I Was Born The Unloved Twin

What happy times. If things had gone on schedule, by now I would be well on my way to the midway lands for that annual playdate with a baby version of my horrid fiance. I would have missed this event entirely.

One of our long time kitchen maids, Barbara is getting remarried! To a worker from father"s accounting department.

My my my I wonder how they met and courted? This isn"t modern times with easy dating freedom you know. Social propriety is a thing. How was this match made?

Was it during meals or deliveries between both parties, filled with longing glances at a socially acceptable distance? At the wagon stop, where two persons in different departments coincidently met for a ride and slowly got to know each other? Or perhaps while budgeting the kitchen allowances, a heated back and forth of pa.s.sion and numbers? Oh how romantic. Nothing says marriage material like talking grocery expenses.

I kid, even I know counting and accounting isn"t very s.e.xy, though it is very practical in evaluating a spouse, someone you will be living with. Sheesh, who do you take me for? My father? ...let"s not think about how my parents stay married anymore. It"s too disturbing a thought process.

I"m sure that this wedding was meant to be a modest affair. After all, this isn"t Barabara"s first rodeo. It seems that her first husband pa.s.sed in a beast hunting-related accident a few years back. A sad but not uncommon incident. With the death rate around here, widows and widowers are still a pretty common sight. Both young and old.

So second or even third marriages aren"t uncommon either, especially when the first marriage takes place when the bride and groom are so young. People tend to marry early in this world, which falls in line with what I expected judging by the times and culture. So the remarriage rates are also rather high. It"s hard for single people everywhere but especially here. For older couples on their second or whatnot marriage, at least they don"t have to worry as much about the fuss over family ties and doweries?

A wedding is still a wedding, no matter how many times. It has to be a celebration! Modes quiet affair? Ahahahahaha maybe if mother and I hadn"t heard about it.

"The decorations! Oh what flowers are in bloom at this time?!" cries out mother, already digging into her stash of ribbons.

"The food!" I slam my tiny hands at the parlor table, for emphasis. For what could be more important about a wedding than the food?

"Oh the dress!" shouts mother.

"The dress! Right right the dress! Is there already a dress" I agree, mind already swirling with everything.

There are just so many important points to a wedding.

"Ahem....Madam?" subtly coughs one of mother"s maids, gesturing to the nervous couple still left standing.

The to be groom steps up, hardly covering Barbara with his short but solid stature. He had a handsome face and still youthful face despite the eye bags, a still fine age for an eligible bachelor. Not bad for my Barbara. An interesting thing to note, I recall from the original"s memories that Barbara remained a single working maid while I was growing up. This guy wasn"t even in the picture!

Oh ho ho ho~ What has happened here?

I"ve had info gathered that he"s called Nicola, a transfer from our workforce stationed in the capital. A cog in the great wheels that keeps Ventrella businesses running. One of the additions in administrative employees that father has a.s.signed oversee and finance the farms and villages collective. Those mills and bridges don"t organize and pay for themselves out of nowhere.

As amusing as trips are, father truly does not have the time to oversee everything directly, nor constantly communicate with the village elders. Now would it be befitting a man of his status and duties? Do your job father, stop running off!

Thus, more work for the administrative and accounting departments, resulting in an increase in skilled "company" transfers and an overall rise in employment. Sure it would be easier to a.s.sign an acting landlord of some sort, but not in the long term. Nor would that please the villagers very much. So welcome welcome, we"re not as fancy or entertaining out there in the home territory but the air is fresh and we"re in a marvelous state of construction growth.

Nicola transferred here around fall but has been working in our capital mansion for years. This isn"t, or shouldn"t be his first meeting with our home staff. From the maids" talk, I"ve heard his first arranged "wife" eloped with another man but a few days after their marriage ceremony. He"s been a shut-in workaholic ever since. Oh what drama!

Ahem, not that I approve of the gossips but if it"s already going around, might as well make use of the information network.

