Chapter Text
Charlotte stormed away from her practice field, furious with herself in a way that she had come to experience with high frequency these days. Nothing was ever enough—not when her life was at stake. All because of some envious woman, regarding something child-Charlotte had nothing to do with. She knew the effects of the curse, had memorized every detail of what had been told to her. If she didn’t figure out a way to break through before she turned 18, her life was over. The idea that her heart could be stolen was laughable, so she needed to find another way. All the more reason why today's failure was unacceptable.
It was a significant burden to place one anyone, let alone a child. And her parents had done nothing to support her. They, of course, still loved her in their own way. She would also never experience want for any of her basic needs in life. She lived in a large, beautiful home (some would even refer to it as a mansion) in which a multitude of servants conducted the busy work that freed her from what most people considered the boring necessities of life. She was never hungry or thirsty and was provided with a quality education. And yet every time her parents looked at her it was with fear.
At one time, Charlotte had thought they were afraid for her, and perhaps they still were to a degree. In their eyes, she was and would always be their little girl. But one day years ago she had arrived at the realization that they were actually afraid of her. Typical for a girl of noble birth, she was gifted when it came to magic. Yet, she was considered powerful and talented even for a member of a noble family. The word genius had been overheard from time to time, but that meant nothing to her. No level of prodigy mattered if everything would end the moment she took her first breaths as an adult. And stronger magic meant a more catastrophic fallout from the curse's effects if she could not find a way to overcome its hold on her.
So she had decided at a very young age that she would devote herself to becoming strong enough that she could break through this curse on her own. Her parents surely weren’t going to help her—they were more in the practice of outwardly appearing to ignore the problem while inwardly crumpling in anticipatory terror. She had outgrown her magical tutors years ago. And every man who had ever learned about what to expect come her 18th birthday trembled in fear and revealed their cowardice in the blink of an eye. Just as young as she had been when she learned that she would have to grow much stronger to save her own life, Charlotte had gained the understanding that there was no man in the Clover Kingdom who had the courage or strength to back up the promises that spilled out of their mouths as they tried to hand her a bouquet of flowers. The most tasteless were the men who tried to present her with red roses, as if they hadn’t enough brain cells to consider how that might make her feel since she was uncertain whether she would ever again be able to produce her own roses in such a color.
Charlotte spent her mornings completing her schoolwork, then engaged in her social etiquette outings in the afternoon, where she learned exactly how to create a façade that hid away everything she was really feeling inside. The evenings were for her. She could finally spend her time training herself, working on strengthening her magic. She was already half-way through her 15th year. There wasn’t so much time left anymore, and every second counted.
This evening she had trained herself to the point of exhaustion. She had actually collapsed while elevated a few feet into the air, leading to a nasty little fall. Charlotte chastised herself under her breath, forcing herself to stand despite some notable soreness in one of her legs. She examined her body for anything more concerning than a scrape or bruise. She had pushed herself too far once again, but it was the only way she had ever known. She couldn’t allow herself to take it easy if she wanted to make it past 18.
She found that her left forearm was particularly tender, painful to even touch. Below her elbow, her arm just hung limp. Charlotte decided to walk to the medical building downtown, one arm completely useless and filled with a searing hot pain, and one leg that wished to no longer bear weight. The Roselei house was equipped with their own on-call healing mage, but she loathed to allow anyone in her family to know that she had injured herself once again. They already worried about her enough, even if they didn’t do anything helpful to show it.
So she walked down the street, doing her best to resist the urge to limp as her leg screamed at her. Frustration steamed out of her pores, she was certain of it. And yet, somehow there was a man dim enough to consider her approachable at this time. She couldn’t imagine how, but men continued to surprise her with their idiocy.
“Miss Roselei, what good fortune it is to come across you here in the street!” an annoying voice called out. “I was just on my way to your residence with the intention of speaking with you.”
“What a coincidence: I am currently on my way downtown with the intention of ignoring you,” she replied, not even choosing to look up in the pathetic man’s direction, doing everything she could not to give away that one of her arms was in such sorry shape and that she was fighting to maintain a normal walking gait.
