Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Mirabelle? Could you come up to the front?”

Ah. You wince. For the whole lesson, you’ve been silent as a mouse at the back of the classroom. Until the teacher caught you.

You waddle to the blackboard with a lowered head. All your classmates stare at you. Probably because none of them have ever heard you speak before.

Your cheeks warm. You really don’t want to know what you look like right now.

On the blackboard behind you, the three basic hand signs are drawn. Rock, paper, scissors.

“What Craft type do you have, Mirabelle?” the teacher asks.

“…Scissors and Paper.”

Immediately, the class begins to murmur. She? Mirabelle? A dual type?

“That’s incredible! Could you demonstrate?”

“Uhm. Hm. Mmmmm…“

Speaking is still hard. Everyone is so… strange. You’re not used to people actually listening to you. Your parents sure didn’t!

Instead of speaking, you raise your right hand into scissor position. A fist, then hold out the pointer and middle finger…

Hah! It sparkles and spins around your hand. From nowhere, the power of Piercing Craft wells up within you.

Um, um, but what are you aiming at? The paper on the teacher’s desk? But that could be important notes!

Oh, you’re getting a bad grade. For sure.

Even though your spell evaporated, the teacher applauds, as do your classmates.

They stare at you expectantly. Why can’t a hole open under your feet and swallow you whole?

You didn’t even do anything! Just some sparks!

Paper. Okay, paper. Creator craft. You can do that. The scissor transforms into a flat hand.

Piercing craft is… easier for you. From all the types of craft, you think it’s the simplest. The power just needs out , done. Like stabbing with a scissor, you know?

Okay, okay. Hand flat, mind focused… Expectantly, you close your eyes and…

Nothing. A moment later, you open them again, and… yup, nothing happened. Amazing.

The teacher looks sheepish. “Maybe next time?”

And that crabbing murmuring again.

It’s supposed to be an easy subject! These lessons are for children. Like you , according to Claude, at least.

It’s embarrassing.

It’s so crabbing embarrassing.

Wow, everyone! Look, the amazing dual type who can’t even cast her own Craft!

You put your face in your hands and breathe out. You’ve been living in the House for a few months now. And it’s so, so difficult. Then you got bullied into mingling with people, albeit for a class, and then…

Back at your seat, you don’t say another word for the rest of the class. Only the teacher’s alarm finally grants you mercy.

First things first, as soon as you retreat to your room, you hurl yourself onto the bed. It creaks and you almost hit your head on the bed frame. Who cares, when you could be burying your face in the pillow.

Oh Change, why you? Why not anybody else in the classroom? It’s over for you. You can never show your face again. You’re living in here, until you starve. That could take a while. Your hoard of snacks under the bed is seriously massive.

But you might need those for later, not for throwing tantrums.

Admits your despair, the door quietly opens. You freeze.

And breathe a sigh of relief, as your ‘roommate’ announces herself. “Heyo, it’s me! How’s the little plum doing?”

Blerhhh. Claude. She’s so condescending. She treats you like a wild, abrasive animal. You rise from your blanket nest and stick your tongue out at her.

“Don’t be like that! I’m leaving, okay.” Thank you Change God. Claude actually slips away into her corner of the room. You may be thankful to even have a bed here, but you didn’t have to have a roommate.

She was the one who sicced the Head Housemaiden on you. For the House’s leader to personally ask you to maybe go outside... Just one lesson, she said! Just one, to try it.

Surely because she noticed how pathetic it is that a Housemaiden (that’s what you are now) to only be seen at dinner.

Claude stood behind the her and stared like she’d eaten rocks for dinner when the Head Housemaiden smiled at you that weirdly.

She’s just annoying. For hours at a time, she sits off in her corner and tinkers with who-knows-what and you can’t relax for even a second.

So you’re just laying here and staring at the ceiling.

You useless thing, you. Claude is a Paper type, isn’t she? Seems like it, at least.

After either five minutes or an eternity, Claude speaks up again. “So, princess, I heard you had some issues—”

Your glare is as dark as night.

“Woah, hey, I just meant, well, you don’t know how to do a whole lot, so maybe you need some… tutoring?”

You are well aware how much of a loser you are! Claude scratches her chin. That she mentions it like this means the whole House has heard of you by now!

Tears gather in your eyes. One even rolls down your cheek.

So you can’t stay here. Of course not. Who even needs you? You can’t do anything. You’re nothing. If only you were someone else…

“Mirabelle, hey, you—”

Though Claude calls for you, you can’t hear her anymore. Instead, you throw yourself off the bed and storm outside. Away, away, away! Always away! Crab, your food’s still inside, but…

No, you need to leave. Now. You can always nab your stuff later.

