Blood Thicker Than Water—For Siblings?
Blood is thicker than water? I don't think that applies to siblings, at least. I've never seen truly close brothers or sisters. My relationship with my little sister back home wasn't bad, but it wasn't all warm and fuzzy either. And here? We're not even blood-related. Of course, right now, I'm the only one who knows that.
Even if we were real sisters by blood, given Bathory's personality, I doubt things would be much different. Urtic Mirhane, disciple of the witch. A shut-in hikikomori who drives her parents crazy in her own way—unlike Bathory—and like any subculture otaku hikikomori, she's got that genius trait too. Expecting smooth communication with Urtic, who's holed up in the mansion's library even more than her master, is a tall order. Let alone getting close to a sister she already knows—and one with a notoriously vicious temperament?
"..."
No wonder they call her a witch. Diabolical.
"...What the hell is that?"
Urtic shot Eclair a wary glare, eyeing the uninvited intruder who'd barged into her domain without a word.
"Can't you tell, you idiot? It's your little sister."
"I'm not asking 'cause I don't know. Why the hell is she here?"
"Ask her yourself. I'm off to bed."
"Wait—"
And just like that, the one who'd dumped this mess in her lap vanished into the shadows, as if to say, deal with it.
"..."
In the dim library, two ill-matched pink heads stared each other down. If I weren't me, this moment wouldn't feel so awkwardly layered.
"Uh... um..."
Awkward. Everything about it—the girl from the game standing before me, me being one of the game's characters too, the whole situation. Just... awkward.
"...Did you sleep well?"
Start with a greeting. Original Bathory was rude, sure, but she was still a noble lady. Even to people she looked down on or hated, she'd use polite speech—arrogant and haughty, but polite. Greetings would be no different. Villainess types have to pull aggro with formal barbs, after all.
"...What was that just now?"
"...Pardon?"
"You... greeted me."
But at my seemingly flawless polite greeting, Urtic's eyes widened, and she rubbed them furiously, like she'd seen a ghost.
"Am I dying... or did I come back from the dead...?"
Wait, did she never even greet her before? Just ignore her completely?
"...Feels weird."
"..."
Urtic's wariness ratcheted up another notch.
"Hoo..."
What now? From her reaction, suddenly acting like a total stranger would just heighten her suspicions and push her further away. But sticking exactly to Bathory's personality wouldn't advance things either—it'd probably just make it worse.
"...Hey."
So, blend it. Give a reason to approach without breaking character.
"I almost got kidnapped."
Mix in a little lie.
"...Did you take the wrong meds?"
"It's not a delusion!! Not a lie either!!"
It was both.
"I saw them!! The faces of those people chasing me from behind!!"
I'd never seen them. I don't even remember anything before possession.
"I don't... remember clearly, but..."
That part was true.
"You, stuck in your hole, wouldn't get it. What’s happening out there. What I went through...!"
Acting. I was channeling Bathory Mirhane right now.
"I almost died! Memory's fuzzy, but I woke up sore all over, with only that unreliable maid by my side...!!"
Whether delusion or whatever, Bathory convinced herself she'd barely escaped kidnapping and death.
"I know!! How petty, low, and rotten I am!!"
Already on thorns in this hellish environment, now facing a kidnapping scare—terrified, lost Bathory.
"I know our bad relationship is all my fault—one-sidedly badmouthing you, tormenting you... I know, but...!!"
Finally crumbling under the pressure and fear, running to someone she never sought before for a way to survive—Bathory.
"Still... I want to live..."
Bathory, who couldn't trust or be trusted by anyone, her last resort.
"You... you wouldn't try to kill me..."
She might hate me, but not enough to murder.
"I won't ask for help. Just... let me stay here..."
Even if we'd become worse than strangers, there had to be some lingering love-hate from childhood memories—blood ties.
"...Sis..."
If a single tear rolled down now, it'd be perfect.
"...Guhk..."
Tears did come. I'd faked anger so hard my breathing got ragged. Chest tight, pain flared, tears followed.
"Ugh, guhk, euk, heuk, wait, hold on."
Wait, this isn't acting—
"Gasp—"
Come to think of it, it'd been ages since I'd acted like this. And I get tense easily. So this familiar feeling... yeah, that.
"Huff—"
Hyperventilating—
——What a shitty morning, Urtic thought. Technically it was already daytime outside by then, but for her, waking up meant morning.
Sunset marked the start of Urtic's routine. Reading books until hungry—grab some bread—crave fresh air, short walk—back to books—sleep. She loved the repetition. No worries, no obligations, just what she wanted. And minimal human contact? Perfect.
Urtic figured her parents, posted abroad as ambassadors, wanted her out more. Her big sis was considerate enough to her little sister—and convenient for the staff. Servants only entered the library for cleaning while she slept. Eclair was there, but one person was tolerable. So Urtic enjoyed her hermit life, free from others.
Until the uninvited guest crashed her sanctuary.
"...Master, what do I do?"
If freaking her out was the plan, it worked brilliantly, Urtic admitted.
"Breathing... stopped..."
But she knew her self-preservationist sister wouldn't self-harm like this just to prank her.
"Head hurts..."
Already up way earlier than usual, her head throbbed. Now this freakout from kin? Urtic pressed her temples against the splitting headache.
"If I leave her like this... she'll die?"
"She will. Breath's stopped completely. If you wanna kill her, sure, leave her."
Trouble. Urtic felt no real affection for Bathory—just bafflement. Their relationship was beyond "bad"—vicious. But Urtic rarely left her corner, and Bathory hadn't set foot in the library till recently. No clashes meant no visible drama.
Urtic's feelings toward Bathory bordered on loathing. Bathory's fault entirely—her inferiority complex over origins fueling one-sided jealousy and hate toward her sisters. Urtic naturally distanced herself from the tormentor.
"...Is this about... that incident?"
Hence the shock. The bully who'd tormented her solo now begged for life and collapsed.
Housebound Urtic couldn't fathom what had broken her sister.
"You laughed then. Said she had it coming."
"I... still do."
When she first heard Bathory had tumbled down a hillside into bedrest, Urtic had snickered. She still didn't fully buy it. Lies from kin were routine.
"...Will this... work?"
"Gonna save her?"
But Urtic changed her mind. No actor could fake that—dragging a healing body here, tearful pleas, then passing out from blocked airways.
If it was, Bathory deserved an Oscar. Urtic's take.
"Whatever."
She rummaged the cabinet, loaded a syringe with meds, jabbed Bathory's neck. Only after breaths steadied did Urtic wipe clammy sweat from her brow.
"If she dies suddenly... Sis and the staff would freak..."
Dying's a hassle.
"Parents come back... I'd get hell..."
That was it. Urtic chalked her faint inner ripple to annoyance.
"And... well..."
Hate her, sure. Not kill-level hate.
"...Nah."
Swallowing the embarrassing truth, Urtic gently brushed back Bathory's sweat-dampened bangs from her forehead.