Chapter 288 - Return to Form III
Claire stood silently before a door in the infinite darkness. After one, two, three moments of hesitation, she placed her hand on its knob and slowly twisted it open. She expected to see the castle when her eyes regained their function, or perhaps the Cadrian skyline sitting beyond the horizon. But all that awaited her was an infinite field of tall, bright grass lit perfectly beneath the morning sun.
She was seated in a coach, surrounded by maids of all shapes and sizes, as it slowly bumbled its way across the countryside. Two of the servants were centaurs, and another three were thorae, but there was plenty of room to spare. Each lady was allotted a moose-sized space, even in the case that said lady was a meter-tall rabbit. The Cadrian transport that held them all was an impressive piece of work. Drawn almost entirely by magical means, it was another masterpiece designed and handcrafted by the most famous artificer in all the lands.
The sheer size of the final product revealed that it was too large for most city streets, and for good reason. Its belly was filled with smaller, deployable units that could carry its passengers through any tighter spaces. And though there was certainly one present, the artifact didn’t require a driver. If left unsteered, it would default to following any similar units located ahead of it, like the one that housed her father.
Claire was somewhat put off by the development, but the fake was practically bubbling with joy. It celebrated her arrival with an internal squeal and wrapped its mind’s arms around her soul. The reason for its elation was clear as the sunny spring day—it was bored out of its mind, and she was a fresh source of entertainment.
Feigning an exasperated sigh, Claire backed away and greeted the fake with a small smile. She couldn’t give it her undivided attention right away. First was the matter of her father.
The lyrkress raised her ears above her head and carefully observed him. He had clearly reacted when she first descended into the fake’s body. Half-expecting him to burst from his carriage and charge her, she reached for the door and prepared to flee, but he did no such thing. He simply remained where he was, his eyes fixed on her through two sets of walls. She couldn’t see him, of course, but she could tell from the pressure that threatened to crush her that he was watching her every move.
There were countless guards present, circling the carriage and marching alongside it. Still, she responded to the provocation with a flash of divinity as bright as the fake’s body could allow. A chuckle escaped his lips, clear as the thundering of the guard that rushed to her carriage. When he looked inside, confused, she only greeted him with a smile. A perfect, practiced smile.
Though completely bewildered, the man quickly backed down and returned to his position to confirm that there was nothing to report.
It was then and only then that Claire returned her attention to the sulking fake. Not-Claire was holed up in one of her mind’s corners, hugging her nonexistent knees to her nonexistent chest with her cheeks puffed up and her ears deflated. When prodded, she only faced the other way, huffing instead of offering a real response.
But while such an approach certainly worked on the maids and melted their hearts, the original was not quite as malleable. She continued poking the fake’s ethereal cheek, jabbing it over and over until she finally gave in and faced her.
And then, together, they looked beyond the window, across the plains and up the Langgbjern mountains. Towards the bright Cadrian sky.
What would have been boring by oneself was a fun activity for two, with the fake pointing at various landforms and Claire explaining them in detail. For a moment, she felt like she understood what it meant to stand in Allegra’s shoes. And the cat’s as well. There was certainly some joy to be derived from tutelage, to sate someone else’s curiosity and wonder. But for as much as she would have liked to bask in the sensation, it was soon cut short by the thorae across the aisle.
Lady Beatrice Gallia, the insectoid ogress that doubled as her personal hairdresser, eyed her suspiciously. Bea’s antennae twitched as she continued to watch her charge, the halfbreed’s figure mirrored a thousand times in her compound eyes.
“What is it, Bea?” Taking matters into her own hands, Claire greeted the maid with a curious tilt of the head. “Is there something on my face?”
She had to fight back the urge to giggle as she watched the familiar face bounce between states of curiosity, shock, and confusion.
“No, but… something about you seemed different,” she said. It was a natural trait of her species that had spurred the observation. Thoraen antennae were particularly sensitive to magic, and though she had perfectly maintained the fake’s otherwise deflated outward demeanour, the bee-ogress had eventually caught on.
“That must be because I’m feeling well enough to speak,” said Claire.
