell are you doing?” Reynold shouted as he barged into her room, doors slamming against the walls as he strode over to her. “Why—” he spotted Emily, who eeked, terrified. “You!”

“Y-young master…!” A cursory glance ensured that Emily had already finished with her work.

“Emily. You may leave.”

“Don’t you dare!” Reynold turned to Emily, a dark glare already forming on his pretty features.

“Now.” Her commanding tone spurred Emily into action, doors slamming behind her. Reynold glanced back, gaze darkening with displeasure.

“Tell me. Why are you acting like this?” She stayed silent. “Are you just going to ignore my words?”

Tch. Truly, the two of them truly are brothers.

“Acting like what, exactly?”

“Why are you keeping that bitch as your personal maid?” He shouted.

What’s with him?

“It’s nothing. You shouldn’t concern yourself with such trivial matters,” she dismissed, though that only inflamed Reynold further.

“What? Serving her mistress rotten food is trivial?” Anything Penelope was about to say withered under his unexpected anger. Just what happened today that he’d be so aggressive? And for that aggression to not be aimed at her? “That lowly thing didn’t know her place and dared to ridicule the Eckhart family!” She froze.

A lowly thing that didn’t know her place.

Then, she scoffed.

“How dare you treat Yvonne like this! How dare you not know your place and ridicule the true Eckhart princess!”

“Insolent bitch, how dare you spend all this money! You fucking fake!” He cursed.

“Is this a laughing matter to you?” Reynold asked sharply. “How low does that maid think of you, to treat you like this while you did nothing?”

Yes. Everyone in this household thinks of me this way. A lowly street rat who dared to take the place of their beloved lady. “I’ve already met with the duke about this.”

“Of course you have. I told Father to get rid of that impudent thing immediately, so…” Reynold looked so full of himself, confident and proud. Did he want a compliment from the fake he always hated? Disgusting.

“Our eldest brother has expressed that it was unwise to expel Emily. I’m sure His Grace agrees as well.” Her chest felt hollow, using that term. Brother. Her injured hand spasmed. Even though she hated it, she had to keep up appearances.

“...What?” Reynold stopped, eyes widening. Penelope’s eyes closed for a moment. Emily was never expelled for this incident, despite the disrespect she had committed. She even continued to serve as her personal maid, until the end. “Is that why you kept her as your personal maid, then? Since they didn’t want to kick her out?”

Penelope hummed noncommittally.

“Are you stupid? Why didn’t you get a new maid, then—!”

“What would it change, Reynold?” She replied tiredly, looking up briefly. “Can you guarantee that a new maid wouldn’t have done the same?” His words died in his throat. “If another maid would have served me properly, why didn’t anyone else report Emily, then? As their duty as a part of the Eckhart staff? Why is it only with your interference that Emily is punished, and not earlier?” Penelope tapped her fingers, trying to keep her irritation at bay.

“Then, when Father called you to his office…” Reynold’s words held a hint of disbelief.

“I went and apologized for causing such a commotion during my probation and asked for punishment as he saw fit. So please, stay out of it, Reynold.”

“Punishment?” He repeated, stunned. Then, he gritted his teeth. “Are you crazy?! Why are you just going to accept this, when you’ve been treated like this? Don’t you have any self-respect?!” Penelope’s gaze darkened.

Self-respect? I don’t have that luxury.

“I’d rather you scream and break things! That’s more like you!”

“Is this not what you wanted when you framed me six years ago?” Penelope snapped, jabbing a finger at his chest. She was sick of it, the utter unpredictability of this man-child.

Either you hate me or don’t. Pick a struggle. Reynold physically stumbled, eyes widening as he processed her words.

“You- you knew?” Suddenly, he was nervous. “Penelope… back then…” He squeezed his hands into fists.

Fists which has slammed against her face, blood welling up as she was cut on his rings.

She shivered but kept her finger there. “I’m not going to bring it up anymore. No matter what, it’s something that cannot be changed.”

Penelope flinched as he wrapped a hand around her wrist. Internally, she cursed as he lifted her hand; she shouldn’t have done that. “... Did that maid do this to you?” Her eyes opened to see his beautiful pink hair— “You don’t even look like Yvonne, anymore” — in front of her. He bent to examine the needle wounds, brushing his thumb over them. He froze when her breath hitched in pain. “Why did you defend her if she did something like this?” His anger rose again.

