The Diaries of a Princess

With all my love...

*RIPPP, *

Vivian.

Burn Vivian!

Burn the Witch Princess!

Several months earlier, the Ducal Court of Aequidan.

Clad in uniform, the envoy stands ramrod straight in the center of the court. The cold anger in the Grand Duke's voice seems to leave him entirely unfazed.

The Council is inclined to believe that it stems from an unknown power.

The arrival of the Mystia Council, which would be later known as the Mystia Treaty Committee, is no small matter for any nation within the Alliance.

As the duchy's heir apparent, Vivian sits quietly at one side of the court. Now, the envoy's gaze settles firmly upon her.

As the envoy finishes speaking, dead silence falls over the court. Not a soul present fails to understand what that means.

The Grand Duke raises his voice and meets the envoy's gaze with cold fury.

...

No one knows how the audience ultimately ended. The Council's delegation and the Alliance envoys departed the Duchy of @1 the following day.

Meanwhile, rumors from the court soon spread through every street and alleyway.

...

Once a rumor begins to spread, nothing can stem its tide.

Before long, it had gathered around a single, inescapable conclusion.

In A.F. @253, Princess Vivian @3 was sent to the Temple of Tsa@2, the oldest sanctuary of Aequidan and the seat of the faith its people had followed since before the duchy was founded. Installed as its presiding priestess, she would serve Tsa@2 alongside the Seer for the rest of her life. Under the temple's ancient right of sanctuary, no army or secular authority could enter its grounds to claim her; nor would she ever be permitted to leave them.

Dried, ochre herbs catch fire, tongues of flame licking at their stems.

Invisible smoke rises from the depths of your temple, carrying your low chuckles to the princess's ear.

Think on it again. You should accept my offer.

...

And yet, here and now, this notorious witch princess calmly slips her letter into an envelope and hands it to you as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

You screech in indignation. Long before this duchy ever came to be, the entity represented by this temple chose you.

You have long lost all memory of who you were before becoming the Seer. Were you once human, or some other creature entirely?

You cannot say. Over countless ages, you bestowed forbidden knowledge upon chosen unfortunates, ushering them down into lightless darkness.

And then, when their spirits broke and they yielded to the eternal dark, you devoured them whole alongside everything they ever loved.

You snort derisively. No matter. It will not be long.

Mortals are such frail, insignificant things, after all. There are never exceptions.

With that thought, you flick the tip of your tail. The envelope rustles softly, shoots into the void, and vanishes from sight.

Outside the Temple

Having waited eagerly all afternoon, the two children collide in a scramble, practically brawling over the letter that fluttered out of the temple.

As the young princess and prince bawl together, maids and guards scramble in total disarray trying to soothe them. Every bit of the chaos is reflected clearly before you in your crystal ball.

Yes, you truly do have a crystal ball. Even those preposterous fairy tales aren't entirely fabricated.

The more miserably they wail, the more amusing you find it.

Lifting a slimy eyelid, you sneer mercilessly at the culprit, who has already drifted back toward her cauldron the moment the letter departed.

The culprit acts as though she hasn't heard a word, curling up snugly in her cauldron and even tucking a cushion beneath herself.

That exaggerated, deliberate stretch fails to provoke you. You narrow your eyes and let out a languid chuckle.

Hearing this, Vivian looks up at you in sheer disbelief.

Then she looks around, as if searching for something.

Your dusky yellow pupils slit open ominously, like a curse stirring awake.

Vivian sets a polished, exquisitely crafted silver mirror squarely in front of your face.

Reflected within is your form: indolent, sluggish, yet unbelievably powerful, radiating an aura of dread beyond measure.

It is something far beyond mortal comprehension...

Pushed past your patience, you shatter the mirror with a blast of magic. Very well. You must admit that immense power always comes with a price.

You despise looking into mirrors!

Vivian crawls lazily into the cauldron, splaying her limbs like a contented giant frog.

As if oblivious to your scornful sneer, a radiant glimmer weaves through her fingertips.

Warm vapor gathers as she chants, soft, fragrant suds rising to gently envelop Vivian as she lounges in the cauldron.

Tiny clouds drizzle a gentle mist witnessed by only the two of you. She rolls onto her stomach over the cauldron's rim, fishing out a large sheet of parchment covered in illustrations.

Grasping her intentions at once, you snap your eyes open in alarm.

It is a tabletop game invented by court jesters. When Vivian moved into the temple, she brought along a staggering four hundred scrolls of the sort.

You meet her enthusiasm with a glare of pure contempt and fury.