“Of course. That is wonderful news.” Beatrice scrunched up her face, as if not quite convinced, but Claire ignored her and returned her eyes to the window. She had said enough. There would be no way for the maid to question her any further without coming off as rude.
As she continued gazing upon the fields, she found herself recalling one of the trips she had taken with her mother. They had taken the same carriage and travelled the same westerly path, only it had been a bit later in the year. With summer at its peak, the grasses had turned golden, endless threshes of wheat and hay as far as the eye could see.
It was still beautiful in its vibrant green, there were few sights that could match a flaxen field lit by the setting sun. Perhaps it would be ready by the time of the fake’s return, but she lacked the knowledge to draw a conclusion.
According to the homunculus, she was to spend the better part of two months away from the capital. The king and his daughter were to visit the three most powerful houses across the western territories and spend a week with each. Officially, it was to perform an audit of the land as to better determine the direction of any further development. But knowing her father, she suspected the story to be a coverup for some military affair or other. The western nations had always been a thorn in Cadria’s side. Their alliance trapped the Cadrian advance to the continent’s easterly side, with a combined force over a million heads strong.
And it was precisely to deal with that threat that the three marquis had been instated. Like Pollux’s, the titles borne by the frontier’s governers were technically not hereditary. They were held instead by powerful and trustworthy warriors—men whose lifespans could not be measured in mere hundreds of years. Of the thirteen marcher lords, only four had been replaced since Cadria’s initial expansion, all of whom had fallen at her father’s hands.
For a moment, Claire pondered the possibility of ruining his plans by informing his enemies, but she quickly gave up on the idea. They were too far to contact and had no reason to trust her words. She was much more likely to be attacked, and the last thing she wanted was to accidentally lighten Virillius’ load by acting in self-defense.
A sigh escaped her lips as she returned her eyes to the window and joined the fake in studying a distant windmill. She could feel the boredom slowly creeping up on her, so she soon shook her head and closed her eyes. For a moment, she considered leaving on her own, but the body’s other inhabitant insisted on a visit. So she cast the realm, fried her circuits, and brought them both to Vel’khagan.
The darkness only lasted a few moments. When she came to, she found herself lying in bed with a familiar fox held close to her chest. Sylvia began to stir, but a scritch of the ears quickly put her back to sleep. Claire had always been the earlier riser. That was also why she was typically responsible for breakfast, however bad her cooking may have been. But on that particular morning, she wouldn’t have the opportunity.
The fake was already wide awake, pulling her tail around the room as it curiously inspected her personal space. It was already on its fifth visit, but it went through the motions all the same.
Claire sighed. She quickly transformed her silken nightgown into a set of outerwear and climbed out the window. It was a bit of an old habit, derived from her time in the manor, and that was precisely why she found it so hard to shake. She spread her wings, closed her eyes, and ascended to a height that provided the fake a full view of the city.
The homunculus’ whims had them dive towards the central plaza first and foremost. They flew through the streets, their ears fluttering and their hair billowing in the wind. It was still early enough that there were hardly any commuters, but the few floating around were readily inconvenienced by their reckless speed. They darted between the buildings, spun through the alleys, and whirled past the scattered landmarks before rising above the city again with breakfast from a random stall in tow.
The fake looked around a little more, but the excess of choices saw it completely frozen. Eventually, it turned to her, teary-eyed, and asked to be taken to one of her favourite places. Claire immediately started heading for the usual hill. She paused for a moment as she recalled the previous week’s awkward encounter, but before long, the princess and her double found themselves basking in the spring breeze atop the old wooden swing. Back and forth their body went, with every repetition taking them higher and further than the last. It was nowhere near as thrilling or invigorating as diving through the sky. Their speed was negligible, and the forces that computed their movements even more so. And yet, it filled them with a sort of liberating joy.
A joy that lasted until the fake started to tire.
The rhythmic swinging slowly put her to sleep, causing her to retreat from the original’s body and return to Cadrian soil.
“Sweet dreams.”
The other her was already gone.
But with her eyes on the horizon, towards her distant homeland, she whispered the words regardless.
