Ersia: Raven Dawn

“You look tired, Grandma.”

Lisabelle draped the blanket gently over Eleanor’s frail frame, smoothing it across her thin shoulders. Then, she wrapped her fingers softly around her grandmother’s hand. The skin felt colder than she remembered, the veins raised and the tendons slack, as though time had quietly stolen the strength from them when she wasn’t looking. It unsettled her — twisted quietly in her chest like a wire of guilt. This was the same woman who once bustled about the house with tireless resolve, conquering chores others half her age would have balked at. Now she lay still, as delicate and brittle as an autumn leaf clinging to its final branch.

“I suppose I am,” Eleanor replied, her smile gentle but worn.

“You should rest,” Lisabelle murmured, tucking the blanket in more securely. “I’ll take care of the house… and make you a new sweater vest next week.”

Eleanor’s brows lifted, amused. “Trying new hobbies, are we? Now that you’re under house arrest?”

“For six months straight,” Lisabelle deadpanned.

Their laughter mingled — soft, close, unburdened for a rare moment. When it ebbed, Lisabelle rose quietly and slipped from the room, letting her grandmother sink into sleep undisturbed.

Outside the doorway, a flicker of movement caught her eye. Viena — peeking from behind the wall like a mischievous little goblin, her deep blue eyes wide and unblinking. The sight made Lisabelle jolt slightly before composing herself. She approached slowly, her steps measured.

They stood face-to-face for a long, taut breath, neither speaking.

“What?” Lisabelle finally asked, her tone edged faintly with irritation.

“…Nothing.”

“Really? What is it? Just say it already.”

“No.”

"You're getting on my nerves! Spit it out already!" Lisabelle narrowed her eyes, then lunged forward and caught Viena’s wrists as the girl tried to dart away.

"No! You'll hurt me like the lady!" Viena cried out, her voice cracking, twisting free a memory Lisabelle had tried hard to bury.

Lisabelle froze, her breath catching sharply in her throat. She knew Viena was just a child — her understanding muddled, her fears unripe and fragile — but still, something raw and jagged clawed at her chest. Slowly, carefully, she loosened her grip and drew Viena close, wrapping her arms around her with the same quiet gentleness Eleanor had shown her moments ago.

"I would never do such a thing to you. You don't need to be afraid of me. Just trust me."

For a few long seconds, Viena was still. Then, cautiously, her small hands slid to Lisabelle’s waist. Relief bloomed in Lisabelle’s chest, warm and buoyant. At last — understanding. At last — forgiveness.

But just as her smile began to form, Viena wrinkled her nose and shoved her away abruptly, gagging.

“Ugh! You are so STINKY! Did you even take a bath this week?!”

“What?!” Lisabelle staggered back, scandalized. “How dare you?!”

Without thinking, her hand flicked out and tapped Viena’s cheek in a light, reflexive slap — more startled reaction than punishment. Still, the sound cracked faintly in the air.

Viena’s eyes went wide. Her lower lip quivered before a wail erupted from her throat.

“Waaah! You’re a liar! You brute! You’re a bad person! Papa…!”

Lisabelle’s breath faltered. “Wait—! That was— I didn’t mean—!”

But Viena was already sprinting away, small feet pounding against the wooden floor as she ran sobbing toward Randia. Lisabelle stood frozen in the hallway, hands tangled helplessly in her own hair, frustration bleeding into remorse in thick, choking waves.

She let out a long, ragged sigh and dropped her arms. Slowly, she brought her sleeve to her nose and sniffed.

A grimace twisted her mouth.

“…Maybe she wasn’t wrong.”

Since the special rehabilitation center was poorly maintained since it only caters to a few people, its condition was rarely monitored by the officials. Cracked tiles, mildewed walls, and sparse provisions. Soap had been a rarity, and bathing more a privilege than routine. The grime of weeks lingered stubbornly.

“I’m such a mess,” Lisabelle muttered under her breath, her shoulders sagging. She ran a hand down her face and glanced toward the bathhouse.

