They never had visitors. Not in this sense. There were no people outside of the Lady's followers, she had been told. They all died when the world froze over. At least, that was what her mother said. She believed it.

Until this week.

Melusine, fourteen years old, stared awestruck at the raven-haired woman in front of them. A guest from afar, they had said. When she asked, "from where?", she was hushed. She had all kinds of questions for the strange woman hailing from somewhere, but she knew better than to ask.

Too bad she didn't know better than to stare.

It was okay, until she was spoken to. The nudge came at the same time, her mother's elbow brushing her ribs. Mind your manners, it said. Mel looked down, away from the woman's cold gaze and into soup. The question was not meant for her - it couldn't be, not when someone else was here. She was too young to respect and too parasitic to like. The only thing she had was being her mother's daughter, and even that didn't amount to much, she found.

"No, no, you must be mistaken. Melusina is the darling lamb of the Khatagin, the apple of my eye! She's too cute to fear."

If Mel was a wilted flower, than her mother was the most vibrant bloom in the garden. Full of life, effortlessly beautiful and strong, the sort of person everyone envied. And thus Melior, ever her radiant self, spoke loud and proud, though some would say there was nothing to be proud of. A magicless daughter should draw scorn, but Melior was a powerful witch and a selfless mother. A veteran fighter who defended their home from daemons as well as a pitiable woman who constantly required help for her sickly daughter. The only thing to dislike was the burden by her side.

"She paints, you know. I've never seen anything like it before..." There came the pause, the one that came before the complaint. "But I do wish she would dedicate her time elsewhere, sometimes..."

Even if you love someone with all your heart, it's hard to love them wholeheartedly. Melusine thought so too. She loved her mother, but there were times when she hated her. Like right now, when she lied. Some days it was to the point that Mel wished her mother would go out to sea and a mangled wreck would return. But she never said these things, because she loved her mother more than she hated her.

Safe in having her mother speak for her, Mel took a spoonful of the soup, expecting the conversation to return to what it had been - something about the cold or other.

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Indulge someone, and they could speak for hours. So went the conversation with Melior who, when given a thread, could pull until the spool was empty and then some.

"She should be like her mother, a fighter. I've seen her use magic before, Lady knows she will manifest her familiar soon..."

On and on she went. Mel had heard these words thousands of times; she could tune them out effectively and still know what her mother was talking about. More of the same. She had hope when there was none. Even those devoid of magic could manage to use small, harmless wisps of mana. That was all Mel had ever accomplished, and it was taken as a sign of greater things to come.

It was all bogus, she thought. There was nothing good to come. Some birds would never fly, even if they were born with wings. It was almost too late to think anything could happen. Her mother manifested her familiar earlier than most, so Mel would as well. That year passed with the quiet disappointment of a town. Perhaps it was to do with her poor constitution - but the stretches of good health she had prompted nothing.

The last to come was fear. She hated this tactic most of all. Her mother claimed she did, too, but Mel knew it was exciting to save a loved one from death so many times. She had to assume it was. Why else would Melior bring her daughter, devoid of magic and strength, to her maritime patrols? The first time didn't spawn a familiar, nor the second nor the third. It didn't work.

Melior's perfect attention slipped, ever so slightly. Too absorbed in her speaking to really pay attention to what was in front of her. Mel was still eating her soup, but she happened to look up at the guest at the right moment. A wink. A smile. Whatever her mother was saying, this woman was not paying attention. Someone who wasn't completely enamored with her mother... she thought that person could not exist.

"Mom," Melusine suddenly said, when the woman beside her was mostly done talking. "You forgot to put yogurt in."

"That can't be... oh, I forgot to pick some up from Daphne. You'll have to excuse me, this won't take long..."

Melior left in a hurry. It was embarrassing to forget part of a dish, especially in front of a guest. Leaving her daughter there to rectify that mistake was the only option. It almost felt too easy to get her mother to leave, but then again. Forgetting the yogurt was a novice mistake, one that she would have raked Mel over the coals for.

And now, they were alone.

The world was naked and vulnerable without the protection of a mother. She felt especially defenseless in front of the woman whose eyes could pierce through layers of flesh and lay upon a bare heart. But Melusine was curious, and her curiosity hungered more than could be sated by soup. "I don't think they fear me." She said, laboring to meet Farah's gaze.

'Beloved' was not the right term, but neither was 'feared'. Mel was tolerated. Disliked, scorned, shunned, perhaps. Good people were not born sickly and without magical talent. The Lady did not favor Mel. In turn, her worshippers did not favor Mel. She was only left to wonder what, exactly, she had done to be abandoned by the Goddess like this.