Nicola, short as he is, twitched in mother"s presence but stayed poised the standing. The show of courage was quite gallant.

"Pardon my very impertinence my lady but....the reason you so-called us forth, was not for a punishment?"

"A punishment?! Oh whatever for?" blinks mother.

"Err, ahem...for... relations....inappropriate to a place of employment." he coughs, head bent as is proper when talking with an upper-cla.s.s woman, or his employer. His nerves betray him, though he stares down at his signed shoes, his face still glows red in embarra.s.sment.

I don"t blame him, mother is just an intimidating figure no matter what. Something I"ve been unfortunately getting to know more and more intimately. I appreciate the attempt at professionalism but it"s far too late. We heard the news already you know? Much romantic, a proposal, an acceptance, the quiet planning. By news, of course, it was more the screaming gossiping maids and staff.

"Oh! Well where else would you meet people?" asks mother quite frankly, the consequences of workplace relations still flying over her head.

She makes a fair point, where else do you meet people here?

Again, dating isn"t really a thing. There"s courts.h.i.+p, even arranged marriages, but man is it hard to actually meet a potential partner outside your own immediate circles. This applies to most all social cla.s.ses. It"s all about connections.

One must be introduced by family or some sort of relations to properly meet new people. Then there"s the process of getting to know them, all without any real dating. At least the kind one would think of as dating? I know it"s a lot easier for most commoners and those in the working cla.s.s but there are social rules on what"s deemed appropriate and not. Even my own fiance and I never had a moment "alone" during our official playdates. There was always someone to supervise and maintain our reputations, usually a gaggle of maids. It just wasn"t proper.

How old fas.h.i.+oned right?

Looks like those Ventrella employee benefits have a new addition. Meet people without a recommendation from your matchmaking aunts. We can use this inter-kitchen-accounting marriage as a poster advertis.e.m.e.nt.

"So then..." the poor man coughs.

"My lady! My lady, this humble servant begs for your forgiveness by troubling you with this directly! We....if we would have your blessings, a few days. Please bless up in this union with a few days for the ceremony, to visit my family." bows and courtesies Barbara from behind the blus.h.i.+ng to be groom.

How straight to the point. Yes yes I much prefer this form of communication. Lets not waste anyone"s precious time. Say the time to prepare....for a wedding!

"Forgive? Oh yes, this is a grave crime! Not easily forgiven at all." teases mother with a mockable haughty voice. She lifts her head, looking quite serious despite the mess of ribbons in her lap.

"Anything my lady." bows the kitchenmaid even lower, her lover paling and fretting as he takes mother"s words seriously.

"I need all the details! Oh come come. We must get your measurements! Come along now, tell me all about it as we get you something fitting!" announces mother, breaking the act with a burst of her arms and a girlish twirl.

"But my lady, there is no need. I...I, there"s is still my previous-"

"Oh hush, reusing your last gown as is bad luck! We can tear it apart and remake if you insist. My tailors are getting quite good at that. This however is a wedding gift, yes yes this is my personal gift to you on this happy occasion! Oh the reception! Two dresses, at the very least! Oh three! A traveling dress, when you return to your village see your parents!"

She moves the poor accountant, frozen like a bowling pin, to usher Barbara up, already scandalously undressing her outer ap.r.o.n and head coverings. At the sudden lack of layers and the newly revealed sight of Barbara"s dark hair, plaited in braids, spilling out, he turns even redder. Quickly averting his eyes before mumbling out his apologies and bowing his way out of the room.

Oh what a modest gentleman, how proper to keep a lady"s modesty. Yes yes a fine match for our Barbara indeed.

"Oh he is just adorable," coos mother, loud enough to trip the suffering man on his way out.

Now that I squint at his fleeing back, I think I recognize him? But it"s in the vague, "ah yes one of my many employees" kind of way.

Either way, this was not a prophesized relations.h.i.+p. I can"t recall either one of them getting remarried, let alone to one another? For once I agree with mother. I want details!

