The Sixth

Niall was surprised to see Flora throw back the medicine with no more than a scrunch of her nose and a shiver.

The bitterness was a small price to pay for relief. Flora’s stomach was in such a mess that she dared not order anything sweet to make the treatment easier on herself. 

Niall motions the maid, Annie, closer, “The lady should only have light meals for the next few days,” He instructs while taking a few vials of medicine from his kit, “and one of these morning and night. Also,”

“What are you doing?” Flora’s biting tone freezes the doctor and maid in place. Their eyes meet, silently asking the other if they know where they’d erred.

Flora glares at Annie, and though her regard was brief, the scorn within her eyes makes the servant flinch. 

“Give the medicine to Hazel.” Flora commands. 

Hazel, who was cleaning Flora’s closet alongside others, was sure she heard wrong. Annie and the rest weren’t any less perplexed.

Annie has been Flora’s closest maid, yet not even she could unravel the noblewoman’s thoughts in this moment. 

“What?” Flora hisses when her orders go unfulfilled. “What are you waiting for?”

Annie pulls her jaw off the floor to gasp, “My Lady…!” her short cry an outpour of hurt and confusion. Still, Flora would not spare her a glance. 

Hazel hesitates, but not out of pity for her colleague. If fact, Hazel would be more than happy to arrogate her authority.

As Flora’s closest, Annie was intoxicated with power and never helped with the chores. She keeps the maids few and in rotation, pouring and unnecessary amount of grunt work on them so they never have a chance to grow close to Flora. 

“My Lady,” Hazel curtsies with an expectant glimmer in her eyes. “I am afraid I still have to finish cleaning your closet.”

Flora raises a brow at the supposedly trivial reason. “Just let Annie do it then.”

At this, Hazel beams. She holds the rag out to Annie, whose expression begs her to admit she didn’t mean what she said.

The longer Annie remains with that befuddled face that says she doesn’t know her wrong, the more annoyed Flora becomes. 

She is being infinitely lenient considering Annie did not lag to raise those books over her head at Gretchen’s order. If mother hadn’t shown up, she really would have done it without a second thought! Flora could not find it within herself to gloss over such betrayal.

Defeatedly, Annie takes the rag and drags her feet towards the closet.

While Niall instructs Hazel, his voice is as lethargic as ever, though it no longer reaches his eyes. This won’t end well… He doubts Flora realizes there is— was an existing hierarchy amongst her maids, or that she just obliterated it. He also knows Annie isn’t well liked— some servants like to join him for a sip now and again. 

Over Hazel’s shoulder, he spies the bucket of dirty water fall over Annie, wetting her shoes and the hem of her uniform. From the satisfied faces of the other maids, it was no accident. 

Niall chooses to ignore it.

He likes the Rayne family because they are simple. The Earl, Countess, Hanson, and Cara all fall into their routines and see little else outside of that. They disregard everything outside of their protocol and Flora until it becomes a problem they can’t afford to overlook.

And even then that is hardly the case because Darlin’s thorough management never leaves room for errors to fester.

Once in a while Niall does wonder why Darlin lets him and others get away with what they do, then remembers he isn’t paid enough to care. 

“…what a bother to have a sister so dreadfully subpar.”

“Your father’s brain and mother’s blood make for a poor combination within you.”

Flora’s identity as an illegitimate child has never been a source of self-doubt until now. After all, Isabelle has been the only mother she’s known and never discriminated against her, and Flora could not remember any complaints about her conduct as the Earl’s daughter.

All this time… have others viewed her the way Gretchen does? Is she something out of place, inherently unable to fit the role she felt comfortable in until Gretchen opened her viperous mouth?

Hands almost ripping into the blanket, Flora asks in a tight voice, “Where is Darlin?”

Niall pauses halfway through the door, “I visited Lady Darlin in her study earlier, she might still be there.”

Flora frowned. “Is she ill?”

“Nothing too serious” Not that I’d tell you if it was… It is an open secret amongst the servants that Flora is not to know when Darlin serves such punishments as it will worry her kind heart.

“Would you like anything, my Lady?” Hazel panders.

Flora’s stomach was only starting to calm and her worries have worked up a headache. She craves a rest, but to end the nagging within her, “I’m going to see my sister.”

With Hazel’s help, Flora throws a cardigan over her nightgown, wears her slippers, and is off.

Annie stared at the door long after it shut behind Flora and Hazel, the reality of her situation finally setting in. 

