- A Forgotten Legend Anaivere The First Special Chapter A Decade Of Legendary Tales

Tùy Chỉnh

An extraordinary chapter to celebrate the first great milestone in the Author's literary journey: ten years of continuous writing; also, to welcome the Author into adulthood with her twentieth birthday.

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25 May 1204...

"Fifth year...", the princess serenely marked a notch on a corner-post of her bed, counting the time had passed since her little creator had first come to visit her on her sixteenth birthday. Every year from that, on this same day, someone would come and show her somewhere enthralling without fail. Yesteryear was an... abnormality, but still, everyone turned out fine after all. Although knowing her Author would always visit her on her birthday (to be frank, it was the Author's birthday too), oftentimes she couldn't help but wonder... would the Author ever cease her annual visits, someday?

As she was pondering by the stone sill, all of a sudden a gloved right hand reached up and anchoring itself on the edge of the window sill, then a white-sleeved left arm pulled up, putting itself in a support position on the sturdy slab of stone. Anaivere stepped back a little from being startled, yet, as the courage had returned, she approached the pair of arms dangling outside her window. A strength-gathering grunt then followed a groan. After some considerable efforts, her guest was able to pull themself up and sit on the stone sill for a short rest. In their stamina-sapping tiredness, the person slowly turned over to Anaivere and offered her a smile.

"Now, this is new...", commented Anaivere after her guest's peculiar entrance, "At least, thine was considerably more discreet that thy ancestor's yesteryear..."

"What could you blame a French for being unable to find an English castle?", chuckled the guest as they took off their moss-stained gloves.

It was the first time this particular person had come to visit her, and it was... strange. She was more used to seeing them waiting somewhere in their imperturbable poise, dressing in an honourable black silk robe, not right in front of her (and sitting on her windowsill no less) with a familial gentleness.

"Her Excellency ordered thee to come picking me up?", inquired the addled princess.

"She did request me to pay you a visit some days prior, yes. But nay, to-day I came on my own accords", said the guest.

An uncomfortable insight had just passed through Anaivere's mind.

"Wait... Weren't you in the other side of the ocean at this time? Why did you go through that much troubles to see me!", cried Anaivere.

The guest put a finger to their lips and signalled the princess to be silent.

"Comparing to Your Highness who is about to sacrifice her short life for this kingdom, who am I that dares to whine?", smiled the guest warmly, "And for a person who crosses the oceans bearing Her Excellency's wishes, what is this but another thing to do?"

Anaivere sighed. As the soon-to-be crowned Queen, it was expected that her subjects' loyalty and services be offered to her; yet, why did she feel this odd uncomfortableness when the guest said so? It was almost... as if... they weren't created as a person like which fact they always were proud of, but a servant created only to serve without complaints. Anaivere reached into a drawer in her closet and pulled out a smaller-than-normal bottle of wine and bronze chalice, poured some to welcome the guest and stashed the rest back into the drawer. "Will spiced wine suit thy taste?", offered Anaivere the chalice to her guest, who was more than glad to receive. Forsaking every regal etiquette, the princess came and sat down on the stone sill by her guest's side, intimate as one closely acquainted peer to another.

"Hast thou ever... taken a moment to think for thy own good?", murmured the princess, just enough for the guest to hear. "Tell me, dear Sherline!... Hast thou ever consider thy own wishes for even once in thy existence?"

The legendary barrister of seven centuries to come was here, sitting by the soon-to-be Queen of England; one was a servant of the people, and one was their ruler. Such a scene could only be seen at this moment in time. For a figure who was always known for her ethereal poise, the Sherline coming to visit Anaivere to-day was dressed in very simple attire and her manners spoke a very down-to-earth human; not an immortal legend, just a mortal one. A white blouse tinted with some shade of muted plebeian colour, a marron foncé waistcoat, a pair of twill plus-fours and buttoned boots were all Sherline had; not so feminine, but could she even afford to be feminine, living in one of the most tumultuous and crime-ridden eras of history, and as a barrister no less?