“I need a long, long bath before I ruin anything else.”

---

An hour later, Lisabelle emerged from her bedroom, her steps light against the floorboards, her skin warm and supple from the long, much-needed bath. She wandered into the living room where the late afternoon light stretched soft golden shafts across the worn rug.

There, at the low table, sat Viena — her feet dangling from the edge of the chair, her lips dusted with crumbs as she munched on peanut cookies. A stub of charcoal pencil worked busily in her hand, scraping faint lines across a piece of paper.

Lisabelle crept closer, silent as a cat, her curiosity piqued. Peering over Viena’s shoulder, her eyes softened at the sight — a scatter of rough little drawings: radishes, onions, sprigs of herbs, and lumpy carrots sketched in simple, earnest strokes.

“What are you working on?” Lisabelle asked, her voice light.

Viena jolted. She snapped her head around, her curls bouncing, and in a flash, clutched both paper and pencils to her chest. Without a word, she bolted from her chair and dashed for her bedroom.

“Hey—!” Lisabelle called after her, a grin twitching at the corner of her mouth.

With quick strides, Lisabelle caught up easily and scooped Viena into her arms mid-run. The girl squirmed furiously, her small fists pounding half-heartedly against Lisabelle’s shoulder.

“No! Stay away from me!”

“Ugh—hold on, hold on! Just—look!” Lisabelle spun her around in her arms and pressed Viena’s face gently against her chest. “See? I’m fresh as a summer apple now!”

Viena’s protests faltered. A breath caught in her throat as the scent enveloped her — crisp, clean, and sweet, like an orchard in full harvest beneath a ripe autumn moon. Beneath the fruity notes, there was a soft undercurrent of amber and honeyed herbs, soothing and rich. Her small body relaxed almost involuntarily.

Viena blinked up, suspicion giving way to wonder. She knew that fragrance — it came from the amber-glass bottle sealed tight on the top shelf of the bathroom cabinet, the one she could never quite reach.

“I’m sorry for everything, okay?” Lisabelle murmured, resting her chin atop Viena’s head as she stroked her hair with slow, affectionate fingers.

A breath passed between them — easy now, uncoiled. Then Lisabelle gently set Viena down, excused herself for a moment, and returned holding a small object wrapped carefully in linen.

“Here. For you.”

Viena peeled back the cloth and gasped softly. It was a wool headband, soft white, with two floppy bunny ears stitched neatly at the top. The fabric was plush and warm to the touch, and as she waved it in the air, the ears flopped comically, then bounced back upright as if enchanted with their own spirit.

“Haha! It’s funny!”

“What? You don’t like it?” Lisabelle asked, arching a brow with mock offense.

“No, I like it! Are you really giving this to me?”

“Of course,” Lisabelle replied, her smile tugging higher. “I realized it’s hard to spot you in a crowd — you’re such a little shrimp. So, this’ll give you a few extra inches. Vertically, at least.”

She knelt and slid the headband gently over Viena’s hair. The little girl immediately wiggled her head, making the bunny ears bounce and dance. The sight tugged hard at Lisabelle’s heart — her cheeks flushed faintly pink, lips pressing together to contain a grin too wide to hide.

“How do I look? Do I look weird?” Viena asked, her tone almost shy beneath her usual boldness.

“N-No… it fits you perfectly,” Lisabelle managed, clearing her throat. “But how does it feel on your end? Comfy enough? I can make adjustments if it’s too snug or scratchy.”

Viena tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Hmm… Can it give a cool breeze like Miss Laura’s coat?”

Lisabelle blinked, then let out a short, sharp laugh. “Heh. You don’t know how much a metagraph costs, do you?”

“The cooling magic stone? A hundred rios, maybe?”

Lisabelle scoffed and crossed her arms, leaning her weight onto one hip. "2 grands is the cheapest. The good ones cost 4 grand, and the top ones double that amount."