Flora crosses the hall in strides. It’s not fair! Why did she need to live or act like Darlin or anyone else to be worthy of a life she was randomly born into? 

No matter what anyone says, the blonde could never reconcile her heart to Darlin’s tepid kindness, Felicity’s intimidation, or any noble lady’s facade of grace and purity. 

Just look at sister! She presents Darlin as evidence to argue with her insecurities, She didn’t open her heart and made Heinrich feel lonely. She’s too proud to listen to others so she can’t grow close to them, and all she thinks about is pleasing the Duchess.

If one really thinks about it, hasn’t Flora been picking up Darlin’s slack? 

Gretchen did not consider Flora is the pitiful one, always needing to defend Darlin’s prideful attitude. How often did she apologize on behalf of her sister each time people vented to her about Darlin’s arrogant attitude?

I also worked hard! Why are the fruits of her labor so bitter?

Flora was ready to barge into the study, only to hear a hatefully familiar voice from inside. Gretchen had beaten her there.

Grimacing, she hops back and remains hidden beside the ajar door.

Why is she here? The Rayne sisters are finally of like mind. 

Casually, Darlin shut the ledger and placed it over a pile of invoices. “My Lady, this is not a place you should bother gracing.”

Against Darlin’s hopes, Gretchen’s attention entirely remains on the ledger. “Don’t tell me you are handling the accounts.” 

Darlin quickly weighs her words then replies with almost childish curiosity, “Is there a problem if I am?”

Gretchen guffawed. “It’s ridiculous!”

“Hm? Is the Countess worried for me? I admit there were some hiccups at the start, but one can only expect so much from a thirteen year old.”

“Thirt…!” Gretchen’s words are swept up in a breathless rasp. “You don’t actually expect me to believe you’ve been doing this on your own for that long.”

“Certainly not! I could have never done it without the Dame’s advices.”

“Even then…!” The words were absurd but the proof is all around— the matriarchal signet meant to grant control over every account adorns Darlin’s right index. The shelves spanning wall to wall, floor to ceiling, are filled with books with dated spines. The handwriting didn’t match Isabelle’s. Much too perfect for that twit.

Gretchen beholds Darlin with new found respect. “This can’t be.” She shakes her head. “Logically speaking, the Dame can only teach you the basics. That’s nowhere near enough for anyone, let alone a child!” 

Running a house’s accounts requires insight, careful planning, adaptability, and dynamism. 

Expenses change with seasons— the household needing modifications to to keep it livable, servants require new uniforms, carriages must have the appropriate reinforcements, and so forth.

One needs to consider socializing. Soirées and parties always cost a fat bit of money to host or attend— seating, entertainment, food, drinks, gifts, flowers. It’s also considered a faux pas to repeat outfits.

For the family, one needs to consider food stuffs, tutors, governesses, books, school fees. And that’s excluding the add ons nobles learn to set themselves a little apart from their peers or pursue certain careers— poetry, music, languages. The members of the family also have allowances to be allocated for their personal spending. 

You would also need to personally know merchants and how to deal with them. You mean to say a child was capable of all that! Gretchen herself always has the assistance of her Head Butler to get through a normal day because, for a noble house, expenses are never ending.

“S-So… parties and such, you…”

“Of course!”

“Salaries?” 

“I mean, they won’t work for free.” Darlin giggles.

“Allowances.”

“Naturally.”

Unbelievable! “Maintenance, bookkeeping, employee records, clothing, taxes, feeding!”

Darlin holds up a hand as if she were a student answering a question. “All me.”

“That makes no sense! What about when you were in the academy?”

“I took the ledger with me and mother would regularly send me receipts and such.”

Gretchen was speechless. Now that she thought about it, didn’t she see Isabelle way too often? That woman is either perching around the bastard, or spending time fortuitously. 

A true matriarch cannot afford such idleness. Even someone of Gretchen’s caliber spent two days arranging a budget before she dared leave her home.

…No wonder! Gretchen recalls noting rises and declines in the frequency and quality of the Rayne’s social events. The declines line up perfectly with when Darlin would have been at the academy, and the rises with her holidays. Back then she didn’t dwell on it and simply left early when the party wasn’t to her liking. 

Gretchen presses a hand to her throbbing forehead. “I can’t believe this…” It’s not fair! Certainly Gretchen loves her precious Narcisse, a headache he can sometimes be, but at the edge of that love, a voice weeps. If she had a child like Darlin, if Darlin were hers…!

“By the way, Countess, did you need something?” Now that Darlin has tattletaled, she wanted Gretchen out of her sight. 