Chapter 288 - Return to Form III
Claire stood silently before a door in the infinite darkness. After one, two, three moments of hesitation, she placed her hand on its knob and slowly twisted it open. She expected to see the castle when her eyes regained their function, or perhaps the Cadrian skyline sitting beyond the horizon. But all that awaited her was an infinite field of tall, bright grass lit perfectly beneath the morning sun.
She was seated in a coach, surrounded by maids of all shapes and sizes, as it slowly bumbled its way across the countryside. Two of the servants were centaurs, and another three were thorae, but there was plenty of room to spare. Each lady was allotted a moose-sized space, even in the case that said lady was a meter-tall rabbit. The Cadrian transport that held them all was an impressive piece of work. Drawn almost entirely by magical means, it was another masterpiece designed and handcrafted by the most famous artificer in all the lands.
The sheer size of the final product revealed that it was too large for most city streets, and for good reason. Its belly was filled with smaller, deployable units that could carry its passengers through any tighter spaces. And though there was certainly one present, the artifact didn’t require a driver. If left unsteered, it would default to following any similar units located ahead of it, like the one that housed her father.
Claire was somewhat put off by the development, but the fake was practically bubbling with joy. It celebrated her arrival with an internal squeal and wrapped its mind’s arms around her soul. The reason for its elation was clear as the sunny spring day—it was bored out of its mind, and she was a fresh source of entertainment.
Feigning an exasperated sigh, Claire backed away and greeted the fake with a small smile. She couldn’t give it her undivided attention right away. First was the matter of her father.
The lyrkress raised her ears above her head and carefully observed him. He had clearly reacted when she first descended into the fake’s body. Half-expecting him to burst from his carriage and charge her, she reached for the door and prepared to flee, but he did no such thing. He simply remained where he was, his eyes fixed on her through two sets of walls. She couldn’t see him, of course, but she could tell from the pressure that threatened to crush her that he was watching her every move.
There were countless guards present, circling the carriage and marching alongside it. Still, she responded to the provocation with a flash of divinity as bright as the fake’s body could allow. A chuckle escaped his lips, clear as the thundering of the guard that rushed to her carriage. When he looked inside, confused, she only greeted him with a smile. A perfect, practiced smile.
Though completely bewildered, the man quickly backed down and returned to his position to confirm that there was nothing to report.
It was then and only then that Claire returned her attention to the sulking fake. Not-Claire was holed up in one of her mind’s corners, hugging her nonexistent knees to her nonexistent chest with her cheeks puffed up and her ears deflated. When prodded, she only faced the other way, huffing instead of offering a real response.
But while such an approach certainly worked on the maids and melted their hearts, the original was not quite as malleable. She continued poking the fake’s ethereal cheek, jabbing it over and over until she finally gave in and faced her.
And then, together, they looked beyond the window, across the plains and up the Langgbjern mountains. Towards the bright Cadrian sky.
What would have been boring by oneself was a fun activity for two, with the fake pointing at various landforms and Claire explaining them in detail. For a moment, she felt like she understood what it meant to stand in Allegra’s shoes. And the cat’s as well. There was certainly some joy to be derived from tutelage, to sate someone else’s curiosity and wonder. But for as much as she would have liked to bask in the sensation, it was soon cut short by the thorae across the aisle.
Lady Beatrice Gallia, the insectoid ogress that doubled as her personal hairdresser, eyed her suspiciously. Bea’s antennae twitched as she continued to watch her charge, the halfbreed’s figure mirrored a thousand times in her compound eyes.
“What is it, Bea?” Taking matters into her own hands, Claire greeted the maid with a curious tilt of the head. “Is there something on my face?”
She had to fight back the urge to giggle as she watched the familiar face bounce between states of curiosity, shock, and confusion.
“No, but… something about you seemed different,” she said. It was a natural trait of her species that had spurred the observation. Thoraen antennae were particularly sensitive to magic, and though she had perfectly maintained the fake’s otherwise deflated outward demeanour, the bee-ogress had eventually caught on.
“That must be because I’m feeling well enough to speak,” said Claire.
