The farmhouse had long since surrendered to the night. Outside the tall, narrow windows, the countryside was a vast, ink-black void, save for the occasional silver ribbon of moonlight catching the dew on the trellised rows. The only light that dared to defy the darkness was the flickering, amber glow of the hearth in the parlor, casting long, dancing shadows that stretched across the floor like reaching fingers.
The transition from the late afternoon sun to the depth of night had been absolute. The crickets had replaced the rhythmic labor of the vineyard, their chirping thin and sharp against the heavy, cooling air. Inside, the silence was profound, broken only by the crackle of burning logs and the soft, rhythmic click of White Flower's boots against the hardwood as she moved toward the center of the room.
The foyer was dim, lit only by a few wall-mounted sconces that sputtered, throwing erratic shapes across the walls. I kept my head bowed, the shadow of my white lace cap shielding my face. In this gloom, the contrast between my identity as a legendary adventurer and this humble maid's uniform felt almost like a mask. The darkness was my ally; it hid the purple stains of the grape harvest that still clung to my apron and obscured the raw, pulsing ruin of my right palm.
White Flower stopped, her silver hair shimmering like moonlight caught in a spiderweb. She stood in the center of the foyer, a stark silhouette against the dark hallway behind her. The cold draft that followed her through the door still clung to her cloak, smelling of damp earth and the iron-scent of a distant, ongoing war.
"Mother," she whispered, her voice barely carrying over the crackling fire.
Snow moved into the circle of light, her silhouette graceful and tall. They were two beacons of pale light in a house swallowed by the night.
I took another step, my boots silent on the rug. The heat from the fireplace was intense, a stark contrast to the biting chill of the night air that seeped through the cracks in the farmhouse walls. Every shadow seemed to lengthen, leaning toward us, as if the night itself were watching to see if the savior of the city would finally be revealed in the livery of a servant.
I held the tray steady, the polished silver reflecting the orange flicker of the flames. White Flower turned slightly, her sharp, predatory gaze catching the glint of the metal. She squinted, peering into the gloom where I stood, her eyes…those eyes that had survived the slaughter of Caria…narrowing as she tried to pierce the darkness of the hallway.
"Who's there?" she asked, her voice dropping into a tone of reflexive, battlefield caution.
My breath caught. In the darkness of the house, surrounded by the shadows of the night, the line between my past and my present had never felt thinner.
"Oh! I almost got caught!"
I froze, the tray trembling ever so slightly in my grip. While my accident almost turned into a story, Plasma began comments about my thoughts.
"Roxy, what the hell is the meaning of this? Your plan or yours about to get caught."
"Hey Plasma, I just want to meet my friend alright, there's nothing to worry about."
"Such audacity, Roxy. Your lifting the tray in one arm, How will you get a handjob on Cassuis eight-foot thing? You should be a slut than a girl with a maid dress"
"Hey! Isnt this a feature from my fourth evolution. You became an asshole before that, or i will shut your mouth with my bare hands when we meet in your true form. I'll swear i'll kill you."
"Pathetic Roxy. Dont call me Plasma anymore, you need to moan so loud to activate my response. Is that clear?"
"Man, shut your bitch ass up."
After our argument with Plasma. I was ready to exectute my plan easily, and my plan was simple, allow me to explain it:
My original plan…to keep my head down, serve the drink, and then reveal my face to shock her…suddenly felt like a cruel prank.
Before I could move, Alice stepped forward, placing a firm, frantic hand on my forearm. She leaned in, her voice a sharp hiss of panic.
"My Lady, stop. This is entirely inappropriate. You are a gold-ranked adventurer, a savior of the realm, not a household servant. Walking into the foyer wearing my uniform to surprise a comrade of your standing? It's not just improper; it's disrespectful to your own legacy."
Then Plasma conveyed to me once again.
"Hahahahahah… you hear that, Alice has a bone on you."
"Oh shut up will you? You been all around all day, bartering and arguing day and night. You should be ashamed on yourself."
"Man fuck you, Roxy. You survived that hellhole of yours and lose an arm. Maybe i should have a petition of reward, maybe i call you Roxxius from now on."
"Roxxuis, who the hell is that?"
"Roxy plus Cassuis equals Roxxuis. Simple."
"Shut up!"
But I was already past the point of caution. The itch to see the look on White Flower's face was too strong to suppress. I gently pried Alice's fingers off my arm and took a deliberate step into the circle of firelight.
White Flower turned, her hand instinctively flying to the hilt of the dagger at her belt. She peered at me, her eyes scanning the frilled apron and the black Victorian bodice with a cold, analytical intensity. To her, I was just a nameless girl in a maid's livery, someone who had stepped too close, too quickly.
"Mother?, who is this?" White started, her voice dropping into a combat-ready growl.
I lifted my chin, letting the shadow of my cap fall away. I offered her a soft, tired smirk.
"Long time no see, White."
The effect was instantaneous. White Flower's posture didn't just relax; it completely collapsed. Her hand fell from her dagger, and the mask of the war-hardened knight shattered, revealing a raw, devastating vulnerability. Her heart seemed to stop, then plummet. She took a staggering step forward, her eyes fixated on my face, then lower, toward the sleeve pinned to my shoulder where my left arm should have been.
"Roxy..." she breathed, the name sounding like a plea.
"I'm here, I've been working the harvest at the vineyard. It's good work. Keeps the mind sharp." I said, my voice quiet.
White and Snow exchanged a glance of pure, unadulterated shock. The idea that a hero of my caliber, someone capable of pulling a sword from her own blood, would willingly spend her days in the dirt of a vineyard, and find peace in it, seemed to defy everything they understood about the world.
But then, White's gaze drifted back to my missing arm. She walked toward me, her own hands trembling. The realization of what that loss meant,the battles I must have endured, the pain I had shouldered in silence,hit her like a physical blow. She let out a soft, broken sound, the guilt radiating off her in waves.
"You lost it. In the ravines… because of the King." she whispered, her voice cracking.
She didn't wait for an answer. She surged forward, wrapping her arms around me in a crushing, desperate hug, burying her face against my neck. She didn't care about the maid's dress or the remnants of grape juice on my scent. She only cared that I was standing there, breathing, and fundamentally broken.
"I'm sorry…I'm so, so sorry, Roxy." she sobbed into my shoulder, her tears hot against my skin.
I hugged her back, my remaining arm tight around her. For a moment, the war, the disease, and the long, lonely months of recovery felt like a distant, fading nightmare.
We were interrupted by the soft, rhythmic patter of footsteps. The household staff approached, their faces uncharacteristically solemn. The head maid stepped forward, dipping into a deep curtsy.
"Your Highness, Lady White, we apologize for the interruption. The table is set. Dinner is prepared." she said, her voice formal and crisp.
She gestured toward the dining hall, and the staff in unison announced the evening's main course.
"Tonight, we serve your favorite, Lady White. A hot, fresh, and restorative… Liver Stew."
My blood ran cold. The smell of copper, the metallic, iron-heavy scent of the one dish I despised more than any other, seemed to fill the room instantly. I felt the color drain from my face, my worst dish, the only thing that could ruin this moment of peace.