“Oh, don’t mind me. I was only looking for some educated company to keep.”

Faking concern, Darlin stands and directs Gretchen to join her on the couch. “You look a little tired, my Lady.”

“Is it that obvious?” Gretchen cups her cheek with a forlorn sigh, certain she’s gotten some wrinkles since she’s had to deal with Flora. “I know I’m supposed to make her into a proper lady before the wedding, but at this rate…” That Flora is more tenacious than I expected! 

“How much time do you have left?”

Gretchen confesses in a groan of frustration, “Twelve days.” Knowing how much Felicity trusts Darlin, and how Darlin has accommodated all of Gretchen’s behavior, the older woman doesn’t bother to be cautious. 

Her words have Flora almost choking on her saliva.

Hazel’s heart starts with anticipation. At this rate, I’ll be maid to the Duchess Apparent! “My Lady, this is great news!” She quietly squeals.

The young bride felt nauseous all over again. Nodding stiffly, she gestures for Hazel to leave. As soon as the confused maid is gone, she drops her weight against the wall, panting as noiselessly as she can. 

Her lips tremble and Flora finds herself opposing, No, it’s too soon, I—! Her sudden unwillingness shocks her, but Flora chooses to continue eavesdropping than wonder on the state of her supposedly lovesick heart. 

“My Lady, if you would permit me a suggestion,” Darlin said. “My sister has longed for Sir Heinrich for years now. The depths of her affections can be… worrying...”

“More like obsession,” Gretchen scoffs. She leans close to Darlin, inquiring in a whisper, “Did she really try to…”

The white haired girl nods, her voice solemn. “I am afraid so.”

Gretchen reels back with a gasp. Felicity hinted at it, yet the confirmation still throws her for a loop. “I never!” The horror in her voice contrasts the rich excitement for gossip in her amber eyes.

“What I am trying to say is; such a will is hard to break. In truth, Countess, you have two days to make a Duchess Apparent out of my sister.” 

Flora’s brows almost touch her hairline. She didn’t hear wrong earlier, so what in the world is Darlin saying now?

“As expected, you catch on fast.” Gretchen spills without reserve, “The invites will be out in two days. I presume it will be a small affair— much smaller than previous Fritz weddings— but ten days to prepare is still a gamble, don’t you think?”

“If anyone can pull it off it will be Duke Vincent. In any case, why not focus on protecting the Duchy’s honor? It will be to the Fritz’s detriment if my sister cannot perform the wedding ceremony well, so, for now, should you not turn your efforts to teaching her those.”

“But the Duchess…” 

“I know what Her Grace desires. …As it is, are you confident you can fulfill it?” 

Gretchen gulps. “R-Right, I should choose more wisely.” And by that, she means she must do what’s best for her.

Hearing Gretchen and Darlin round up their exchange, Flora picks up her skirt and rushes to duck beside a pedestal further down the hall. 

Thankfully, Gretchen heads in the opposite direction from her hiding place. Determined not to catch as much as her shadow, Flora only leaves her hiding place when Gretchen’s footsteps are no longer audible. 

Flora’s fervent feelings have fizzled out. She knocks lazily, pushing inside when Darlin’s permission echoes through the door. 

“Flora,” Darlin asks with a note of surprise before turning her attention back to the ledger. “what brings you here?”

“…He said it wasn’t serious…”

Darlin really wanted to get through the expenses accumulated during her confinement, but it didn’t seem like Flora is about to take a hint and leave. “What is not serious?”

Perhaps because Darlin vaguely resembles her younger self right now, Flora cannot muster the emotions that prompted her to hasten to the study. 

Darlin’s cheeks are sunken, her collarbone much too visible, and her under eyes bruised. 

“Why aren’t you resting?” Flora was suddenly upset. “You’re clearly ill, so why aren’t you in bed right now?!”

“Will you take care of the accounts for me?” Senseless pity is the last thing Darlin needed. 

The ire in her voice came as a shock to Flora. “I… I’m just concerned about you!” It felt even worse because none of that ire can be seen. “Why do you close your heart and insist on doing everything your way? Don’t you care about those you worry?”

Three days without sufficient food or water had taken more of a toll on her mind than Darlin realized. Once she started laughing, she couldn’t stop even if she wanted to. “Goodness!” She chortles, “You are worried about me?”

Flora pouts and stomps her foot. “Isn’t that to be expected of family? It’s so cruel how easily you dismiss good intentions, sister.”