“I punished her. Don’t worry, I’ll clean up the blood and treat myself.” She tried to wave off, though he only held on tighter. She winced, breath becoming shorter as memories threatened to swallow her. “R-Reynold, please let go.” Penelope tugged, her voice beginning to plead with him. “A-as I said. I won’t cause another commotion. Please just let go. I will be reflecting upon my actions, and work on them before my coming-of-age—” Reynold looked lost, still staring at the wounds. W-what’s with that face? Desperately, she tried to keep her composure.

“—dage it up,” he mumbled, before straightening.

“Pardon?” Her wrist was dropped back to her side.

“Tch. Even if it was for a moment, I was a fool to worry about you.” He left the room quickly, doors slamming shut behind him. Penelope stared, dumbfounded at the sudden shift in tone. With Reynold gone, Penelope swayed heavily. She groaned softly as her room spun around her, supporting herself on the wall. Her entire body seized, trembling with the exertion of standing. Something like terror crawled down her back.

It hurts so much… why isn’t my body recovering yet?

Penelope blinked through tears, gasping at the pain, rubbing her sore wrist. Sweat trickled down her back as she stumbled towards the first-aid kit. Afterward, she collapsed on her bed.

I- I’ve never felt anything short of normal after the time loop reset; is it because the ancient wizards aren’t here anymore?

She pressed a hand against her forehead, feeling her temperature. Cold. Completely cold. Penelope shivered, pulling the blankets together into a nest. She bundled up, grabbing a book to read when she couldn’t fall asleep.

Though she tried, she couldn’t get the pain out of her mind. It stabbed at her, pinching and squeezing.

Reynold walked down the halls, deep in thought. He didn’t know. He had thought to himself arrogantly that there was no way that a stupid street kid like her would know that he was the culprit. It was unexpected, but Pennel’s testimony at the time helped pin all the blame on her. The fake, the replacement that had returned with their Father when he promised to bring their little sister back. But to think that she knew that it was him, and yet still tried to call him ‘Brother’…

Something twisted in his chest, choking him and dragging him down. Yesterday he had pushed into her room with every intent of riling her up. His face darkened when he remembered the disgusting food. And when he had wretched the spoon and moldy bread from her hands, Penelope had merely stopped. Her chest stopped rising, and for a moment, Reynold had panicked. Shaking and yelling at her until she took a rattling breath, seemingly coming to her senses. Trembling and shrinking away from his touch, her eyes clouded over and dull.

Part of him was thankful that she no longer looked like Yvonne; Reynold didn’t know what he would feel if he saw his sister’s eyes like that. He frowned, remembering her sharp, thin shoulders, fragile underneath his grasp.

The wound— there was no way that that maid made those today. How long— He paused. Were they why she always wore long sleeves? Earlier, she had looked resigned as he caught sight of the marks. The way she’d tense when he grabbed her arm to prevent another of her stunts in public… He had dismissed it as mere exaggeration. How long had this been going on? Even though he hated it, she was still an Eckhart.

Reynold groaned.

“Fuck,” he cursed aloud, messing up his pink hair. He looked around at his surroundings, then laughed hollowly.

The attic .

Chapter Text

It was a few weeks after the initial incident, with Penelope finishing up her evening meal. She picked up the second prince’s birthday banquet invitation again as Emily began to clear up the plates. “Would you like dessert today, my lady?”

“No need,” she said dismissively.

Knowing the duke, he’ll be busy with work, and Reynold is off doing whatever he’s doing, that slacker. So as to not disrespect the Imperial Family, Derrick’s been forced to lift my probation. This banquet… is undoubtedly the event where I first meet the Crown Prince and keep dying at his hand.

She twitched.

Hopefully, I can scrape by.

“Emily.”

“Yes, my lady?” Emily straightened up.

“Bring me some wax-lined gloves, rosewater, and almond oil. Get some nail lacquer remover as well.” Her maid hurried off to do so, returning with the requested items. After her nails were finally bare, Penelope went to go wash before retiring early, Emily helping her with the gloves.

 I’ll need all the sleep I can get…

The next morning, Penelope was roused by several maids along with Emily, the wax gloves removed to reveal smooth, supple skin, not even an indication of the lacquer remover that they had been doused in the previous night. The noblewoman soaked in a bath of near scalding water with milk and fragrances mixed in, a multitude of rose petals scattered at the top. As with each distant memory of a social event she had attended, the maids diligently worked to bring their lady’s beauty to an unparalleled high. Penelope sighed softly, enjoying the feeling of hot water relieving the constant pain, which had grown worse the more she lived this loop.

