Ersia: Raven Dawn

“It’s for Papa,” Viena said quietly.

The purple lady’s brow arched high. “So your papa sent you off to make money—even gamble, if you must? Oh, splendid. Take me to him at once. He and I absolutely have volumes to discuss.”

With a rustle of silk, she rolled her sleeves up and flexed her slim knuckles as though preparing for a brawl.

“What?! You’re wrong!” Viena snapped. “It was my idea. I thought I should chip in for our expenses. Papa’s a medevist—he can get enough money for us both.”

The woman stilled.

“Oh? A medevist, you say? What’s his name?”

“Ran!” Viena piped, lifting her chin.

“Ran?” the purple lady echoed, slowly.

A brief silence fell—thin and brittle as glass. Her fan lowered an inch.

“Ran who?”

Viena blinked rapidly, confusion washing over her features. “Ran… Ran?”

“Only Ran? No surname?”

“Err… no, I guess?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed faintly, lashes dropping like dark veils.

“That’s… unusual. A mononym.” Her voice had gone quiet, thoughtful. "Typically, only commoners have mononyms. But to become a medevist, you need a certain degree of status leverage given its exclusive nature."

Now it's the purple lady's turn to look perplexed. She decided not to push further and take a step back to think behind her fan. Meanwhile, Lisabelle who has been watching the two of them talking with each other, finally feels her voice coming back.

"Alright. So . . . what makes you so confident to participate in the betting?" The lady asked again.

"That's none of your business, Mrs. All-questions-but-no-introduction! You too, Vivi! Stop showing your underwear to strangers!" Lisabelle cut in and snapped at both Viena and the purple lady.

"My my! I thought I made locked your tongue for another minute! How come you are already talking?"

“Hmph! Enough of this. We’re leaving.”

Lisabelle seized Viena’s wrist and stalked off without another word.

“Farewell, darlings. Until very soon,” the purple lady called, her voice light as drifting silk.

---

With the blowing wind, Lisabelle grabbed Viena's hand and led her to walk away from the purple lady. Then, when they were far enough from her, they decided to take a turn to a nearby alleyway. After a few more turns, Lisabelle realized that the road had been confusing her a little. Despite that, she continues to push through.

How surprised they are when they find the purple lady standing at the exact same spot waiting for them after they take the last turn.

"Wha!"

"Well, hello my babies! I know I said soon, but I didn't expect we would meet each other again this soon!" The purple lady hides her coy smile behind her fan.

Lisabelle said nothing but only glared at her. Then she and Viena went past the purple lady again without saying anything. This time, she carved a completely different route. A longer one. Twice as many turns. Twice as many back alleys, only to end up all the same.

"Ah! There you are again! It must be really hard for you to 'miss' me! Pun intended!"

"Grr! Why you-!"

The same thing happened more than three times already.

Each time they wound through the streets, no matter how cleverly Lisabelle steered or how far they fled, they always came back to the same spot: the central park.

And each time, the purple lady greeted them with a lazy, needling smile.

Viena knew.

She recognized this feeling—this loop.

It had happened to her once before, long ago. The day she first met Randia.

This was deliberate.

This was her doing.

Lisabelle, however, could make no sense of why they always ended up back again to where they left off. They have tried everything. They even walk so far away without taking a turn at all until the purple lady vanishes on the horizon, swallowed by the curvature of the earth.—

Yet still, somehow, impossibly, they returned to the park as if no distance had passed.

"How many times have we met again today? I thought you kids were going somewhere? Pfft."

"Goddess! Just shut up, will you?! No one wants to see your face!"

"Lily!" Viena hissed.

Lisabelle made to storm off again—but Viena planted her feet firmly and caught her wrist. Her deep blue eyes fixed Lisabelle with surprising gravity. Slowly, she shook her head.

Stay.

Color flared in Lisabelle’s cheeks. Scowling, she folded her arms tightly and leaned against the nearest wall, eyes darting away.

An unspoken, sulky surrender.

“Well, well,” the purple lady crooned, gliding a little closer. “You act like you loathe me, but you keep coming back like a lovesick swallow. You’re that type, aren’t you, Lily? The warm ice kind.”

“W-who are you calling warm ice, you creep?!” Lisabelle barked, glowering red-faced. “You disgust me—period!”

“Fufu.” The woman’s fan dipped coyly. “That sounded more like an exclamation mark to me, sweetling. But no matter—I’m growing rather fond of you little kittens. How about a smooch from big sister as a consolation?”

The purple lady mocks Lisabelle by keeping herself in the girl's range of vision, as she keeps avoiding eye contact. Then, Viena suddenly grabbed the purple lady's coat, demanding her attention.

“Hey, lady,” she said quietly, seriously. “You can use the same magic as Papa, can’t you?”