I curse my short little legs as I case after where my mother"s skirts trail, ushering a fl.u.s.tered Barbara behind a screen in the next room to undress.

Did I ever mention how large mother"s closet is? It is extremely large yes, the size of a modern department store floor. Why it"s big enough to fit a tailor"s workstation or three.

Right now we only have two desks in here, for alterations. This does not include the increasing sitting cus.h.i.+ons. My sister and I need comfortable spots to stay put on when grounded or trapped with mother.

Speaking of Lilyanne, she"s somehow free from the burden of mother"s parlor today.

Kidnapped to who knows what. Like grampa"s favorite, as she so is. This morning I was absolutely booing at grampa running off to Gable"s with Lilyanne instead of me. For shame, I demand more personal Gable time! It"s been practically nonexistent since Lukas came and stole the show.

That kid gives me a headache.

I thought I was going to be bored out of my mind again as mother whisked me off, forced to take Lilyanne"s usual place. As annoying as it is, I may be one of the only ones to survive my mother"s affections. If anything, I have learned that my tailoring experiments get the full pa.s.s with mother. So long as the cute outfits keep coming.

Cuteness is great. Cuteness rules all. Cuteness may have almost gotten my henchmen eaten.

"I don"t understand! These stripes, they have no meaning but for the beauty of the eye. The placements! They"re so simple they"re practically plebian! Yet yet- this subline beauty! I don"t understand how it"s so wonderful!!!" sobs an honestly rather frightening bespeckled older man behind the tailor"s desk, clutching a bright blue kiddy sized sailor top.

Ah I see the Lukas commissioned version is complete.

"Callistus, there"s no time! A wedding! There shall be a wedding!" fusses mother.

"A wedding?! At this time of year? How bold! How daring! Who is the fearless bride!?" screeches the man in c.o.ke bottle thick gla.s.ses, perfectly flinging the sailor suit back on the sand sack we use as a kiddy mannequin.

Those things honestly look more like some very round scissors on top of his nose. Medieval gla.s.ses I a.s.sume. At least he can see? My my my have we come a long way in eyewear. My my my do we have a long ways to go.

With the familiarity of some eccentric uncle, mother and he shout back and forth despite being in the same room. He shows absolutely no fear or respect to his lady employer at all. On the contrary, I"m more fearful of the man.

Just....what....are those bright pants? Are they even pants? No, of course not, pants are for the poor farmers or practical adventuerers or some s.h.i.+t. Hose is where it"s at. Are they easter egg themed? Such a rich dye job is as much a status symbol of wealth as they are a monstrosity. Oh my poor eyes.

To be fair, he is only following the trend. Dressing as is the most "fas.h.i.+onable" for the times and of his position. Why there"s even rogue painted on his face. Still, ow ow ow my eyes. Callistus is seasoned professional who is only on call, sometimes here but primarily resides in the capital. I believe he is a great part to blame for some of mother"s ridiculously hideous section of the closet. Someone has to send those parcels of the capital"s "latest" fas.h.i.+ons. This is the man responsible for sending mother the banshee clown dress many months ago.

Again to be fair, they"re just following the trends. If everyone is wearing the stupid foot long shoes or fish dome hair coverings, well then it"s....still ugly but not solely his fault. I recall the fas.h.i.+on trends of this world for the next 14 years with a great heave and sigh.

Life is hard for a modern soul.

There is still hope, for my simple "innovations" for the most part have been met without much resistance. They"re not all feasible, nor popular, but dear fas.h.i.+on G.o.ds that obviously don"t exist in this world, it"s something better than what I currently have available to choose from.

"A second marriage for the maid! A Sat.u.r.day wedding then! Oh I do adore Sat.u.r.day weddings!" the tailor stokes at his carefully waxed and trimmed beard.

From behind the screen, Barbara"s slighty nervous voice makes it"s way over.

"I beg your pardon my Lady, good sir. We still need time to contact our relatives. This all really too much for this humble servent.."