At this rate, I don’t know how I’m going to be doing anything… I really need to find out why this is happening.

As she sat down at her vanity, Penelope gazed at herself in the mirror, feeling a part of herself preen at her sparkling reflection. Her normally perfect skin was glowing and radiant, without a single blemish in sight. Damp magenta hair fell over her shoulders, framing her cat-like features.

“My lady, how is this dress? It’s a new one you haven’t worn before!” Emily held up a magenta gown, accented in gold filigree embroidery, with a low neckline and puffy tulle skirt.

“What about these earrings? They will go well with this dress, my lady.” Another maid held up a pair of pear-shaped beryl earrings the color of her hair, accented with diamonds.

“I think a half-updo would be better than a ponytail… What do you think, my lady?” As always, the maids enjoyed dressing her up.

Penelope examined the presentation of dresses and jewels. “Bring a sleeveless blue dress, the one with gold strokes. Emily,” she waved her hand, making sure to subtly show off the faded wounds, “bring me some matching gloves and a shawl to go with it. Someone bring me pearl and gold accessories.” The maids hastened to obey, Emily bringing a pair of gloves which matched the organza skirts.

“My lady, how should we do your hair?” One of the maids asked hesitantly. Clearly, she remembered how neurotic Penelope was with her appearance.

“Pull half of my hair up, and do what you wish with the rest,” she replied dismissively, tacking on the last part to halt any disappointed murmurs. The maids chattered as they dolled up their young lady, hums of agreement and discussion the only sounds present as they moved about. Emily began to lace up the gown as the finishing touches of Penelope’s hair were done.

“My lady, you look stunning…” the maids said as the soft brush finally left her eyelids. Lovely green eyes opened as she stood. One of them held up a mirror behind the lady, showing Penelope the back of her hair. “What do you think?”

“This is good,” Penelope decided, gently touching the array of twisted curls pinned at the back of her head, the shape of which resembled roses. She carefully brought forward thin locks of hair from behind her ears, twisting the hairs between her fingers. The magenta-haired lady admired her reflection, a pleased smile hinting at her berry-painted lips.

The dress’s bodice was navy blue, vertical panels arranged so her slim waist looked even tinier. For the skirts, there was a layer of pale golden-tinted organza, decorated with the same abstract gold strokes over the bodice. Underneath were several layers of tulle, dark blue at the waist and white at the hem, the layers creating a hazy effect. Pearls, linked together by delicate golden chains, looped around her neck and wrist, hanging from her ears as well.

She slipped on the shawl, letting the rest of the fabric drape down her arms. Her vicious face— befitting of a villainess — was softened by pinked cheeks and coral eyelids, hints of gold on the inside corners.

When Penelope left the mansion, Derrick was waiting outside. “Young master,” she greeted him gently, gathering up her skirts to curtsey.

The best way to prevent any of the Eckhart brothers from killing me is to don the proper facade until their impressions of me are salvageable. For Derrick, I must appeal to his unhealthy obsession with the family reputation and hatred of me as his sister.

She straightened to see Derrick’s surprised expression.

They boarded the carriage together, settling into an awkward silence. As they moved through the streets, she gazed outside the window. As she did so, she could feel Derrick’s stare on her, though she ignored him. After ten minutes, she turned to face the young duke. “Is there something on my face, young master?” She asked.

“You seem to have matured a little during your probation,” he replied eventually. Penelope simply inclined her head, opting to return to the scenery that passed them. Derrick continued his assessment, eyes sweeping across her appearance.

Penelope did seem more human-like. He expected ostentatious, childish accessories and flashy attire, far from what a noble lady about to come of age should wear, much less an Eckhart. Though her attire was still quite mature and flashy— he frowned at her exposed shoulders and arms, and the way she flaunted her swan-like neck and decolletage, milky skin bared to the world— it was still a step towards improvement. She was less gaudy with accessories, decorated with minimalistic pearls instead of glimmering, bright jewels.

 When the carriage finally slowed to a stop, Derrick stepped down first, proffering his gloved hand. “Your hand.”