What is she thinking? There is no way you will ever touch that vulgar, idiotic mortal pastime again.

Never.

The sight of this perpetually listless little brat gloating like this makes your blood boil.

Though she didn't laugh out loud, she was practically falling headfirst into her cauldron.

Just before you can conjure a real fireball, Vivian finally wipes away tears of laughter and clears her throat with that infuriating, deadpan seriousness.

She unrolls an unusually large sheet of parchment, clearly demarcating the territories of two duchys, accompanied by a wooden box filled with delicate figurines and tokens.

Intricate enchantments shield the temple, untouched by the cycles of sun and moon, spring and autumn, winter and summer.

No wind can blow within, nor starlight pierce its barrier; it keeps its own quiet rhythm.

Neither time nor mortal chores can hinder you the way they bind common men, leaving you free to showcase your prowess across the parchment.

...

A few hours later.

In truth, the contest proves somewhat closer than you anticipated.

The rival city-states expand wildly in starkly different ways. Your military ranks swell as you pillage commoners for points, while Vivian focuses entirely on noble estates.

Flipping the final card of the round puts your score far ahead of Vivian's, and your seventh building is nearly complete.

Smug and satisfied, you dip your tail into the warm water, narrowing your eyes in comfort.

Vivian's quill pauses mid-calculation on the parchment.

Anyone could have caught that momentary flicker of discomfort on her face, let alone a Seer.

Those two foolish brats, waiting eagerly outside like little puppies every correspondence day.

Beyond the duchy's borders, everything has devolved into utter chaos.

The strange illness born of black sludge, scouts suspiciously surveying the land...

And dark rumors churning beneath the surface.

On every correspondence day, while you look outside sizing up your future ingredients, Vivian never once steps near the crystal ball.

Nor does she write the way other mortals do, smiling or weeping without rhyme or reason as ink meets paper.

She simply pens those effusive letters to her family with a blank, impassive face.

Vivian doesn't answer you, merely piling her "materials" beneath the board's seventh foundation.

Next turn, she too will complete the construction of the seven temples.

Wait.

A faint, knowing smirk plays on Vivian's lips as she idly turns a card in her fingers, giving you a sinking feeling.

This brat has a habit of stabbing people in the back at critical moments, and you have paid dearly for it in the past.

That was back when you first met Vivian, looking down at this Vessel who had "voluntarily" entered the temple.

Together you chanted the prayer, and obscure, ancient records began to drift through the chamber on your whispers. And then...

You heard the most absurd rule uttered in hundreds of years.

Amid your belated fury and curses, this rule took hold.

...

As the most devoted Seer of @2tho@1a, only your unshakeable faith kept you from questioning what oversight They had committed to allow such a rule to pass.

What happened to being confined within the temple?! It stripped away your legitimate right to cast magic anywhere without that little brat's permission, to abandon her for another contractor, or to slaughter her and her entire family!

Your eyes dart between the parchment, the card in Vivian's hand, and the unrevealed building tokens.

"Enfeoffment": the only temple capable of granting military authority and land to Nobility, multiplying noble points dramatically. That is what Vivian is planning to do.

She must have that card in hand. Once you strike the closing bell, she need only play Enfeoffment to overtake you before scoring.

A fine strategy, indeed. What a pity... You happen to hold another crucial trump card.

You lift your eyebrows triumphantly, lifting your tail from the closing bell without hesitation to flip an event card.

As the card flips, every blue unit representing Military across your territory turns into a red unit representing Nobility.

You wait for victory with serene confidence.

Vivian flips over the card resting on her foundation, and your expression instantly freezes.

Against all expectations, it is not a building card, but a disaster card.

"Plague": all unsettled resident units have their points reduced to zero.

In utter disbelief, you scramble to find any rational explanation for her move.

Vivian simply turns the card in her hand: it is indeed "Enfeoffment."

Vivian ends her turn, finally laying down her building card, and it is already too late for you to build anything with a higher score.

Grinding your teeth if you had any, you reluctantly strike the closing bell.

...

Much as you dislike this "student," you must admit her talent is extraordinary. Every element is naturally drawn to her.

Indeed, she ultimately chose the elixir, an utterly baffling choice. In all of history, no vessel chosen by @2tho@1a had ever taken that path.

Intricate incantations and formulas cover every scrap of parchment. Watching Vivian knit her brows in thought, you finally click your tongue.

It couldn't possibly be just so someone would play those amusing parchment games with her, could it? Besides, now you are the only one left playing with her.

Vivian idly circles several tricky points. Pretending you hadn't skipped them in your lecture, you subtly flick the tip of your tail to append the notes.