"A wedding dress is not necessary!!?"

"Oh dear, nonsense nonsense! First wedding of the season! Oh ho ho ho~ How delightful!"

Again, I am shocked and racking the original Rosalia"s memory for any such event. Perhaps I can pull out non-specific recollections of mother blessing a few couples. There were maids who left to get married, young lower n.o.bles who had well finished their time in servitude to return home as a learned lady and wife.

As the lady of the house, employee matters are overseen by my mother, or well they should be. A wedding dress or three wasn"t an uncommon gift for mother, or any n.o.ble of a similar station. Linens and bedding are also appropriate gifts to bestow on a lucky couple. That stuff is expensive for ordinary folks.

Why I know most of the staff, including those from outside the kitchens, fought over the honor of defeathering those bacon wings. The unspoken rule around here is, who so ever is on plucking duty for our daily meals may do so what they wish with the feathers. The women tend to be the most fierce in hogging feather duty, saving those downy things over the course of years to make a proper pillow stuffing for their own households. Occasionally a page boy gets to bring home the haul of some stubborn poultry to their mothers. It just goes to show to hard it is to get material things and comforts in this place.

So yes, mother has gifted out such things before. I just can"t remember a single instance where it"s done so personally? Never before had mother had so much free time, nor the energy to act like this. In fact... she was quite often sick? When she wasn"t praying over Lilyanne"s bedside, she was often cooped up recuperating from her own fevers?

It faults me to say that I downplayed and pushed that fact aside. I"ve been primarily focused on my twin sister"s chronic illness since my birth since Lilyanne is this pivotal factor in what determines my fragile little life. However since the resolution of Lilyanne"s illness to be something is plain as magical overload, she"s been thankfully faring like much any toddler. Rather than my silly little Lilyanne, hasn"t it been mother whose been showing the most improvement to her health?

Ah, these b.u.t.terfly effects sure are pesky to figure and reason out.

Alright then, let"s just settle for a healthy Lilyanne leads to a too healthy mother for a mixture of reasons. Parenting stress, magical overdosing, and whatever else is in the mix.

As long as everyone is healthy and not forgetting to feed me again, it"s all good. How funny, for a rich girl like Rosalia to ever starve. Ha, reality sure is funny. Depressing and funny.

Speaking of forgetting, it appears to me everyone is in some state of wedding dress panic. Ignoring the clear expert here. Me.

I kid, I kid, I am a literal little kid. Still it won"t do to forget my presence, especially when we haven"t gotten those relations details. Staring intently does nothing, they"re all too self absorbed to notice to tiny me in the room. I"m not being gossipy or television drama deprived, it"s uh, research. Yes, investigation and research in how changes are being made in between lifetimes.

I haven"t gotten to the point I"m craving overly cheesy Korean soap operas yet. Especially not the kind I have memorized due to my old boss" bad addiction to them. No, not at all.

"You. Too nosey. Quiet down." I step up to the medieval trendy fas.h.i.+on clown, easily climbing onto the desk unnoticed in the commotion.

It"s very hard not to see or hear me when I"m right here now isn"t it? Being but a few inches from his nose, he falls over in a loud but appropriately clown-like reaction.

"Talk while measuring. Barbara, come out so the maids and Callistus can measure you. It"s going to happen no matter what so the faster the better. Mama, make it a real order so she stops trying to be polite. Also details. I want details....and food." I snap.

Or well I try to. Curses on these pudgey little hands, how do they fail to snap? I get a proper snapping sound on the 5th try, prompting people in the room to stop gaping at me to start moving. Snap snap everyone.

I miss Georgie already and it"s only been a few hours since mother took me away. He"s just better at snapping and ordering things done for me.

"Oh my, Rosalia get down from there." scolds my mother without any real heat.