“... Thank you,” she murmured, placing her own in his as he helped her down, entering the Palace. She forced herself to relax, shoving back the memories that tried to overwhelm her body as she gazed at the Palace, which she was intimately familiar with.

“The heir of the Eckhart ducal house, Derrick Eckhart, and Lady Penelope Eckhart have arrived!” The courtier announced as the doors swung open. Her skin prickled as they entered the ballroom. Derrick spoke quietly.

“Don’t act rashly. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten your probation was lifted just yesterday. It won’t end with you being confined to your room if you cause another commotion.”

“Yes. I will be careful.”

How utterly predictable of you.

Her hand slipped from his elbow as Derrick became surrounded by other nobles alike, Penelope escaping to the sides of the ballroom.

“...Young master Eckhart, it has been too long…”

“How is the duke?”

As expected, no one approached her, keeping a far distance. Though she could still hear their hissed words.

“Announcing her Majesty the Queen and his Royal Highness, the Second Prince!” The nobles all went into low bows or curtseys, Penelope doing the same.

“Look at that shining golden hair, the symbol of royalty…”

“ Amazing…” Penelope watched the mother and son as they ascended the stairs. Her eyes darkened as the Second Prince sat on the Imperial Throne.

The throne, which only the Emperor and Crown Prince can sit on… he does it so casually, too. 

A soft scowl appeared on her lips. In a past loop, they had interacted; though brief, their meeting was still quite vivid in her memories.

“You may all rise. I thank you all for attending my birthday banquet in the midst of your busy schedules. It is a modest event, but I hope everyone will have an enjoyable time.” The second prince’s tone was warm. “Now, let us commence the—”

He was abruptly cut off by a large bang, the large doors slamming open. The room broke out in chatters as Penelope turned.

“It’s his Highness the Crown Prince!”

“Kyaa, on the floor!”

“Is that- Is that blood?!”

“In his hands— Isn’t that a person!?”

Kallisto Regulus… Green eyes widened.

The Crown Prince turned towards her, sword in hand. “Princess Eckhart.”

Golden-spun hair, so vivid that the Queen and Second Prince’s dulled in comparison— The prickling on her skin reappeared, making her pull her shawl tighter.

What is this presence? And why does it seem so familiar?

“Happy birthday, little brother,” The Crown Prince called as he dragged the limp assassin behind him. Reaching the foot of the stairs, he tossed the body carelessly, causing hushed murmurs to rise at the barbarous action. Penelope, however, gazed at the scene dispassionately; she had had enough time to become acquainted with Kallisto’s disquieting antics.

This was nothing compared to her time as a member of the Church of Seiros and while she suffered as Penelope Eckhart in each time loop.

The prickling sensation danced across her arms, having strengthened with Kallisto’s presence. It accompanied a dull tingling that plagued her since arriving at the Imperial Palace and had intensified when she entered the Throne Room.

Is this feeling perhaps related to the Imperial bloodline? Only the Princes’ presences elicit such a feeling, though Kallisto’s is much, much more overwhelming… Well. The Crown Prince of Iron and Blood is the strongest of this Empire. I wonder if the Emperor has a similar presence. This room radiates the same energy, and is likely the dulled source… What an intriguing mystery.

Her eyes, which had closed briefly, snapped open to zero in on Kallisto. Around her, the figures and features of the nobility blurred into amorphous shapes, distinguished only by auras of varying sizes, colors, and intensities. As expected, Kallisto Regulus was the strongest.

She found the source of power in this room. Far be it from the thrones, but it was instead right under her feet, underneath the intricate marble floor.

The dungeons?

Penelope’s eyes flickered to the ground briefly, urging her dulled senses to go down.

No. It’s even lower than that.

She looked back at the base of the stairs, head tilting in childish curiosity as the Crown Prince raised his sword and slammed it into the assassin. His aura, tainted with the lives of many, darkened before returning to normal. When she blinked again, Penelope’s sight returned to normal, just as she met Kallisto’s eyes. He raised an eyebrow at her undaunted curiosity before he left, blood still dripping off the scabbard. As soon as the doors slammed shut behind him, the hall erupted in shocked whispers.

Slowly, the hall regained some semblance of normalcy; the nobility tentatively returning to their groups and conversations as servants hurried to remove the corpse. Sipping at a sparkling beverage, Penelope observed the room. 