The purple lady’s brows rose, surprised.

“Hm? What’s this now? You know about that spell?”

“Kind of,” Viena murmured. “Papa used it on me once.”

She lifted her chin, her gaze cool and measured.

“And now that I’m paying attention… the same people are here. Every time. That bearded jewel merchant by the fountain. The three blonde ladies chatting under the arbor. The umbrella peddler standing exactly three hundred steps away.”

She pointed, one after the other.

“They’re always in the same places. Always saying the same things. But no matter how hard I try to listen, their voices blur. Like they aren’t really there. So—yeah.

It must be that magic.”

Silence fell.

Lisabelle blinked, stunned. The purple lady blinked too—then slowly, a grin spread across her lips. Something in her eyes sharpened, glinting with genuine interest now, not just amusement.

“Well, well, well. Look at you,” she breathed. “Observant little fox, aren’t you?”

She reached into her sleeve and flicked something small and bright into the air. It spun once—catching the light—and landed neatly in Viena’s open palm.

“Congratulations! That was spot on!”

The purple lady’s smile deepened, sly and catlike.

“Here’s a present for you!”

Without another word, she swooped down and wrapped Viena in an extravagant hug, peppering quick kisses onto both her cheeks. Before Viena could wriggle free, the woman straightened with a flourish and plucked something from her coat pocket: a neat little sweet wrapped in crinkled paper.

“A candy!” Viena’s eyes lit up.

“Yes indeed! And it’s for you!” The purple lady waggled the sweet enticingly.

But as Viena reached out, her hand slowed.

A shadow of doubt crossed her face.

She remembered all too clearly the last candy she'd braved—it had puckered her mouth so hard it felt like her teeth had turned inside out. Baronberries. Vile little fruits.

Her expression pinched, and the purple lady caught it instantly.

“Hm? What’s wrong, little dove? Don’t like candy?”

“Is it sour?” Viena asked warily.

“Sour? Aye no!” The purple lady laughed. “Sweet as sin and twice as nice!”

Still, Viena hesitated.

She turned to Lisabelle, the candy pinched delicately between her fingers.

“Lily. You try it first.”

“Eh?”

“If it’s sour, you can keep it. If it’s sweet, give it back.”

Lisabelle blinked, thrown off balance—but with a huff and a roll of her eyes, she accepted the challenge.

She popped the sweet into her mouth.

Her brows twitched upward almost at once.

The flavor bloomed on her tongue—honeyed and rich, with just a whisper of tartness that sharpened the sweetness rather than biting it. And beneath it all, a silky milky note that softened everything like velvet.

It was… divine.

“Lily! How is it?” Viena bounced impatiently.

Lisabelle’s lips pressed together, eyes distant, lost in bliss. She didn’t answer.

“Lily! It’s sweet, isn’t it?! Give it back!My candy!”

A mischievous spark flickered in Lisabelle’s eyes.

Slowly, stubbornly, she sucked the candy deeper into her cheek and crossed her arms with mock indifference.

Viena scowled.

Determined, she lunged—clambering right onto Lisabelle, squishing her cheeks between her small palms.

“Spit it out! Spit it out!! It’s mine!!”

Lisabelle spluttered under the ambush, laughing despite herself. Finally, with a sigh of defeat, she plucked the candy from her mouth and dropped it gently into Viena’s open, expectant one.

“Mmhm!” Viena’s entire face lit up.

Warmth and sweetness unfurled on her tongue like golden ribbons.

“Tasty, isn’t it?” The purple lady cooed, tilting her head.

Viena gave an emphatic nod, beaming.

“Yes! Very much so!”

The purple lady chuckled, rich and velvety, and reached out to tousle Viena’s hair.

Her gloved fingers sank into the platinum strands with surprising gentleness.

Oh, she could see it now — clear as day. A glimmering, uncut gem of talent nestled in this small girl’s mind. Perception sharp as glass, memory like silk.

Yes.

She might have found someone interesting at last.

“The spell I’ve been using on you both,” she said lightly, “is called Replica Reminisca.

It toys with your senses and perception by looping the texture of your most recent memories.”

“I’ve read of it before,” Lisabelle cut in, arms still folded but eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “To break it, you wash your face with purified water.”

The purple lady’s brows arched, impressed.

“Yes! That’s absolutely correct. Well done.”

Lisabelle hesitated, cheeks coloring faintly.

“…Do I get a candy for that?”

Her voice came out flatter than intended, but the hopeful glint in her eyes betrayed her. She couldn’t quite stop herself from drolling over the thought.

The purple lady’s grin widened, devil-may-care.

“If you let me smooch your cheek, like I did your sister… then yes.”

“Kuh—! Forget it!” Lisabelle barked, face reddening sharply.