For one she says get down but she"s already taken me into the usual teddy bear hold. Curses, it"s absolutely impossible to escape from this bosom cus.h.i.+on. Two, she claps her maids into action, who had previously been standing still and ready as robots. It makes me sigh watching how well trained they are versus what I get. The level of maids is just incomparable.

Behind the shadow of the screen, we watch the attack and undressing before then diligently pulling out a slightly shy kitchen maid, clad only in her chemise. It"s a good thing she"s a long time Ventrella employee. One just gets used to working under strange situations and orders, especially under grampa.

"Oh ho ho ho! So how did it start, when, where?" chuckles mother, already holding me tight in glee as she takes a seat on the nearby lounging chair.

I would complain but again it"s impossible to break free once mother gets me in her grasps. That and Barbara is breaking, knowing full well what Ventrella nonchalant stubbornness looks like. Instead, I take a page from Lilyanne, parroting back mother"s "when and where?!"

I"m not all that desperate for entertainment, I swear.

"Well..." starts Barbara, already tired. But she"s a good sport and seasoned employee, lifting her arms and starting the tale.

Rosalia translation filter in progress, please hold.

Ahem, I was just listening very carefully. Objectively. Most certainly not baiting my breath in time with my mother"s squealing. Oh hohoho, it turns out they did notice each other from the times my family would travel to our capital home. Notice and then do....absolutely nothing!

That is, until the transfer. Pa.s.sed by in halls. Hollow greetings growing more familiar by day, at every wagon ride and stop. The brushes of hands from pa.s.sed items growing to brushes of breath. Getting a tad too close, far too heated while speaking of the grocery expense lists. Hah I knew it was the kitchen expences arguments that did it. Aha! Called it!

Ahem, excuse me.

Oh, traditional romances with their proper social distancing and afar gazes of imaginative pining. The struggle between what is good and proper compared to the gradual breaking point. The final lack of decorum.

"Then I...um...beg pardon my lady..."

"Oh no no no go on, please. Don"t mind me as a lady at all. I insist. Really. Do tell." mother squeezes me in her arms at same time I clutch her like a seat belt.

This isn"t the time to be shy and stop. You"re killing mother here and that"s killing me. G.o.d I hate suspenseful pauses. You can"t just leave off like that, then what? What?!!

"Then I...took inspiration...from you my lady."

Gasps sound out in all directions and a clatter of a spilled tray, Callistus clutches his own beard in a dramatic gasp. The subtle whispers and giggles floating in the air.

"You didn"t! Oh you daring thing you!" he clamors, near swooning at the pinned layers of skirts on Barbara. She blushes down to her chests and rubs shyly at her arms.

Hey um, I seem to be the only one out of the loop here. What does that even mean?

"Mother, what is Barbara talking about? What did you do?"

For some odd reason, my mother doesn"t react at all. Frozen blank with her mouth slightly open. Hey hey hey mother, oh mother? I try waving a hand up at her face but there"s no one home up in there. Is this an operating error? Did we break mother?

"Why sweet little miss, you haven"t heard how your mama dearest so handsomely swept your deviously handsome papa up and-"

The seatbelt hands then come up to my ears, covering them entirely and mother breaks out in stiff awkward laughter. The sound of "oh hohohohoho!" desperately drowning out any other noise.

I can see clown tailor"s lips and mustache moving, I know there are words coming out of there. But I can"t hear, let alone understand a thing. I also see the exact moment that Callistus opens up his sparkling eyes from storytime, takes a good look at mother"s expression from behind me, and then promptly shuts up.

"No. But what did Barbara do? What?" I ask, trying around to get to the point. Geez, what is this? A PG filter?

From the m.u.f.fled silence, I can see Barbara and some nearby maids giggle, trying to politely cover their mouths. I see them doing that "awwww an innocent, we must speak of such things in front of children" sort of expression. How annoying.

It"s all the frustrations of being a child all over again. It"s not like I can go around shouting out how I"m a grown woman, at least 17 if we"re counting the original Rosalia"s memories and much older with my own. I"m from the 21st century, with the internet. I"ve seen things! Utterly indecent things!