One Housemaiden after another startles as you sprint past. Your reputation’s already in the dumps! What’s a little more?

You breathe again only once sunlight warms you. You need to be alone, so no one can stress you out.

Dormont’s House is surrounded by forest on all sides. Thus, you pick a direction not leading to the village, and walk.

Soon enough, you find some hole to squeeze yourself into. A bush hides you, and the roots of the nearby tree press nicely claustrophobic.

Now, alone with only nature as your companion, you finally think.

Wow, you’re a complete moron.

You mess up one thing in class, immediately have a mental breakdown, and ruin your chance of ever having a home?

Why? Why are you like this? Why does all human contact make you tremble like a leaf?

It’s hard to breathe.

Even alone… you can’t find any rest.

You wait. The sun slowly crawls to embrace dusk.

Haaaaaaaaaaah.

Round and round the fear in your brain goes. Sometimes you imagine coming back and everyone laughing at you. Claude’s at the front as the teacher. Another time, you fantasize just slamming the door in her face.

A crunch rips you out of your thoughts.

...Someone’s looking at you?

Impossible. Unimaginable.

There, lantern in hand, is the Head Housemaiden. Personally, with her light long hair, and her billowing dress, like the sky personified.

You’ve met her just twice. Once, when you first came to the House and she assigned you to be Claude’s roommate. And the second time, when she forced you to attend class.

She was… nice? Nice, not in a personal way. Just nice, in the way everyone’s supposed to be.

The Head Housemaiden calls for you, “Mirabelle! Come out! It’s time for dinner!”

That long already? Your stomach growls an answer.

No, no, she can’t see you now. You can curl up a little tighter.

But as you do, you brush against the bush--

She turns in your direction. Crab.

“There you are!” She breaks through the underbrush. She’s… tall. Never in your life have you seen someone that tall. The sun itself could hide behind her back, wholly replaced by her light hair.

“Mirabelle, what are you doing here?”

Not a word escapes. Even you don’t know what you’re doing here.

“Claude told me…”

She raises her hand and reaches out toward you. Yet she stops when you flinch. Her expression carries… woe. Woe, and sympathy… for you?

“Mirabelle…,” she starts, “Do you like it here? With us?”

You’re silent, like always.

“Shake your head or nod. Or… something. However you’d like!”

You… consider. You do like it here more than before. Three meals a day, your own bed, she even gave you clothes! So… you nod, a little shy.

Instead of saying anything, the Head Housemaiden sits down next to you on the ground. Her dress will get dirty that way! Someone like her shouldn’t do that!

Still, the dirt on her bright dress doesn’t seem to bother her one bit. She leans back, resting against the tree’s bark, raises her head, and enjoys the wind.

“I understand,” she says, “how hard it is, to trust new people. When I first came here, I couldn’t even speak Vaugardian! Imagine that.”

Though that means Vaugardian is her second language, her speech is clear as day. Maybe only a sound here and there is a bit softer, a bit rounder, than usual. You’d never have noticed.

“Thing is… I knew nothing. Not my name, not my origin, my own past… But in the House of Change, none of that matters. There’s only the here and now, and the future. Everyone was so nice to me… I couldn’t understand. Literally and metaphorically.”

She breathes in, and out. You mimic her and feel… a little better.

This is supposed to be your new beginning, isn’t it?

...So why do you see your past in every shadow?

“It doesn’t--” you start to speak but interrupt yourself with a cough. You haven’t exactly used your vocal cords a lot lately.

You feel something on your back. Shivers run down your spine, until you notice… that the Head Housemaiden is petting you.

That’s all.

“It doesn’t matter?”

“Not at all. Everything doesn’t matter, if you don’t want it to.”

“Even if it happened today?”

“Of course! Unless you hurt someone?”

You dig in the dirt with your shoe. “No…”

“Then all is well!”

She smiles wide and bright, like the sun after a storm.

“Mirabelle. I’m sure, no matter what happened today… You can always change. You can learn, and grow, and change. If you want, how you want, when you want. If you can’t trust yourself, then trust what I’ve told you today.

“We want you here, Mirabelle. That’s the only thing that won’t ever change.”

…

“Head Housemaiden, could you teach me Creator craft?”

“Please, call me Euphrasie.”

“Euphrasie…” The name is foreign on your tongue. “Can you help me?”

“I thought you’d never ask!”

For now, you’ll stay. You can always leave later, but you wan to try.