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Confusing. Melusine didn't know what to make of it. A strong wind could blow her away. A strong current could whisk her away to sea. There were many ways to get rid of a girl, so why would they be scared? She couldn't understand, but she couldn't get a word in either. She was made to wait and watch, black scales flashing at the corners of her vision.

"Hello, Miss Serizawa." Melusine never thought she would directly speak to her, but she remembered the name. This woman was the most important, from what she could tell. The one who was talked about the most, with a sort of reverence that reminded her of the Lady. It wasn't unusual. Gods were not distant, cruel beings. Sometimes they walked among their people.

The next question was just as surprising as the last. The Lady, speak to her? Ask anyone else and it was a definitive no, but they didn't have full access to her mind. Farah wasn't asking anyone else.

"..."

Farah's stare was withering. She didn't know - should she answer or not? What interest did a stranger have in their customs? No, she was wrong to hold them so distantly. They came as family. Though strangers, they were the same people. And you shouldn't hide things from family.

"Sometimes... I hear whispers... so quiet. I don't know what it says." The sort of whisper one heard when they were alone. It could pass by unnoticed, until she realized - it wasn't her voice, or even her thoughts. Nor could it be understood. They were the thoughts she kept forgetting, almost close enough to remember, but unable to focus on either. Was that how it felt, to have a familiar? She didn't know. Half of the time she believed her thoughts were a jumbled mess and she imagined things to give herself hope, like her mother did.

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Decipher. Interpret. Translate.

How many times had she heard that particular set of words? Being told what to do didn't make it easier. She said she didn't know, it was self-explanatory. If it was possible to understand, she would have told someone when she first heard it. She was lost in a stasis, waiting for something to change - and she doubted those faint whispers would change first.

...!

She felt something. Instinctively, Mel moved her leg closer to her core. The snarl surprised her even more, and she leaned forward, glancing beneath the table. A void-black crocodile, one she thought she'd seen before. She hated the way it watched her, through the cold lens of a distant third party. As if she was on display in a museum, something unsightly yet deserving of interest. As if she wasn't human.

Mel watched the crocodile, circling around her like a predator, until Farah spoke. It was enough to distract her, but she couldn't truly brush the odd feeling off. "I told you... I cannot understand it..." She mumbled, as if unsure. She couldn't meet Farah's steady stare.

"But... I have a dream sometimes. I'm drowning in the sea by myself. Or - I think I'm drowning. It's actually easier to breathe there. Below me is a city... I've never seen anything like it before. The twinkling lights in the dark make it look like the night sky." At first she thought it had to be a nightmare. Suffocating deep beneath the surface of the water, where light could no longer reach. Then she realized... a dream couldn't be so bad after all.

"I want to go there one day. Maybe the Lady wants me to go there," she said. Mel knew she was being presumptuous now, but it couldn't hurt to indulge in dreams. Farah wanted to know what She said - this was the closest they could get.

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The foreboding presence at the base of her chair left, eventually. Mel was too enamored in her delusions of grandeur to notice, but the air felt a bit lighter when Amelie returned to her witch's side. Or was that the effect of a lingering dream - the feeling that anything was possible?

She didn't notice the other change either, at first. Something changed. Melusine couldn't put her finger on it just yet. "Yes, it is," she replied immediately. There was no other answer.

Dreams were had for a reason, she was told. The divine preferred the dreamscape as their medium above all others. If this dream was given to her by her goddess, she could never refuse. Because... when it came to herself, she had nothing but her faith. All she could do was dedicate every piece of herself, starting with the hands she used to paint.

When Farah spoke of a dream, Melusine became noticeably more interested. As if being a guest from afar wasn't enough, she had a dream, too. She was looking for that city, too. It's too convenient. Heartbreaking, almost. Mel would never be able to go, though she desperately wanted to. "Really? How did you find it...?" A city deep beneath the sea would be hard to find. Unless it was aboveground after all... she could never be sure, with dreams being as vague and fluctuating as they were.

Ah. She knew what it was now, excitedly watching and waiting for an answer like this. When the cold stare of a stranger became something different; she wanted to call it acceptance.

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People. Mel wasn't so forward as to frown, but the sparkle in her eyes dimmed at the answer. People, she said. Was it that necessary? Melusine did not have the means to work with people. She didn't like them. Here, she received a myriad of looks, mostly negative. She understood a long time ago. Someone's eyes could say more than a thousand words. For her, there was no way to win over their hearts, even if she did everything asked of her and more.