Just like that, amusement is replaced with irritation. What the fuck is she on about? “Who—“ She stops herself with a gnash of her teeth, knowing she will be confined again if she were to ask; who the fuck wants such cheap affections?

“Family”? It’s so stupid it’s not even funny. Isabelle and Howard aren’t her parents, but Flora’s— just as this is a house Darlin grew up in but is Flora’s home. 

“So, you came here because you were worried about me?”

Even if Flora somehow managed to not glance off guiltily, Darlin would know that isn’t the case at all. It never is. That’s right, you’ll only come find me when you need something. Whether to make requests, or receive some validation, Flora simply doesn’t have the capacity to worry about her sister.

“Is it so hard to believe that might be the reason?”

Flora’s poor avoidance brings a wooden smile to Darlin’s lips. She widens her red eyes innocently. “Well, you have never done so in the past, have you?”

Flora’s mouth starts ahead of her brain, “Of course I—!” only to realize there is no defence going forth.

Since they were young, Darlin has always suffered from “health problems” according to her parents and servants. Outside of that, Flora finds she doesn’t know much else of Darlin’s condition.

Forget visiting Darlin, Did I ever ask about it? How Darlin was, what’s being done to make her feel better? …I never asked? That didn’t sound like the Flora Rayne she knows. 

Her eyes fall on the ledger and the sound of scribbling fills her ears. Flora realizes Darlin’s hand never stopped moving since she entered. Even as they converse, she is handling the accounts without perceivable struggle. 

Flora is reminded of Gretchen’s shock towards Darlin carrying out such work. “I didn’t know that’s what you were doing in the study all this time…” She thinks aloud. 

Darlin looks between the ledger and the shelves full of old financial records, a bitter taste crawling up from the back of her throat. “You needed mother.”

“Excuse me?” 

“When we were younger.” Darlin reminds her half-sister, “You were heartbroken over my engagement and father got busier with work. Mother had to find a way to give you all the attention you asked for.” For such a stupid reason Darlin’s adolescence and teenhood were spent in a dreary fashion with only the smell of ink and paper to accompany her. 

Flora’s jaw dropped slightly. “You took on this sort of work… because of me…?” 

In all honesty, if she had not overheard the conversation, she wouldn’t have known how strenuous it could be. 

The telltale sign was that Gretchen did not fawn over Darlin as usual. Instead, she seemed downright appalled Darlin was doing this work on her own. 

“Is it tiring?” Flora hoped to the gods it wasn’t— for hers and Darlin’s sakes.

Darlin really couldn’t understand why they were having this senseless back and forth, nor where it’s going. 

With a deep sigh she stabs the quill into the ink pot, finally giving Flora all her attention. “You still have not told me what brought you here.”

It was uncomfortable. Darlin’s stare sent something wriggling under Flora’s skin, a weight in her stomach bringing her down onto the couch. 

To avoid meeting Darlin’s eyes, Flora takes interest in the garden view through the window. “I was thinking earlier, we sisters are very contradictory.”

Darlin cocks a brow and Flora is only able to go on after a large inhale, “I won’t be able to be the Duchess everyone expected you would be.”

Darlin smirks. “I think that is without question.” If her life spent in a coma is any clue, then she could assume Flora never rose to the mantle of Duchess Apparent, though she held the seat. She would have chattered my ears off with complaints if she had to learn to do a third of what I did. Flora merely had to safely birth Fritz’s heir and live like the singular flower in a vast greenhouse. 

“Even at that, I’m determined to be a great Duchess.” For her next question, Flora forces herself to meet Darlin’s eyes. “Do you think that’s possible for me?”

The question took Darlin off guard, but only for a moment. A small smile plays on her lips when she realizes this is the same Flora she’s known through every lifetimes. Ah, emotional validation, is it? I guess the old cow managed to get to her a little. Still, Darlin did promise Flora would receive no more help from her, “Flora, I think you will be very memorable.” so it only makes sense to point her down this ruinous path. 

There’s no telling if an honest response would have stopped Flora from proceeding with the wedding. She has always looked on the brighter side, that being the side that says what she wants to hear, has what she desires. Flora doesn’t ponder why Darlin gave such an inverted response, nor consider a slap can be just as memorable as a first kiss.

No. Her puerile, rose pink eyes sparkle once more. 

Now, she is assured she’s let Gretchen and the stress of everything force her to be pointlessly hard on herself. “Darlin, I believe you and I should consider a change.” Pausing, Flora thought something over, then asserts with a confident glimmer in her eyes, “No. We need to change.” 