Viena’s jaw dropped. “Eight grand?! That’s like nine months of work with decent pay! … Eighteen months if we work with Papa!”

Viena pinched one of the bunny ears between her fingers, rubbing the wool thoughtfully with a face as serious as a merchant weighing gold dust. Without warning, she dropped the ear and threw her arms around Lisabelle for the second time that day. The sudden embrace startled Lisabelle; her breath caught — but she softened almost instantly, wrapping her arms around Viena without hesitation, her chin resting lightly atop the girl’s crown.

“Cam I heb the epul pewfume too?” Viena mumbled against her chest.

“The apple perfume? Oh—you mean the scented oil I used?” Lisabelle asked, her voice amused and fond. “Sure. Go ahead and use it. If it runs out, we can just buy more later.”

"

“But I cam’t tek it. You pud it so haif om de selbs,” Viena muttered, still burrowing her face into Lisabelle’s blouse.

Lisabelle blinked. “You can’t reach it? But it’s not even that—” She cut herself short, sighing with exaggerated weariness, though the corners of her lips twitched upward. “What am I going to do with you, really? I think I’ve said this before — but how come you are so small when your father is so big? Fine, let's put it on the lower shelf,"

She ruffled Viena’s hair gently. At that, Viena suddenly stepped back and planted her fists on her hips. Her smile burst forth, brilliant and unclouded, like the first clear sunrise after a week of rain. There was a quiet finality in her posture — as though she were marking the start of a new chapter by her own decree.

“Alright then. Apology accepted. Thank you, Lily!” she beamed.

The sheer earnestness of Viena’s gratitude tugged a smile from Lisabelle before she could even think to resist. But no sooner had the tension between them unraveled than a voice drifted from the back door.

“Viena,” Randia called.

Both girls turned. Without a word, they padded toward the backyard where Randia stood amidst the tilled soil, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. Beside him, Alan and Gwen knelt among rows of sprouting green — carefully tending to a patch of Eleanor’s sunflowers whose purpose was, for the moment, unclear.

“Papa! You called?” Viena chirped, bounding forward.

Randia set his shovel aside and approached. His gaze flicked first to the bunny-eared headband perched atop Viena’s hair, then shifted, slow and deliberate, to Lisabelle. His expression gave little away, but his eyes lingered with a faint trace of curiosity.

“That is a good headband,” he remarked evenly.

“I know, right?! Lily gave it to me!” Viena grinned, bouncing on her heels.

“That’ll make you easier to spot when you’re out and about,” Randia noted.

“I know, right? I said exactly the same thing.” Lisabelle chimed in, her voice alight.

While the three exchanged words, Alan and Gwen, hands deep in soil, exchanged glances across the flowerbed.

“I don’t remember seeing the young girl that talkative before,” Alan murmured under his breath, brow arching.

“Truly,” Gwen replied, brushing dirt from her palms. “Even the custody reports said she barely spoke three full paragraphs in a week.”

“The little one… was she mentioned in the report?”

“I think so… but not much. Just that she’s the doctor’s daughter. That was about it.”

The two fell quiet, mirrored frowns creasing their brows. Then, as if reaching the same unspoken conclusion, they each lifted a thumb to their chins and hummed in identical contemplation.

“Hmm…”

“Hmm…”

Alan shrugged first. “Well, whatever. What’s done is done.”

“Yeah. Let’s just get along with everyone. We’ll be here for half a year anyway.”

“And it’s not like Lisabelle’s actually a bad girl or anything, right?”

"Riiight. In the first place, it's hard to believe that a 15-year-old brat would beat an experienced soldier, even if they happen to be just a paramedic, right?"

"Riiight. You got a point there."

With that, the two men returned to their task, whistling and humming a popular city tune between them. They’d made a quiet pact: keep things simple, avoid needless trouble, and see the assignment through with a steady hand. No rule said they had to be cold with their charges — and no sense in stirring unnecessary discord.