The man let out a laugh that indicated he had no idea how to respond to anything aside from enthusiastic reciprocity, which she certainly was not supplying. And yet he still spoke...
“Miss Roselei, my eyes have yet to befall upon another young woman as beautiful as you. I wish more than anything to make you my bri—”
Before the man could drop to one knee, Charlotte willed her newly-attained grimoire to life and used her right arm to fire an overwhelming blast of briars toward the nuisance of a suitor, surrounding him in their thorny tangles before tossing him out of her sight.
A roar of laughter from above surprised her, causing her to look up to the rooftop without thought. There she saw two young men, perhaps just a year or two older than she was, clearly enjoying the spectacle she had just unknowingly put on for them. One man was tall and slender, his hair an unnatural blonde that currently looked almost orange due to the reflection of the setting sun. The other was equally tall but broad and muscular in a way that caused her to do a double-take.
For the first time in her entire existence, Charlotte felt herself blush at the sight of a man. She quickly monitored herself and forced her face into a glare in their direction before continuing her journey to the medical building. The pain in her arm was quite severe; enough to distract her thoughts from whatever it was she had felt upon seeing that young man on the roof.
She walked into the building, ignoring the secretary who would only hassle her, and strolled directly to the healing mage’s office.
“Miss Roselei, again?” a woman spoke with clear disappointment. “That makes twice this week. If you keep this up, I am going to have to say something to your parents.”
“If that is the case, then I simply will not come to you for help next time,” she retorted. This always won the argument, because the healing mage knew Charlotte meant it.
Knowing when to give up, the woman’s tone softened, an edge of compassionate frustration still present. “What is it this time?”
“My arm,” Charlotte admitted, lifting her left arm for the mage to examine. Or rather, lifting her upper left arm and allowing her pathetic forearm to dangle from her elbow. “I think I may have broken something.”
“And how did you manage that?” The mage's voice had changed to more objective and scientific, though a hint of irritation could not be completely hidden.
Charlotte took a breath. She hated admitting her shortcomings. Not due to any sense of pride, but because she was so angry that she couldn’t be more. Because she needed to be more.
“I was training and I—I must have passed out while I was in the air. I woke up on the ground and my arm hurt something awful. It’s odd—it almost hurts to even look at. It’s a sharp pain that almost makes me feel nauseated, if I am to be honest. I-I also can't really move my hand. Or really much of that arm at all.”
Charlotte winced as the woman palpated the area, then forced a stoic expression on her face, subconsciously reaching across her face to fidget with the end of her braid using her right hand. She was not fond of anyone knowing when she was in pain, physical or emotional. She didn’t want anyone questioning whether she was as strong as she portrayed herself to be because then it might cause her to question her own strength and whether she could survive her 18th birthday.
The healing mage performed a spell Charlotte didn't quite understand that provided a visual of what was going on with her arm beneath the surface.
“Well, looks like you fractured both bones in your forearm, young lady. One is just cracked but the other is a complete break. Nice work...”
Charlotte reached into her satchel with the good arm and pulled out a handful of coins.
“Do whatever you must to repair it, please.”
A deep sigh from the healing mage communicated a level of frustration that only came from caring about someone’s well-being. In a way, Charlotte appreciated it, that someone was concerned about her. Her family only worried about what would happen when she lost control of her magic and died, taking everyone nearby down with her. At the same time, she hated that someone worried about her because if she were stronger there would be no need to elicit such a fear.
The woman went to work and before Charlotte knew it, her arm was essentially pain-free once more, and she had regained the ability to use everything below her elbow. She resisted the desire to let out a sigh of relief, wishing to maintain her emotionless expression.
“Thank you,” she said, turning on her heel to leave.
“Not so fast,” the woman called out, much to her displeasure. "I saw your limp when you walked in here. What else is going on?"
Charlotte sighed and took a seat to allow the mage to examine her leg.
"Looks like this was just badly bruised. Did you wake up lying on your left side?"