She pauses, looking up from the parchment. Her gray-blue eyes carry a look you can't decipher, along with... amusement?

She shakes her head.

...

Later that night...

Vivian is dreaming.

Dark silhouettes, both familiar and estranged, circle all around Vivian, leaving her alone at the center.

Their hushed whispers merge into a chaotic, low, ominous hum, closing in like a web.

Trapping her within.

She is a princess waiting to die. A princess cast into exile. She takes a deep breath.

Then, she lets her eyes slide shut in weariness, slumping her shoulders without a trace of poise.

The shadows disperse, leaving her entirely alone.

...

Meanwhile, inside the temple.

Fuming with rage, you are meticulously concocting a plan for revenge.

It certainly isn't over Vivian's foolish, nonsensical talk about being loved or unloved before bed. You're just pissed off at the look in her eyes.

She was mocking your ignorance, as though there were something in this world she understood and you did not. You cannot abide such an insult.

Now she has even been foolish enough to fall asleep before you without a shred of vigilance. She is bound to pay the price.

You step into the shadows, reaching across the boundary between dreams and reality...

Zzzz....*peaceful breathing*

You are the true evil from the darkest night, a Seer born of the lightless bottom.

If anyone dares to fall asleep before you...

You will be able to sneak into their dream with effortless ease.

But something seems to have gone wrong somewhere along the way...

Your heart, if you still possess such an organ, feels wrapped in soft down, resting upon a velvet cushion warmed by the sun.

Your hypothetical heart tells you that you are safe.

You are held close. A soft, pale neck rests affectionately against your own, a light laugh trailing off at the end of her words as your stray hair tickles her skin.

You stare blankly at your reflection in the lake.

An older woman holds you in her arms. Her eyes are the same color as Vivian's. Thanil and Zvil, appearing two or three years younger than when you first met them, sit gathered around you.

You sit together beneath a lakeside tree in the afternoon, sunlight filtering through the canopy to scatter flecks of warm gold across everyone's face.

You have no interest in tedious children's tales. I've just landed in her dream, you think to yourself. I'm only staying silent because I need some more time to gather my wits,

It's certainly not because the warm sunlight feels too pleasant to interrupt her. Certainly not.

And so, the story continues.

A hazy sense of familiarity guides your tongue to speak the ending of the tale.

Amidst Zvil's grumble that "Sister's heard this one before too," the Grand Duchess laughs softly. She gently takes your hand, her fingers brushing across your palm.

A familiar irritation coils up in you, and the previous warmth quietly recedes. You roll your eyes inwardly.

As expected. More human moralizing and preaching.

Somehow, the woman is not angry at your insolence. She only reaches out and smooths your hair.

Those misty blue eyes, so like Vivian's, watch you with a silent tenderness.

Unconditional, warm, heavy, gentle...

Sweet, balmy, searing and selfless and clinging and born-with-it and suffocating.

Such unfamiliar feelings sting you. Eww... You don't like this.

She does not answer. This woman is merely one of the phantoms in a dream.

You know that, of course, so you sink into the river of the dream that begins to sway.

You will surely find something on this little brat; she was clearly rejected and despised.

You are NOT fleeing in terror because of that searing, unfamiliar feeling. Certainly not.

But then, you hear an answer beyond your expectation.

If we do not surrender the princess, our duchy will become everyone's target.

We will not give up our princess.

You fall silent, but the dream does not wait. Time flows backward through the vision.

You witness many things, moments vastly different when lived rather than read from books, things that never existed in the centuries of your surviving memory.

You see parents sincerely rejoicing at the arrival of their newborn, and the child so deeply loved by them.

You see them discovering "you" are unlike any other, yet feeling not a sliver of fear, only planning wholeheartedly for "your" future.

You see subjects realizing an anomaly walks among them, yet having watched "you" grow, swiftly embracing their extraordinary princess.

You see younger siblings chasing after their elder sister, boisterous and unruly, yet revering "you" with tender, ardent devotion.

Until at last, every memory converges into the very same words.

Vivian.

Lady Vivian, Princess Vivian, Vivian...

Vivian, Vivian, Vivian, Vivian, Vivian...

We love you.

...

The dream ends.

It takes a long time to adjust to having only one consciousness in your mind again. Are you still yourself? Can you truly be certain you are no longer influenced by Vivian?

You do not know.

You console yourself that the little brat's mind must have corrupted you through the dream link. How else could you possibly be...

Yearning so desperately to see what has become of those foolish, utterly irrational creatures.