Fine, fiiiiiiiine, don"t tell me. I don"t wanna know about the grossness anyways. Especially if Rosalia"s biological parents are involved. Despite being another person, I do not see two attractive people getting too close for comfort when mother and father are together. I see gross parentals, creating a nauseating reaction that borders on violent and disgusted.

Even younger, no one wants to see their parents like that. Please cruel world, stop reminding me.

"I"m hungry. I want to go to the kitchens now. May I go get snacks? Please mama?" I wiggle in her hands, making sure to look up with my eyes wide and wet.

I may not resemble Lilyanne in personality but I have this face. Oh come on, you can"t say no to this face. I"m ridiculously adorable at this age. I"ve seen Lily! She looks so cute even when eating dirt, I can at least get away with some of that, hair color changes aside.

Seriously, not fair. It"s been a whole winter and my hair still hasn"t reverted back from its reddish hue. To make it worse, growing out it get lighter and lighter at the tips. Another summer of sun and it will practically be aurburn! Woe is me and my father"s cursed genes.

It must be the hair that fails me, for my mother merely smiles and goes back to holding me even tighter.

"Oh my darling is already feeling peckish, yes yes I know Rosa dear. I have already called for tea and goodies. Listening to such stories really doesn"t do without snackies." she indulgently nuzzles my cheeks and hair with her nose. Like I"m 3 or something.

Which I...physically am.

Sometimes, I wonder just what would happen if I straight told this woman that I"m not actually her child or even a child. I"m another person from another world, who by some unexplainable stroke of bad luck, ended up here. That her real daughter is already dead, or maybe never born. I wonder if this strange feeling in the back of my head is guilt at tricking an entire family.

Then I remember that I do not have such a m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.tic death wish and promptly squish the thought, lest I may get squished. To death. That or be put to the stakes.

We"ll think about it at the next reincarnator"s meeting with grampa, if that ever comes again. Those things are bad for my heart and common sense.

*Ding*

"Oh how timely, tea has arrived!" exclaims mother happily, most likely ready to snack herself.

"I"ll get it!" taking the chance to hop out of her lap. I can"t actually run and disappear in here and she has already stopped my kitchen escape plans. So thus mother releases me to allow this much freedom.

Snacks snacks snacks time to distract myself with snacks.

Two maids stand poised on either side to he dumbwaiter, ready to serve but upon my excited approach, the bow and clear the way from me like a proper entourage. Seriously, what kind of training do they get and why do none of Lilyanne"s and my maids get that?

The dumbwaiter doors slide open to....a brain-damaged brat eating my snacks.

"Oh, hi Rosa. Chips? The have fennel in them. Oh, and they said to give out the wedding candy." Amar quietly offers from inside the kiddy sized elevator, sliding out the heavily plated offerings on trays.

"You. Didn"t grampa kidnap you earlier?" I make to grab at the pecked at snacks.

"Hmmm? Was that kidnapping? He just took me to the troops for something." he munches on sugared roasted almonds, the luxurious little wedding candies mentioned.

"Yes, every time a strange adult takes you away somewhere against your will. That"s kidnapping."

"Oh. Ok. But Cap and Gable aren"t strange? Are your papa"s hidden guards strange? They keep following me everywhere. Is it still hidden if I already know? They don"t know I"m in here. Earlier I gave them some wedding candies too."

"That"s not the point, that"s....wait, how did you give them the candy? Oh nevermind. Talk later. Stop eating all my snacks, hand them over and go back to hiding. If my mother finds you, you"re doomed."

The child nods, pus.h.i.+ng out the tea tray but still continues stuffing his cheeks with the sugared almonds. The power of sweets is too strong. It is the sweets that are his undoing.

I slam the sliding door too late, for right behind me is a chill, the sound of a cooing death.

"Oh darling no, don"t do that to poor little Amar."

"Who? Nope? No one here."