Charlotte nodded. The mage went to work quickly, this injury much easier to heal.
"Thank you for your help," Charlotte said, standing and once again turning to the door, only to be stopped a second time.
“I may have healed your arm, but that spot is going to be sensitive and prone to re-injury for the next couple of days. I will not allow you to leave this office without putting on a sling to protect it.”
“What will that do?” Charlotte challenged, irritation leaking from her voice.
“Nothing,” the woman replied. “That’s the point. You need a reminder not to do anything with this arm for the next couple of days. I mean it, Miss Roselei. You need to start taking it easy.”
“Alright,” she said, not wishing to start an argument she couldn’t win. Just as the woman knew she could never tell Charlotte’s parents, Charlotte knew that she would not be escaping from this building without at least pretending she would wear the stupid sling.
“Thank you,” the healing mage said with a sigh. She fastened the sling around Charlotte and explained how to take it off and put it back on if needed, all of which Charlotte ignored while pretending to listen. “Alright then. I hope to go at least a few weeks before seeing you again. You think we can manage that?”
Charlotte finally allowed a small smile to grace her lips.
“I will do my best. Thank you, ma'am.”
Charlotte exited the building to find the sky a gentle indigo color with a few speckles of starlight making their first appearances for the night. She instantly started to struggle out of the sling. Her parents would lose their minds if they saw her in this. The panic meltdowns they would have that she would then have to pacify, serving as the comforter when it should be the other way around. Just like always.
She stared down at the contraption, causing her to bump into someone she surely would have seen had she been paying any attention at all.
“Jeez, watch where you’re walkin’ or you’re gonna end up back at the doctor’s!” a gravelly voice called out.
Charlotte was outraged. Had this man just threatened to hurt her for accidentally walking into him?
“You’ve got some nerve to threaten me any harm when I could—”
“You could what?” the voice challenged. She looked up in defiance and met a pair of gray eyes. It was the guy from the roof! He was just as tall and...(she blushed admitting this) muscular as she had remembered him to be based off that brief glimpse from afar. His face wore a mischievous smile that even reached his eyes.
“I could make you regret ever crossing my path,” she replied, her eyes squinting while she secretly worked to get her heart rate back under control.
The man cackled.
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
Wait, what?
Her mask of intimidation must have slipped for just a moment to reveal confusion because she watched his expression change to a flash of panic before he, too, resumed a cool and composed look, complete with a careless smile.
“I mean you gave us quite the laugh a while ago, blastin’ away that poor guy.”
His smile was…really nice. In a weird way. He clearly wasn’t from here. He looked nothing like anyone else in Clover and he had a thick accent. And yet, for some reason she was—
NO. She was not attracted to him. There was no man who could draw such a feeling from her. Not when every man she had ever met had only proven to be a spineless excuse for a partner. She was over the empty promises. In fact, she had never fallen for one, even in her younger years. It was so easy to see through all of those weak lies.
“What’s up with your arm?” the guy asked.
Oh. That’s right.
“Nothing,” she asserted. “I was just going to take this off.”
“I bet the doctor wouldn’t like seein’ that,” he teased.
“I don’t care what the doctor would or would not like seeing. I don’t need this stupid sling.”
“So, again, what’s up with your arm? You clearly weren’t just wearin’ that for some new fashion statement. All you people here are pretty weird with fashion but I haven’t seen slings become a thing yet.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes.
“It was nothing. I am fine.”
“Alright, if you say so, Prickly Princess.”
Why did this man frustrate her so much? She didn’t even know him!
“What did you call me?”
“What? I saw those thorns. You blasted that dude away like there was no tomorrow! Very, very prickly of you. Your magic suits you.”
He cackled again.
“A nickname implies some level of familiarity, which we do not have. If you are to address me again, which hopefully you will not as this will be our last time speaking, I ask that you call me by my name: Charlotte.”
The (very attractive) jerk actually smiled! What was his problem?
“Alright, Charlotte. You go on doin' whatever it is you need to do to prove to yourself whatever it is you need to prove.”