Many of the nobility hold pride in their families’ military positions, yet the reality is that they are withdrawn from the conflict entirely. No one in this room has ever stepped foot on a battlefield or taken a life, despite how bloodstained the Eorka Empire is. Then again. What do I expect from peacocking nobility?

She amended her thoughts after a moment.

Well. The only ones who have tainted auras like Kallisto are his most vocal supporters, those who have stepped bravely on the fields of war.

Penelope easily snuck out of the banquet hall, the hollow click of her heels announcing her presence as she followed Kallisto’s aura.

I’m curious. Is it now with my memories that I am able to feel his overwhelming presence?

Entering the rose gardens, she walked around idly. Since the prickling tugged her towards the maze, she turned away, decisively wandering away. The heady and familiar scent of roses, near stifling in the duchy but muted and sweet in the Imperial Palace, filled her nose, allowing her to put the sensations on her skin out of mind. Penelope approached the garden arbor, idly cupping one of the roses which climbed the white archway. White gloves parted the flower’s velvety folds, thumbing through the petals. A lace-covered finger traced the roses above gently.

Suddenly, her fingers stung. Penelope frowned. There were no thorns.

She whirled around to come face to face with the very man she had tried to avoid seeing when she entered the gardens.

Kallisto Regulus.

Chapter Text

Kallisto approached her. “I was wondering what rat was sneaking around.”

The familiar sound of him unsheathing his sword sent a shock down her spine. “Aren’t you… the mad dog of the Eckhart family?” The blade tapped against her unprotected neck. Already, Penelope’s heel hit the base of the archway: a cold sweat began to accumulate down her back as she realized there was no easy escape.

Even if she ran the risk of teleporting—immediately bringing the Imperial Wizards on her head— the reality was that her body was still aching and in unbearable agony. It was torture to not scream in pain every time the maids touched her as she got ready.

Her stamina was non-existent. Kallisto Regulus was not only a formidable swordsman but also possessed great magic from his heritage. Wide green eyes stared back into blood-red.

She felt hot blood begin to trickle from her neck, ever so slowly.

Kallisto… Kallisto is the one who took my life the most, before and after Leila’s influence.

He raised an eyebrow at her silence. “Oh? The rumors didn’t make mention of how rude the Mad Dog was: should I punish you for not greeting the Imperial Family properly?” She tensed.

“I-I, Penelope Eckhart, greet the Sun of our…” she swallowed, clammy hands picking up her skirts, “the Sun of our glorious Empire.” Automatically, the etiquette lessons— the ones which her sister had drilled into her— kicked in. The ducal princess lowered herself on imperceptibly trembling legs, dipping her head into a bow. The perfect image of aristocracy, despite her horrible reputation and the blade that dug into her throat.

Battle roared around her. She felt the air behind her move as she whirled around, catching the blade in her hand as she narrowly avoided decapitation. Her Crest activated as her sword dug in between armor.

Her body was stiff. From her actions, the blade pressed in even deeper, the blood flowing faster. The rational part of her mind screamed at her to do something, though it was lessened by that past memory of hers. She reached for that thread inside of her; that part of her body and—

Why can’t I activate my Crest?

That was it. The source of the gaping maw in her mind, the sense of wrongness — the realization intermingled with the overwhelming situation, causing her head to spin and her breaths to come out in short pants. Kallisto’s bloodstained shoes shuffled, and she dully remembered the way those shoes felt as he pressed her body down, pulling out his sword from her throat. Her Crest. Her lifeline.

Where is it? Where is it, that one thing I have left of my heritage here—

White invaded her vision as he touched her cheek gently, the fabric sliding to tilt her chin up— a soft gasp hitched through her bloody throat. Penelope’s head spun at both the pain in her neck and the unexpected action. Despite the tender way he cradled her face between his fingertips— when had Kallisto Regulus of all people acted like this, even with his first meeting with Yvonne— his blade still pressed against her throat.

Well, at least he’s consistent in that regard. Who would have thought a twenty-something virgin like him would do something like this? You’re only liked for your status and appearance, after all— is he using me as a practice dummy for the future?

She kicked herself at the reflexive insult before trying to push him off. Even without considering the bloodloss and his blade at her neck, Penelope’s weak body was no match for the indomitable wall that was the Eorka Empire’s Crown Prince and Imperial Bloodline. She cursed internally.