Those people... the ones you witnessed, lived through, and who offered their love to "you" within that long dream.

You cast a glance at Vivian, who is still sound asleep.

Duchy of Aequidan

The reality is worse than you imagined.

Word of the allied army's approach has spread across the duchy by cart and cargo barge.

Though the inescapable plague slowed their march, cavalry several times greater than Aequidan's forces still thundered across the border. It is only a matter of time before the invaders breach the capital.

Through the eyes of bats wheeling in the night sky, you see the royal knights' remaining guards escorting children and women away, urging civilians to flee for safety while they still can.

Yet scattered points of light outline those who chose to stay behind to defend this land.

...

The Ducal Court

The Grand Duchess clearly understands what this means. She simply takes the Grand Duke's hand in quiet silence.

He lapses into a brief silence.

The eyes that once looked so tenderly upon you now look upon her husband with that same gentleness.

The children hiding outside say nothing. They simply rush forward and bury themselves in their parents' arms.

...

Your eyes have not yet left the crystal ball when, in the very next instant...

Vivian, who has woken and stepped up behind you unnoticed, lets out a soft laugh at the vision in the crystal ball.

Yes, it began long before her bond with Tsa@2a. Those chosen by the Toad God are born averse to the company of others, unable to grasp their joy or their anger.

You have no memories of your life before becoming the Seer. But you're certain you must have been alone back then, too.

Vivian shakes her head, murmuring as though she's telling you something funny, or perhaps just talking to herself.

Vivian slowly gives you a faint, resigned smile.

You do not answer her question.

There is no mockery in your voice. Call it respect, you tell yourself. You owe that much to the people who taught you things you had never understood before.

Her gray-blue eyes regard you calmly through her glasses.

...The most potent elixir, or the deadliest poison.

And once in your life, you may choose to concoct the other one...

...with your life as the ingredient.

You cannot stop her, nor do you wish to.

Yet for reasons unknown, you let out a sigh.

You never should have entered that dream. You have truly lost your mind, you think.

A witch bound by a pact with a demon faces two choices. She is granted knowledge of the grandest and most obscure mysteries, free to brew either the most potent elixir or the deadliest poison, mastering her craft along that chosen path. And throughout her life, she may cross to the other side only once. A demon's bloodline guides only the one most akin to Them, souls born of darkness and drawn to darkness. And yet... and yet...

...

It is utterly inappropriate, yet you cannot help sneering inwardly. Granted, you likely command the finest magic in the entire duchy.

Still, for none of the guards, servants, or maids to notice you slipping into the kitchen, only to be caught red-handed by the little princess looking for pastries after crying herself out, is simply too absurd.

And this during wartime alert, no less!

The pastry in Zvil's hands falls to the floor with a soft plop.

A second later, she throws herself forward.

What on earth is this nonsense?!

How do human parents ever resist smacking such foolish brats?

Zvil's eyes go wide.

Zvil turns her head stiffly toward Thanil as he slowly pushes the door open.

You have no idea how much of Vivian's explanation they actually understand, but holy @2tho@1a, you have never wished so fiercely to be deaf.

Caught between them, Vivian lets out a helpless sigh.

The milk on the stove is already boiling. Stirring in two spoonfuls of golden honey, Vivian places the cups into their hands.

The children were hungry and exhausted from all the crying, so they gobbled it all up without question.

Vivian takes their hands, gazing at her younger brother and sister with the same gentleness as their mother, and then...

For the first time, this princess, always so poised and proper before the world, wears a cold, mocking smile.

Clatter, shatter...

Thud.

Both cups hit the floor almost at once. Collapsing right alongside them are the young princess and prince.

The sleeping draught takes effect swiftly. Limp as small cubs, they are lifted into potato sacks.

Vivian sets them down gently, looking intently into their eyes before what remains of their consciousness slips away.

...

A cluster of belladonna. This is the most important ingredient.

Vivian is so weak that her chest barely stirs as she breathes. Slumped over the rim of the cauldron, the corners of her mouth tug into a feeble smile.

The dying princess whispers softly. She rolls over slowly, and trailing the fractured gleam from her fingertips, a cloud barely broad enough to cover the cauldron begins to shed rain.

Just as it has always been, across hundreds of days and nights, a rain only you and she ever witness.

Once they knew that Vivian's death became irreversible the moment she left the temple, the Grand Duke and Grand Duchess acquiesced to her plan.

But they refused to let Vivian's death come before their own.

Together they fell beyond the moat, forming the final bulwark before the enemy breached the city gates.

Now, only one place remains: the ladies' palace holding the "witch princess", the invaders' very excuse for starting the war.