The sound of footsteps hit her ears. Melusine turned to look behind her, surprised. It couldn't be her mother, but someone else. The footsteps were all wrong. And she was right - this person wore a black robe that smoothly flowed with no air blowing through it. She couldn't tell the shape of their body. It wasn't frightening, exactly, but unusual enough that it stuck out in her periphery as they walked. Distracting.

"...I see." History connected through people. It sounded like something the High Priestess would say. Again, Melusine couldn't apply it to herself. Maybe she could consider this person...? But she wasn't qualified enough to take anyone's notice. It was a miracle the guest wanted to talk to her at all. Mel knew her own mother wouldn't look at her twice if she was born to someone else, so how could anyone else care?

This new person, with their robe of rolling waves, had an overbearing presence, much like Farah. Unlike Farah, they treated her the way she was used to. It was more comfortable, as familiar as it was. Though she believed Farah gave her acceptance, she could not accept it herself. Melusine had to stay here. Rot here. The Lady only asked for everything, after all. In time, she hoped... she would be seen as a good follower like anyone else. That was all she wanted.

It took a second to realize the question was meant for her. "Oh, it's... a ritual for prosperity and protection, for the upcoming winter." Mel explained simply. It was cold now, but the coming months would be colder. It was customary to ask for the Lady's boon with plenty of offerings and prayer. A celebration of sorts, it was the perfect activity for guests to watch and partake in; there was plenty of food and drink to pass around after the initial rites, much more than just soup. "You don't want to miss it," she added afterwards, if they would take her word for it. There were similar rituals throughout the year, but she liked this one the most.

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tw: gross food

After she explained the ritual, she had the feeling that the conversation had shifted without her knowing. Farah made to leave alongside the other guest, taking one last look at the bowls of soup. Neither of them had finished. Only Melusine was required to finish the bowl.

She had a funny look on her face. Maybe she didn't like it? Melior's cooking was perfect. She helped cook food for everyone whenever they were having a grand feast. But Farah didn't live here; maybe the food where she came from was better. Mel had a hard time imagining the kinds of food that would be in a different land.

Farah should have left already, but their conversation hadn't ended earlier, no. It dragged on in the absence of words, until finally, the witch hung a thread in front of Melusine. "Uh?" Show her what? The city? The ritual?

At first, she thought nothing changed. It was a prank, and Farah an expert actor. "What happened?" Melusine asked. The house was still a house. The guests were still here. Farah's soup was still untouched -

Suddenly, it hit her.

Mel lifted a hand to cover her mouth and nose, fingers forming a barrier against anything that wanted to come out. She might throw up. The stench. It was vile. How could she not notice?

Farah and Melior had pristine bowls of soup, exactly what someone would expect for their dinner. It was her own bowl that stood out. She couldn't tell what was in it. It was soup of a sort, but no one would eat this. The liquid and the chunks were a dark, muddy brown-green. Rotting. And she ate it without second thought.

Worst of all, she knew the smell from before.

It happened two years ago, on a cold day almost like today. Mel and her mother were eating dinner together. That time had been particularly rough, since she'd just recovered from a bad cold. On days like those, soup was a comfort. Warm and easy to eat. She was reluctant to eat that day. She wasn't hungry, but her mother just wanted her to try and eat again. Melusine wasn't many things, but she certainly wasn't ungrateful. So she ate.

The first spoonful tasted like how the soup currently in front of her smelled. It was innocuous back then; she was still recovering, maybe the sickness had altered her taste buds somehow. That was what Mom said. But she saw now...

She saw...

She saw...

The role of a mother is to protect and love. Her mother was a barrier against anyone who would harm her. The only one who wanted her. The only one who believed in her. There were things Melior would change about her daughter if she could, but that didn't make her actions any less real. They... were real, right...?

Today, a stranger from afar taught her something new: that really, a mother is no different from anyone else.

Melusine stared at her bowl, stricken. She forgot, for a moment, that there was someone here with her. She forgot all the manners and poise that had been tirelessly worked into her very being. "Thank you..." Her voice was quiet, shaky. Defeated. "I'll see you... at the ritual..." Tears welled up in her eyes. She didn't try to look at Farah or Lord Lorraine. They were guests. Crying - she wasn't supposed to cry, she was supposed to be on her best behavior.

She hoped they left before she took another spoonful.

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