“Perhaps I will. Good evening.”
With that, she departed.
“The name’s Yami, by the way!” the guy called out.
“Then good evening, Yami,” she yelled without looking back.
She plastered a neutral expression onto her face, which she wore all through the entirety of her dinner and evening routine before bed. When she returned to her room, she admitted to herself that her arm was still sore.
Finally, she was in solitude and could reflect upon how terribly disappointed she was in herself, that she had been so weak as to pass out in the middle of her own training session. Now that she was safely alone, she allowed the tears to fall and wondered if she would ever feel anything aside from the drive to try and save her life.
Somewhere in the midst of all this self-criticism, the image of that Yami guy's face popped into her thoughts. For whatever reason, this brought her a sense of calm, which she did not like. She did not like the idea of thinking about any man and feeling calm. Because no man was going to be there to save her. No person, for that matter. It was all on her.
And yet, she felt her cheeks grow warm as she thought of his stupid crooked smile and the sound of his weird laugh. She realized that he was perhaps the only person in recent years who had addressed her honestly, treating her like a normal person. All other men treated her like a dainty damsel who needed to be held with the softest of gloves. Most people saw her only for her social status, sucking up to her and treating her like she had ever done anything to earn such praise. As if she hadn’t simply been born into the right family. Or perhaps, in her mind, the wrong family. Because surely other ladies her age didn’t feel like they were all alone like this, right?
But something about the way this Yami guy addressed her made her feel normal for once. That is what she liked about it. He didn’t even know of her social status. Or, if he did, he didn’t act like it. He wasn’t intimidated by her. He didn’t collapse at the sight of her and cite poetry to describe her beauty, as if such a thing even mattered to a girl who was destined to die in less than three years if she did not grow stronger.
For the first time in a while, Charlotte felt a small sense of peace. She still swore off all men and viewed them as useless embarrassments who were a waste of her time. But for some reason, that particular man planted a small seed of hope inside of her, whether she liked to admit it or not.
***
The next morning at breakfast, she sat at the table, slowly sipping her tea. Per usual, her father’s face was buried in the daily newspaper. Each time he finished a page, he handed it over to her mother, who scanned the articles much more quickly, only seeking the basic points of the stories. As her father removed another page to pass along, the newest section of the paper revealed itself, displaying none other than a picture of the Yami guy from yesterday. He stood, posing with a hand on his hip beside another man with long, dark hair and eyes pale enough to require no ink for the picture, save for his pupils. The two stood side-by-side grinning and donning matching uniforms.
“Um, father, do you mind if I just—” she started, pointing to the page with the picture to finish her sentence nonverbally.
“Oh, certainly, dear.”
Doing her best not to give away any sense of enthusiasm or curiosity, she carefully took hold of the page. “The Light and Dark Duo Strikes Again,” the title read. Beneath the photo was a caption that read “Grey Deer members Yami Sukehiro and Morgen Faust pose after being recognized for capturing bandits in local village.”
Charlotte felt her heart flutter. So his full name was Yami Sukehiro. That most certainly was not a name from around here. She continued on to read the article.
“Captain of the Grey Deer Magic Knights squad, Julius Novachrono, provided official recognition for two members of the brigade that has been quickly growing in popularity around the Kingdom. ‘Yami is new to our team,’ Novachrono said, his eyes sparkling as if filled with stars. ‘Since he joined us, we have made great strides in our efforts to protect the people of Clover Kingdom. We are grateful for his unique contributions.’”
Charlotte continued to read, skimming over most of what was discussed about the Faust boy, unable to resist the urge to read more about Yami. She found him to be so intriguing, which she hated.
He had just received this official recognition yesterday, and yet he hadn’t spoken a thing about it when she bumped into him on the street. Any other man she knew would have brought it up first thing, in an effort to impress her and win her over.
Whatever, she thought to herself. Now I know about who he is and I can stop wondering. Time to never think of him again and move on.
Charlotte would soon learn that, no matter how much she believed herself when she had those very thoughts, it would not turn out to be so easy to live by them.