“Why did you follow me here?” He repeated, voice cold, though a glimmer of amusement danced in his eyes at her futile struggle. “You clearly saw what happened in the banquet hall and yet, you did not react as I killed the man. In fact, you watched with unabashed curiosity. You don’t seem to be so brave now, hm?” Idly, he brushed his thumb over her lips, as red as a ripe pomegranate, watching the way her lipstick smeared on the white fabric. “What was so interesting about me killing a man?” He leaned in closer and angled their faces together, “are you scared, Princess Eckhart?” Penelope watched her blurry reflection in his lowered eyes. “Of death? Or of me?”

Scared? I… I don’t know.

She stared back at him, memories vivid of him cutting her down and treating her coldly. Memories of her, laughing hysterically as the duchy burned around her. Of making her way to the Imperial Palace where Leila was, fire writhing from her body. Staring into crimson as he fought her, his sword buried in her chest, but her magic caging them together as the Palace was swallowed in flame. Older memories reached back. A canyon stained in red as she stumbled through their home. A white veil draped over her face.

I’ve survived more than anything you’ve imagined, Kallisto Regulus. Nothing you imagine could be worse than this.

Her hand grasped the blade, firmly pushing it away from her neck. Finally, she could breathe. “I was simply getting some fresh air, your Highness. Had I known you had commandeered the rose gardens for your own use, your Highness, I would not have stepped foot outside the banquet hall.”

“Oh? What barbarous words you spew, Princess Eckhart.” His eyes curved in amused crescents. “Shall I have you thrown in the dungeons for defamation of a royal?” Her fingers tapped on the blade idly.

“How could I ever insult the glorious Sun of our Eorka Empire to his face?” She smiled sweetly. “I merely expressed my intentions to not disturb his Highness after the debacle in the banquet hall.”

He chuckled lowly. Large fingers wrapped around her own, gently disentangling them from his sword. Kallisto finally sheathed his blade. A soft sigh left her as she eyed the weapon, her hand bloodying further as she pressed it against her wound in an attempt to stem the bleeding.

“You’re quite the intriguing woman, Penelope Eckhart.” His eyes curved into crimson crescents, face softening in mirth. She stared, caught off guard. He looked free.

Were she unmarred from the trauma that her lives have dragged her through, were she younger and more naive… perhaps her heart would’ve beat for him. Entertained the dream of a life with a man like him. Swooned over the way his voice dipped soothingly, sultry whispers despite the uncouth words that spilled from his mouth.

After all, lifetimes past, she had admired him from a distance. Though that illusion of the Crown Prince had been broken when he killed her over and over again, the stirrings of something still ached in her chest.

“You seemed quite fascinated with me killing the assassin, though. Would you like to offer me a reason for that, Princess?”

Countless times I have been in that man’s position, to have died at your blade. Would you not be curious to see how others regarded your death?

Perhaps it was because of her intense stare back in the banquet hall even as everyone averted their eyes, or it was their shared status as social outcasts, but Kallisto Regulus found himself intrigued with Penelope Eckhart. After all, no one had been as bold in his presence, save for his men, who had accompanied him through his years on the battlefield.

Kallisto tsked.

“You seem at a loss for words, Princess. Could there be a reason why you won’t answer me?” He moved even closer. Penelope stumbled back at his approach, her legs buckling as her heel caught the metal archway in a strange position. Kallisto moved to catch her, causing her to gasp.

One of his hands had caught her wrist, the other grasping at her hip to pull her delicate body upright. Her body was plastered against his, with the metal archway pressing right behind her, pink roses framing her head. She craned her neck to look up at him, soft pants of breath shared as she strove to keep her vision from blackening. From a distance, they looked like a pair of lovestruck lovers, enjoying a heated exchange in private. Though the only heat was Penelope’s face, burning at the suggestiveness of their position.

His grip was bruising.

“Ugh…!” Penelope tried to push him away, again. He frowned.

His crimson eyes traced the way the blood seeped from her pale neck, spilling into the top of her dress. How her hand left bloodied prints on the white metal behind her, on his pale clothing. A distinct metallic tang intermingled the bergamot that wafted from her soft form. Kallisto leaned closer, his mouth next to her ear.

“Well, I’ll let you go for now. However, you will have to answer me next time, Princess Eckhart. On why exactly you were so captivated with me.” With his body no longer so close, Penelope stumbled back, dropping into a shaky curtsey.

