Oh Champs-Élysées
"...So, you came running here because you're scared to face your eldest sister?"
"Yes."
Back in my room, I sent Schuett home earlier than usual. I had a feeling that if anyone saw me with my maid trailing after me, they'd find some excuse to make trouble. From there, I headed straight to the library. On instinct.
"What should I do?"
"What do you mean, what should you do? Why are you asking me?"
"Because... you're Eclair, aren't you?"
Doraemon. Deus ex machina. The genie of the lamp who grants any wish you make. The all-purpose MacGyver of the night the witch left—Eclair au Chocolat.
"That's for you to figure out yourself. Do you think I'm some kind of vending machine that spits out whatever potion you ask for?"
"N-no... of course not."
But Eclair wasn't being cooperative. Truth be told, I hadn't come expecting any miracles either.
"Haa... I'm stumped."
"Do you really need to get close to her? It's not like I assigned you homework with Urtic Mirhane."
"That's true, but..."
I didn't need to force a friendship like I did with Urtic, grinding through it with sheer malice and grit. As long as I could tolerate the discomfort. The problem was that discomfort—the crushing pressure every time I faced Frederica Mirhane—seemed impossible to bear.
"It feels suffocating."
How must it feel for a tenant to live day by day on bad terms with the landlord? Constantly worrying if you'll get evicted tomorrow or if they'll jack up the rent out of nowhere. Of course, I didn't pay rent, and even in the original story, Bathory Mirhane only got kicked out at the very end, so I probably didn't need to worry about that. Still, I'd have to live every day in anxiety.
And considering Frederica's path in the original story, even at École Berger, I wouldn't escape her gaze. No safe haven at home or school.
"Haa..."
I wanted to avoid that somehow...
"...But what's with all those books?"
"Fairy tales."
"I'm not asking because I don't know that. Why are you gathering fairy tale books so diligently? Aren't you past the age for that?"
At Eclair's question, I glanced back and forth between the fairy tale books in my hands and Eclair.
"If we're talking age, you're way older and you love fairy tales your—urk!!"
"You insolent brat."
My careless slip earned me a jab to the solar plexus from the end of the broom she was holding.
"C-can't... breathe—"
"Hmph. A fitting punishment for a wretched disciple who mocks her master."
But it was true—she did love fairy tales. In the original story, she openly boasted about it everywhere.
"Hic... huu... huu..."
Clutching my chest and gasping for a few breaths, my airway finally cleared. Hopefully no cracked ribs?
"So, why are you taking my fairy tale books? You don't strike me as the type who'd read them."
"Ob... obviously... for the kid... to read to her..."
The reason I'd gathered the fairy tale books was entirely because of Hia, waiting back in my room. The innocent homunculus, pure and ignorant of the world, whom I'd forgotten to send off with Schuett and thus left behind in the mansion.
"...Kid?"
"Hia. I mean Hia."
"Hia... ah, that one."
Hia's knowledge was sorely lacking compared even to kids her apparent age. Like a blank canvas, untouched by any paint. People say children that age are bursting with imagination. But imagination needs building blocks of knowledge as a medium—without them, what could she even imagine?
That's why I wanted to give Hia those building blocks. A multitude of them, to serve as the foundation for endless flights of fancy.
"Quite devoted, aren't you? Seems like excessive affection for a mere homunculus."
"Even if she's a homunculus, she's a child first."
Every life has its reason to live, its meaning. Lose that, and it crumbles, withers away in no time. And more than anything...
"...This time, I want to do more for her."
"This time?"
"Yes. This time."
I regret it.
"So that's why you fussed over Urtic Mirhane so much—because of your sister."
"You could say that, yeah."
Maybe that's why I'd unconsciously poured so much care into Urtic. The frail body, the aversion to baths. All reminiscent of my sister.
"...Tch."
Eclair clicked her tongue, looking displeased about something.
"Fine, fine. Take them. One book, five books—take them all."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Better in the hands of someone who at least knows how to look after a kid than some deadbeat parent who can't even do that."
Eclair's expression as she said it was complicated, bittersweet—the same as when I'd first brought Hia here. What was her story? Some lingering regret about that son she'd raised? I had no idea. Even if I knew the details, I couldn't presume to grasp her emotions.
"...Thank you."
The sorrow of someone who'd lived eons beyond human imagination was far too heavy for the likes of me to bear.
——
I hurried straight back to my room. For Hia, waiting there.
"I'm back, Hia."
"..."
Had she taken "wait in the room" too literally? She greeted me in the exact same pose as when I'd left, not a hair out of place.
"You don't have to go that far. Sit on the chair, lie on the bed—get comfortable. Waiting in the room doesn't change if you're stiff as a board."
"I see."
"Yeah, come here, Hia. Time to wash up."
With this child, I couldn't muster the villainess act. Different from Frederica. That one crushed me with her presence; this one pricked my conscience. My humanity wouldn't let me be harsh to a kid. The original Bathory even cussed at and hit children younger than her... but that was just too trashy.
"Shall we go?"
Unlike with Urtic, washing Hia wasn't hard. She didn't resist or whine like Urtic had. Maybe leave it to the servants from now on? Schuett, perhaps? I'd have to teach her to wash herself too. That seemed easier than with Urtic.
"There. It suits you."
"Suits?"
"Yes, it means you look very pretty."
Hia's clothes came from Eclair. From the witch who made her, apparently. Not some half-baked creation—plenty of variety, fine fabrics, perfect fit.
"...Hia, are you tired?"
"...Tired?"
"Yes, your eyes are getting heavy, your body's drooping? That's what being tired feels like."
It was early for bed, but Hia's blinking eyes and drooping lids screamed fatigue.
"Guess we'll start the fairy tales tomorrow."
Reading to her like this, she'd just nod off without taking it in.
"Come here, Hia."
I laid her on the bed and lay down beside her.
"Want a lullaby?"
"Lullaby?"
"Yes, a song to carry you to dreamland."
Hia's bright eyes—ruby-red and beautiful—fixed on me.
"Sing it."
"Okay."
Lullabies need to be soft, gentle whispers. Only then can sleep come undisturbed.
"Ahem."
I cleared my throat, pitching my voice low and soothing. Even for a child shaped from clay and dirt, I wished for dreamland's gates to open.
"~♪"
Pat, pat. Rubbing her little back, I felt the child in my arms. Her steady breaths, warm body heat. The warmth of a human, not a doll.
Just like any ordinary kid.
"...She's asleep."
Hia's eyes had closed before I knew it. Clutching my arm, she slumbered innocently, like any child.
Pulling away might wake her. My arm would be numb as hell come morning. Oh well.
"Hia."
I thought I heard a rustle beyond the slightly open door, but...
"Sweet dreams."
I ignored it and closed my eyes.