Ownership.
The word hung in the air between us, heavier than the steam rising from our cups, twisting something deep in my gut that had nothing to do with the tea's strange warmth.
I set my saucer down carefully, the porcelain clinking softly against the table, and I leaned forward just enough to meet Lothair's gaze without flinching.
Possession implied chains, collars hidden beneath silk, a life bartered away like some rotten fruit in a downtown market stall.
Being owned, in all its ugly forms, had no place in my preferred vocabulary—not after scraping through warzones and auctions of the soul that journalism sometimes dragged me into.
But here, in this garden where flowers bloom with their own quiet lives, the term felt sharper, more personal, like a key turning in a lock I hadn't known existed.
"Is this... some kind of slavery?"
The question slipped out before I could polish it smoother, my voice threading the line between curiosity and caution.
I kept my hands folded in my lap, fingers laced to steady the tremor I refused to let show. "Because if it is, we need to talk terms. I'm not—"
Lothair's chuckle cut through, low and melodic, like water over smooth stones.
It wasn't mocking, exactly, but it carried an undercurrent of amusement that made the vines around us seem to lean in closer.
She placed her cup aside, her playful eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Degeneracy? Oh, no, nothing so crude. Quite the opposite, in fact." She tilted her head, blond ponytail swaying slightly, as if weighing how much to reveal in this delicate dance of words. "You owe me, Mesmer Valentine. More than a simple favor, and maybe more than a debt tallied on parchment…
"Repayment will take time, of course—effort, perhaps ingenuity. That's what makes you mine, in the legal sense. It is a bond that we have, not a cage."
The phrase settled uneasily.
Possession still grated, a label that stripped agency with its casual weight, but if she'd pulled me from the brink, then yes, debts loomed.
Gratitude warred with wariness; I'd learned long ago that favors in shadowed places came laced with hooks.
"You must have been the one who caught me after... whatever happened to me back then." I gestured vaguely skyward, where the crimson haze pressed against the canopy like an uninvited guest. "But calling it ownership doesn't sit right. What exactly did you do that makes it so hard to square up?"
Her smile lingered, but something shifted in her eyes—a flicker of assessment, like a merchant appraising fragile glass.
She traced the rim of her cup with one finger, the crimson liquid inside catching the light in ruby flecks.
"Do you truly want to know?"
I paused, spoon halfway to a fruit I'd barely touched, the tart scent teasing my senses.
The question carried an underlayer, a warning wrapped in silk, and it prickled the fine hairs on my arms.
Why phrase it like that, as if unveiling the truth might unravel more than just curiosity?
"You're making it sound dangerous. Like the knowledge itself bites back. What's the catch?"
Lothair's lips curved wider, that sly playfulness blooming fully now, her posture easing back into the chair as if we'd just shared a harmless jest.
"It does, in a way. And you, my dear possession, are the one who begged for those memories to stay buried." She lifted her hand, fingers splayed in a casual wave, as if dismissing a stray thought. "Sealed tight, for your own sake."
A chill crawled up my spine, slow and insistent, like fingers tracing vertebrae beneath my skin.
Sealed memories.
The phrase unlocked something—a hollow ache behind my eye, a blank stretch where days should have been.
Now that I think about it, has it been that long?
"How long have I been... here? In this realm?"
"Four months," Lothair replied, her tone light as if discussing the weather, though her eyes held mine steady. "Since you tumbled into the Heart Citadel's shadow. Quite the entrance, now that I think about it. Yet, we still have no idea how you entered our world in the first place."
Was Caligula's Ego that powerful for the inhabitants of the Demonic Realm to still be this clueless? Then again, maybe someone on the higher hierarchy knew more.
I swallowed, throat dry despite the tea, and forced my voice level.
"Unseal them, then. All of it. I'd rather face the mess than poke at shadows with questions that lead nowhere. Just... knowing will fill in the gaps."
She arched a brow, setting her cup down with finality. "Are you certain? Some veils stay merciful for a reason."
I managed a small smile, thin but genuine.
"I've brushed against the worst. See my right eye here?" I pointed at it myself. "A rather lethal and powerful curse is preventing it from being healed in any shape or form."
"I assume as much, since you managed to make me pay for a greater healer only for my money to be wasted." An annoyed smile was shown on Lothair for the first time. "The curse is indeed of a prominent origin, for it stays in effect while remaining undetected on every healing session."
"Well, I want to thank you for the stubbornness."
"It definitely took a while to convince myself that I must ignore the fact that I left someone under my care as a cyclop."
"Does that count toward my debt?"
"Most definitely." Lothair chuckled. "Coming back to our topic, are you still sure that you want your memories unsealed?"
"Assuming that my sealed memories are anything but comforting, I'll stay calm. Promise."
Lothair studied me for a long beat, her playful mask slipping just enough to reveal calculation beneath.
Then, with a nod that felt like concession, she snapped her fingers—sharp, resonant, like a lock clicking open.
"Very well."
The surge hit like a dam breaking.
Memories flooded in, not gentle waves but a torrent, crashing through barriers I'd apparently begged to build.
Faces, pains, scents—they slammed home, vivid and unrelenting.
It started with the fall from Caligula's ultimatum, the wind's howl giving way to my desperate instinct.
Surrounded by those winged forms—I'd latched onto one in blind panic.