“Then I will be leaving now, Your Highness. I hope you have a wonderful evening,” she bowed, quickly making her way out. In her hurry, she didn’t hear his amused chuckle and the remark that chased her out.

She was like a little kitten who bared its claws and mewed angrily at him. He could see how she gained such a wicked reputation with a mouth like that.

“Cute.”

The moment she left, Penelope felt herself be shocked into coherency, like a bucket of cold water dumped onto her body. She ran, wobbling as she held her neck. It wasn’t clotting. Why wasn’t it clotting? Pain pierced through the heavy veil of adrenaline, causing the lady to stumble, slamming into someone. “Ugh…!” She backed away blindly, panic beginning to set in. “My apologies, my lord…!”

I can’t… I can’t have anyone see me like this.

“My lady?” Hands grasped at her shoulders. Instinctively, she twisted, fighting to get out of his grip, trying to shield her bleeding neck away from the nobleman. Her breath grew short and quick. Derrick’s words flashed in her mind.

“It won’t end with you being confined to your room if you cause another commotion.”

“ Let go of me!” She pushed at his chest, though he didn’t budge. Panic flooded her mind. She tried to pull back, but his grasp was too strong.

“My lady, my lady, please! Calm down!” She felt gentle yet firm hands grasp her wrists, stilling her thrashing. Then, the man spoke in a gentle tone. “My lady, please, calm down. Follow my breathing,” she complied, her harsh gasps slowly evening out to match his. “I’m not going to hurt you, my lady.”

Her breath hitched, his voice finally recognizable through the fog of panic that invaded her thoughts. Vivid slate-blue eyes softened as they met her own, soft white hair swept over them. A relieved smile pulled at his lips. The gentle Marquis, whose gentlemanly reputation was known amongst all the nobility. The mysterious sorcerer of the esteemed White Rabbit Guild. Winter Verdandi stood before her.

There was nothing but sweet kindness in his eyes. Her breaths hitched periodically as she fought back tears that threatened to fall at the sight of him. Winter, the man who had brought Yvonne back and ruined Penelope’s life. The first man she had ever held something deeper than passing affection for. The first man to break her heart, to have denied her freedom from the duchy.

He doesn’t remember. That kindness of his will be what kills you. When you watch that kindness becomes distrust in his eyes.

Her mind spoke insidious yet truthful words. She had watched his eyes grow cold at the sight of her. At that, Penelope stumbled back from him, shivering. Her head bowing, tiny hiccuping sobs left her— It was too much. The near-death she had faced, the terror that left her numb… and now Winter.

“Lady?” He gently touched her shoulder as she tried to wipe at her eyes. Then, he gasped in alarm as he spotted the blood that dripped down her beautiful dress. “My lady, you’re wounded badly.” She looked up as he withdrew a handkerchief, pressing it against the slow ooze of blood. His hands were hot against her cold skin. “We must get you to the Imperial physician at once—”

“Please, I cannot,” she whispered, cutting him off. “My lord, I will be fine.” She got into a shaky curtsey, head spinning at the action. “My deepest apologies for acting so shamefully in front of you. I mustn’t create a commotion in the Palace.”

“If you insist, my lady, then very well. But please at least allow me to help you,” he pleaded. She shook her head, trying to move away. “Please… my lady.” He caught her wrist, the other gently brushing her tears away. “At least let me help you this time. Before your eyes drown in sorrow again.”

Penelope froze.

It’s impossible. Those words…

“Your eyes are like the beautiful tropical waters in the southeast,” he smiled, tucking a lock of vibrant azalea hair behind her ear. “So beautiful, but sorrow threatens to drown those who try to find the depth of you.”

Chapter Text

Hello everyone. I feel kind of bad having only posted up to chapter 6 before hitting this point, but I'm just going to paste in what I posted on tumblr.

Any comments would be wonderful, seeing as I'm in a very big hole at the moment. I wrote this in a fit of hyperfixation and it hasn't settled, but I don't feel very motivated or have any brain juice to further the plot. The major plot points are all fleshed out more or less in my mind, but that's about it. Sorry for not posting so much, I'm getting a lot of homework dumped on me with other personal issues.

Thank you for your patience.

(Edit) If you want to chat with me about the story, seeing as some of you are interested in the crossover one— feel free to send asks or dms on tumblr:

https://seirclys. /

- Seirclys