"Rosalia don"t be so rude! Here here now~"

I slam the b.u.t.ton that will drop the lift, but how could such a creaky device beat my mother in terms of speed and brute force. I watch with abject horror she holds the dumbwaiters and slides those flimsy doors back open. Hungry for a different kind of treat. RIP Amar, I told you so.

"Oh my?"

Huh? The lift is empty? HOW?! He was just in there!

"Awwwww, I see now." croons mother, like play hide and seek with a small pet, answering nothing.

Instead of speaking, she keeps the sliding doors open while pressing the b.u.t.ton again, releasing the lift. It dings down slowly, creaking inch by inch to reveal the disappearing trick. Any attempted escapees can"t cower far back enough on top of the metal box, nor are the dark smooth walls outside the lift very climbable.

"There you are! Oh aren"t you just a little cutie pie. How did you fit through there~"

Amar is caught with his cheeks still stuffed, a pathetic hamster still munching on handfuls of freshly made wedding candy. No doubt made at the news making rounds throughout the whole household. With a single dainty hand, mother has him fished and lured out with the bowl of sweets.

He"s doomed, doomed I say.

"Hi Rosalia"s mama, sorry for bothering. There"s no pie but they"re making stewed pears downstairs. Everyone"s congratulating Nicola and making him very red. It"s funny. The wedding candies are yummy too. Oh and that"s yummy, and that one and hmmm and that one." he munches cutely, accepting every tea snack mix that mother has taken to blissfully hand feeding him.

What a wise technique, playing hamster and distracting mother from crus.h.i.+ng him to death in "huggies". No wonder he wasn"t running and cowering for his life. I can"t even bring it in me to yell out at the disappearing candies. It"s a never before seen survival move!

This offensive! It looks so natural. He alternates between empty talk and seemingly careless soft nibbles right at her fingertips. It"s super effective when paired with happy closed eyes and a sugar sweet pleased hum. Nibble is extremely effective! K.O.! The rumbles of mother"s internal screaming is going off the charts.

There are no charts but there might as well be. She"s down! Mother is down and twitching!

A very dangerous gamble, one that paid off beautifully as Amar pries himself away from the danger zone to deliver lucky wedding candy to the soon to be bride.

If it wasn"t such an excellent move that I"ll be stealing for myself, I would almost be ashamed at how mother was taken down. Really? Mother is a very strange sort of person, the kind that"s only getting increasingly harder to figure out the more I see of her? The nerd is far easier to deal with.

I"ll just blame grampa for her or something.

"Barbara, congratulations." Amar brings her the bowl, not at all perturbed about seeing her in such a state of undress. Ah but that"s a real child for you.

She reaches down with a pat to his head and an odd handful of the candied nuts, a bashful thanks on her lips.

Ah couples, they"re so cute when they"re like this and not say, my parents.

"Are they teasing Nicola downstairs? Still?" Barbara asks, popping the candies into her mouth.

"Yep. It"s that time of year, they say."

"That time of year?"

Suddenly the merry mood has s.h.i.+fted, an awkward tone setting in their voices.

"That time of year." repeats Amar, tilting his head childishly. He pauses, pursing his lip to maybe recall what they said, or think of the right words. Then throws a few more candies into his mouth like it"s brain food.

"That time of the year. Everyone says it"s a good time for him to go out and to bring you a goof offering. Prove himself." he chews on it, steadily munching away.

"An offering?" I break in, still lost and confused.

Thankfully Amar isn"t my mother or any adult, covering my ears from all these supposed unknown matters. He answers straight to the point, licking his fingers. An answer so childishly simple and blunt that it knocks Barbara to stumble, grasping heavily to the nearest support.

"The hunt. It"s time for the spring hunt."

She"s down. She falls down to her knees, face pale and frame shaking. Amar doesn"t even blink, not understanding the impact of what he"s saying.

"Nicola agreed, he"s gonna join this year"s local hunt."

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