“Enlighten me.” 

Her sarcasm went unnoticed with Flora being too consumed with how to breach the problem. “Well, the thing is… um…” Clutching her skirt, she spews in one breath, “Sister, your cold attitude makes others feel lonely. It’s the case for Heinrich, me, and others. Mother and father also struggle because of it!”

Seeing Darlin’s eyes go wide, Flora thinks how sad it was they hadn’t held this conversation earlier. So she really didn’t know she was pushing everyone away. “Because you’ve been carrying your burdens alone, you’ve become distant. You wouldn’t listen to anyone and… and to be honest, we were all afraid of what sort of Duchess you would be.” Hoping to soothe the blow of her words, Flora adds, “I always tried to defend you, Darlin, and I think with effort you can build meaningful bonds with others and—!”

Darlin’s face had gradually morphed into a look of utmost hatred. Flora had never seen such loathing, let alone been on its receiving end. Every strand of her being cowered. 

Really, Flora is quite skilled at humbling Darlin. The regressor had no words. She thought she knew her half-sister well, but it seems there lie depths of foolishness Darlin is unable to comprehend. “You are… amazing, Flora. Truly,” She heaves, “you are beyond my wildest imagination… as always…!”

She could taste blood and Darlin didn’t know if she wanted to scream or cry. 

Her eyes land on the ink pot and she sees herself hurling it at Flora’s head. She’d stab her sister with the quill till it breaks within her skin, then rip out her golden tresses, claw her face, stomp on her body, bash her head in with the ledger. 

Darlin’s tongue laves over her dry lips, ears full of static. Shall I…? Honestly, why not?

Consequence is as frightening as a shadow when one holds, what appears to be, infinite rebirths. 

And, at the same time, consequence mocks her as everyone else escapes the recoil of their actions via her death. 

The scalding atmosphere is calmed with an aura of gloom pouring out of Darlin. 

Flora dared to call her name in a strained voice, “Darlin…?”

The white haired girl falls against the backrest, a vision of fatigue. Flora could almost fully convince herself that that demonic air was a trick of the mind.

Darlin smooths her palms up over her cheeks and through her hair. “We must live.” She avows.

Her statement seems to come out of nowhere, and Flora’s heart still isn’t calm enough to question the meaning behind it when Darlin pushes out of her seat and approaches her.

She looks at Flora with wide eyes and a dreamy smile. Darlin stops a foot or so away from Flora, the perfect distance to clearly see the fear, confusion, pitiful, infuriating, guilelessness in those pink irises.

If Flora weren’t as clear as a newly born fawn, Darlin would mistake her for a sadistic mastermind. 

For Darlin, Flora’s words mean that by bearing the weight placed on her by Felicity, Vincent, Heinrich, Flora, and their own parents, Darlin orchestrated her own destruction. 

When she collapsed under the strain of an unrequited love, she was stabbed in the heart by her husband. 

When she was angry and bore her heart for the first time, her mother pushed her down a flight of stairs. 

When she tried to surrender, Heinrich killed her child.

When her mind broke under pressure, a delirious tumble out the window saved her from being an old man’s plaything. 

Flora just unknowingly told Darlin that all these things were hers, Darlin’s fault! 

I see… Flora also unknowingly taught Darlin a very important lesson, There’s no way out— not one where we all get to be happy. It’s them or me! Between them and Darlin, there is no peace, no forgiveness, no help, no family! Darlin has been a one woman army from the day she was born. 

Pain brings her back, and Darlin realizes, at some point, she’d wrapped her arms over her stomach and dug her nails past her nightgown and into her skin. 

She stares down at her stained nails, the self inflicted wound a reminder of who was lost in her idiotic search for compromise. 

“Flora,” The blonde’s name has never sounded as haunting as it does now. “let us save this conversation for the future.”

“T-The… future…?” Flora could sense she was being lured. Where? She couldn’t imagine— she was too afraid to dare. 

A giggle slithers out of Darlin. Yes, it’s better to be alive— you and I, Heinrich, father, mother, the Duchess. Let’s live for a long, looo~ng time. “Be the kind of Duchess Apparent only you can be.” Darlin takes a lock of lustrous golden hair in hand, wondering if it will turn dull and scratchy from stress as hers once did. “Your love, your hope— my effort, my sacrifice. Let us talk about these things at a later time, alright?”

Flora drops her head in a stiff, singular nod. “…Al… Alright…”