The woman laughed again and, with a deft hand, gave Lisabelle’s hair a quick ruffle.

Oddly enough, Lisabelle didn’t swat her away.

She merely exhaled sharply through her nose, tolerating it with a grudging tilt of her head.

The purple lady’s smile softened subtly. A gesture of trust, no matter how small.

“This spell,” she continued, voice growing smoother, almost thoughtful now, “is no child’s trick. It’s high-tier. Your papa must be a formidable mage. I’m surprised I’ve never heard his name in the circles I move in.”

“Yes!” Viena beamed proudly. “He’s really good! Though… he gets angry a lot when he’s working.”

“Mm,” the woman hummed, her eyes narrowing in faint amusement. “A perfectionist, then. Typical of the gifted.”

But Lisabelle wasn’t smiling.

Her weight shifted subtly off the wall, gaze sharpening, tone cool.

"Hey, lady. The way you talk shows as if you know quite a great deal of the better people, isn't it about time you introduce yourself already?"

The purple lady immediately realizes that it's not just Viena, Lisabelle herself is also a sharp one. She is listening carefully and reading between the lines. It takes only the slightest slip of the tongue by the lady, and she quickly catches on.

"That's true."

The purple lady straightened, heels planting firmly, stance widening ever so slightly. With a snap of her wrist, she flicked her fan open and veiled her face behind it, eyes glinting over the edge.

A heartbeat later, she folded it closed again — crisp and smooth — as though wiping her expression clean.

Her hand found her waist, her body bending with a languid grace, poised like a lady long-accustomed to salon intrigue.

But before a single word of introduction could escape her lips, a commotion clattered toward them.

A short, burly man burst into view, dragging a man-drawn cart piled precariously with boxes. Sweat poured down his ruddy face, and the wheels of the cart shrieked as it bounced over the cobbles.

“Lady Laura! My lady! Thank the stars, I found you!”

The purple lady’s brow twitched.

“Goldun, you oaf! Where have you been all this time?”

“What?! I should be the one asking that!” Goldun puffed, chest heaving. “What in blazes made you run off and leave me stranded in the middle of the market?!”

“Silence, pig!” Laura snapped, snapping her fan open again with a sharp crack. “I go where I please. Your job is to anticipate my whims and meet them — no matter how sudden. Or I’ll dock your pay.”

Goldun sighed heavily, shifting the boxes on his back with a grunt. “Sure, sure. Whatever you say, my lady…” His eyes slid toward Viena and Lisabelle, narrowing curiously.

“So who’re these girls? Your illegitimate daughters?”

The words had scarcely left his mouth before Laura’s eyes flashed.

With a flick of her fingers, the same illusory spell she’d cast earlier shimmered to life — twining about Goldun’s head — plus one extra flourish.

Goldun’s pants jerked violently upward, flipping him head-over-heels straight into an empty barrel standing nearby.

With one well-placed kick from Laura’s boot, the barrel rattled and spun, careening down the road and disappearing into the bustling crowd from which Lisabelle and Viena had first emerged.

Viena burst into uncontrollable laughter, doubling over.

Lisabelle, meanwhile, flinched, brows knitting.

“H-Hey… don’t you think that was a bit much? Is he going to be alright?”

“Bah.” Laura waved her hand dismissively. “You waste your worry, Lily. He’s a half-dwarf. Sturdier than this city’s walls. He was made to be beaten senseless.”

“O-Okay… if you say so…”

With a quick breath, Laura smoothed her skirts, adjusted her gloves, and cleared her throat primly.

Her gaze settled back on them, warm and gleaming.

“Now. Back to business.”

She dipped into a slight, precise curtsy — elegant, theatrical.

“My name is Laura Clarentine. You girls may call me Laura.”

Her lips curved, playful.

“Big Sis Laura is acceptable as well.”

“Clarentine?!” Lisabelle gasped, straightening abruptly.

Laura chuckled, clearly savoring the reaction.

Yet as her gaze flicked to Viena, her amusement faltered ever so slightly.

The young girl’s expression remained utterly placid — not a blink, not a flicker of surprise.

Usually, the mere mention of her surname sent people scrambling into politeness, smiling awkwardly and fumbling to adjust their etiquette. But Viena simply tilted her head, unbothered.

“(What’s a Clarentine?)” Viena whispered sideways to Lisabelle, voice feather-light.

“(That means she’s the daughter of the minister of foreign affairs!)” Lisabelle hissed back. “(She’s super royalty!)”

Laura’s grin widened wickedly, clearly having overheard every word.

“That’s right! I’m the biggest, baddest royalty there is! Fufufu!”

Her laugh, rich and self-satisfied, echoed off the stone walls, drawing glances from passersby — but Laura paid them no mind in the slightest.