“Of course. That is wonderful news.” Beatrice scrunched up her face, as if not quite convinced, but Claire ignored her and returned her eyes to the window. She had said enough. There would be no way for the maid to question her any further without coming off as rude.
As she continued gazing upon the fields, she found herself recalling one of the trips she had taken with her mother. They had taken the same carriage and travelled the same westerly path, only it had been a bit later in the year. With summer at its peak, the grasses had turned golden, endless threshes of wheat and hay as far as the eye could see.
It was still beautiful in its vibrant green, there were few sights that could match a flaxen field lit by the setting sun. Perhaps it would be ready by the time of the fake’s return, but she lacked the knowledge to draw a conclusion.
According to the homunculus, she was to spend the better part of two months away from the capital. The king and his daughter were to visit the three most powerful houses across the western territories and spend a week with each. Officially, it was to perform an audit of the land as to better determine the direction of any further development. But knowing her father, she suspected the story to be a coverup for some military affair or other. The western nations had always been a thorn in Cadria’s side. Their alliance trapped the Cadrian advance to the continent’s easterly side, with a combined force over a million heads strong.
And it was precisely to deal with that threat that the three marquis had been instated. Like Pollux’s, the titles borne by the frontier’s governers were technically not hereditary. They were held instead by powerful and trustworthy warriors—men whose lifespans could not be measured in mere hundreds of years. Of the thirteen marcher lords, only four had been replaced since Cadria’s initial expansion, all of whom had fallen at her father’s hands.
For a moment, Claire pondered the possibility of ruining his plans by informing his enemies, but she quickly gave up on the idea. They were too far to contact and had no reason to trust her words. She was much more likely to be attacked, and the last thing she wanted was to accidentally lighten Virillius’ load by acting in self-defense.
A sigh escaped her lips as she returned her eyes to the window and joined the fake in studying a distant windmill. She could feel the boredom slowly creeping up on her, so she soon shook her head and closed her eyes. For a moment, she considered leaving on her own, but the body’s other inhabitant insisted on a visit. So she cast the realm, fried her circuits, and brought them both to Vel’khagan.
The darkness only lasted a few moments. When she came to, she found herself lying in bed with a familiar fox held close to her chest. Sylvia began to stir, but a scritch of the ears quickly put her back to sleep. Claire had always been the earlier riser. That was also why she was typically responsible for breakfast, however bad her cooking may have been. But on that particular morning, she wouldn’t have the opportunity.
The fake was already wide awake, pulling her tail around the room as it curiously inspected her personal space. It was already on its fifth visit, but it went through the motions all the same.
Claire sighed. She quickly transformed her silken nightgown into a set of outerwear and climbed out the window. It was a bit of an old habit, derived from her time in the manor, and that was precisely why she found it so hard to shake. She spread her wings, closed her eyes, and ascended to a height that provided the fake a full view of the city.
The homunculus’ whims had them dive towards the central plaza first and foremost. They flew through the streets, their ears fluttering and their hair billowing in the wind. It was still early enough that there were hardly any commuters, but the few floating around were readily inconvenienced by their reckless speed. They darted between the buildings, spun through the alleys, and whirled past the scattered landmarks before rising above the city again with breakfast from a random stall in tow.
The fake looked around a little more, but the excess of choices saw it completely frozen. Eventually, it turned to her, teary-eyed, and asked to be taken to one of her favourite places. Claire immediately started heading for the usual hill. She paused for a moment as she recalled the previous week’s awkward encounter, but before long, the princess and her double found themselves basking in the spring breeze atop the old wooden swing. Back and forth their body went, with every repetition taking them higher and further than the last. It was nowhere near as thrilling or invigorating as diving through the sky. Their speed was negligible, and the forces that computed their movements even more so. And yet, it filled them with a sort of liberating joy.
A joy that lasted until the fake started to tire.
The rhythmic swinging slowly put her to sleep, causing her to retreat from the original’s body and return to Cadrian soil.
“Sweet dreams.”
The other her was already gone.
But with her eyes on the horizon, towards her distant homeland, she whispered the words regardless.