Yet Vivian's drowsiness arrives right on time, as though neither grief, nor parting, nor peril, nor death itself could hold it back.

Vivian is already submerged in the solution. The knowledge of @2tho@1a cannot stop that black sludge from spreading; it stems from a will higher even than @2tho@1a.

Yet Their knowledge allows you to cultivate it, to brew it.

With the brewer herself as the raw ingredient and the vessel.

She stretches her limbs through the viscous solution and calmly closes her eyes.

Vivian glances around, bewildered. It is a dream, taking her back to the night before she entered the temple.

The Grand Duchess looks at her with sorrow and love, holding her hand.

The Grand Duke rests a hand on their shoulders, turns his face away, and draws a deep breath.

You watch in silence from a corner of the dream. Vivian says nothing, only gazing at her parents' faces for a long, quiet moment.

Until everything fades, and two small figures appear in the dream.

Zvil and Thanil glare at their elder sister, fuming with anger.

She bites her lip, trembling all over as her chest heaves. Finally unable to hold back, heavy tears spill uncontrollably from her eyes.

Thanil bursts into loud sobs almost at the exact same instant.

Vivian smiles brightly as they cry.

She bends down and pulls them tight, so tight against her chest, pressing her cheek to theirs.

We will not give up our princess.

Vivian buries herself in the dream, amidst her younger siblings' hair, muttering indistinctly.

The dying princess, ever poised and composed, hollow to the core, ruffles both children's hair in irritation for the first time in her life.

At last, she sighs, her voice so faint it is almost lost.

Bang!

With a thunderous crash against the gates, this final dream shatters into dust.

The duchy's last remaining elites bought the invaders' path with their lives. Heavy armored boots, trailing the stench of blood and fire, stride into the ladies' palace.

Find the Witch Princess! Burn the Witch Princess!

The God of Victory will bring peace back to us!

They hardly need to search. After all, it is the only room in the entire palace with its doors barred shut.

As mutated limbs tear through skin beneath the water, writhing black flesh surges and multiplies like heaped stones, only to dissolve away into the potion.

Vivian tilts her head back, cursing with a face full of agony.

You stare at her, utterly speechless.

Vivian bursts out laughing. You begin to suspect this potion's side effects include driving someone completely mad.

Iron armor slams heavily against the room door.

A witch bound by a pact with a demon faces two choices. She is granted knowledge of the grandest and most obscure mysteries, free to brew either the most potent elixir or the deadliest poison, mastering her craft along that chosen path. And throughout her life, she may cross to the other side only once. A demon's bloodline guides only the one most akin to Them, souls born of darkness and drawn to darkness. And yet... and yet...

A witch who chose elixir may, once in her lifetime, use her own flesh to birth the world's deadliest, cureless poison.

The duchy's soldiers fight bravely enough. After evacuating most of the people, they buy enough time for it to brew within the princess.

Born of the same source as the black plague, it is far swifter, far more violent, and deadly enough to leave no invader alive.

The water boils in silence. Dense black vapor billows into soft rain clouds, drizzling down a quiet rain of death.

Today, no one is walking out of here alive.

A colossal, roaring wave engulfs everything in an instant. The invaders storming the door are slammed back by an invisible deluge.

The air drowns them, soundless and absolute. A blackness visible only to the two of you spreads swiftly across every inch of sight, devouring even the light.

You should be glad. Your long-awaited freedom is at hand; you ought to pull away from Vivian's reaching hand, lest you be infected with that terrible plague.

Yet you do not.

Before the darkness swallows your sight entirely, Vivian touches you.

...unto You.

...

Torn from your dream in the Domain, you bolt upright in bed.

There is no time to complain about your dorm room's useless lock again. Another matter demands your attention.

You lock eyes with Gubble, the living hat perched on Vivian's head, its gaze brimming with apparent wisdom. Never have They seemed so familiar to you.

Because in the dream you just woke up from, you had seen that hat in the mirror countless times.

Though never verified by any expert, based on your past observations, Gubble's intellect is certainly no higher than Coalsie the Second's.

In short, it is practically a pet.

Vivian clearly knows what is on your mind. Awakeners can always sense the dreams of those linked to them.

Gubble droops its tail. It probably doesn't like being compared to a toad.

You look at Vivian, and she stares back at you.

Outside the window, the distant bells of Mythag toll. Your friends are here, and Vivian is here.

Across countless dreams, across the expanse of time.

Princess, witch, Seer, mortal, god.

Two souls leaps from vessel to vessel, and eventually find their answer.