Sherline, hearing Anaivere's concerned whispers, just stayed with the chalice still full in her hands; after a long silence, she gave it back to the host, requesting Anaivere to have some before she would accept the favour. "I am not some altruistic saint who lives a wholly selfless life, Your Highness, I am a human too...", replied she serenely, "But in the wuthering period we are living these days, my selfish desires are too insignificant for me to even dare mentioning. Nonetheless, they all the time just happen to align with my more selfless acts; if I were to want to live another day, it'd better that I choose to throw myself into the pyre for the sake of, well, essentially everyone else other than I..."

What kind of person that bears the name Sherline Holmes, Anaivere oftentimes wondered. The only times she could see Sherline were these annual gatherings, and despite they had interacted in numerous occasions, she always had this feeling of unusual distance whenever she was near Sherline; she was so near, yet so far at a same time. What was she thinking? What was she feeling? What had she seen and known since her creation? As they shared a creator and a spirit, Anaivere thought she could understand Sherline, yet, now Sherline was here, sitting next to her, and she realised that... there were many things about this kin of hers that she simply could not understand.

"Thou came by thyself to visit me. Is to-day by any chance a special day?", said Anaivere as she had a sip of the wine before passing it to the guest.

"No, not any particular 'special' day, Your Highness. But it is special indeed!", chimed Sherline, whose voice had taken in a child-like eagerness. This moment caused Anaivere to let out a chuckle, for she had caught a glimpse of a familiar in the person whom she regarded as unreachable. "This year marks a full decade since our Excellency officially penned the foundation of this wondrous Realm... We survived for a decade; that's ten years, can you believe! It's as though yesterday she was still the little artist scribbling vague forms of her imagination on the corners of her book! In my mind she somehow always looks like a child— like how she looked like ten years ago... the ink stains on her fingers... the eagerness in her eyes as she drafted her first characters... the tenderness in her spirit as she gave me a name to call myself... It's as though only a mere day or two had just passed, not a decade..."

Sherline's voice trembled, a hand reached up to cover her eyes as though she was about to tear up, her teeth bit her bottom lip as though to prevent an undignified sobbing, yet all Anaivere could see in the barrister was a proud grin. It was certainly rare to witness the calmest one in the Realm to express such wide range of emotions— and all at once, no less; comparing to the more expressive and consistent Hortense, Sherline was indeed... emotionally questionable. Now Anaivere, in the sake of the entirety of her remaining sanity, decided to stop wondering how could that be possible. After all hysteria had subsided, Sherline stood up on the stone sill, dusted the minuscule vegetations and dusts off her attire and took one quick glance of the scenery while giggling like a child.

"Ain't it ironic that the one who formed all these beauteous wonders is the one who only knows the colours of her window?", mused Sherline rhetorically, "This once again questions me of my own purposes (for I have not been created for just one reason). Truly, for what had she brought me into this realm, I reckon? So long we have been in this living hell, who even remembers that? For me at this moment, I just know I am the pillars-bearer, nothing else..."

The princess gave Sherline a narrowed side-look. "Thou art no altruistic saint, but everything that cometh out of thee speaketh selflessness...", remarked she with a playful laugh, "Well, I believe it is justified. Thou art the Realm's 'foundation' after all!"

As if sensing the time to leave, Sherline leaned a little out of the frame, looking around impatiently. Turning over to the still addled Anaivere, she offered the princess a hand. "Ready to go?", asked the very eager barrister.

As Anaivere was reaching for Sherline's hand, a sudden breeze passed by, tousling the latter's silky fringe and blurring her figure like a flickering candle in the wind. The princess let out a faint gasp; was this actually Sherline who came to visit me, for a moment she wondered and hesitated. Sparing no time, Sherline put a finger on her lips, gesturing silence and grabbed the princess's hesitating hand, swiftly while artistically throwing both of them out of the stone frame and into the overwhelmingly vast landscape that was seemingly about to swallow them whole. Although Anaivere herself was no stranger to this jumping-out-of-the-window business, her intuition couldn't help but make her cry and cling to the barrister's slender hand for dear life.

After all the panics had subsided, Anaivere found herself laying on the ground of a place too unfamiliar to even attempt to guess where or when on Earth was she. Poinciana leaves and petals tranquilly rained down upon her, and the warmth of sunlight caressed her pale skin; a little too warm, she would say. The place was paved with tiles of something like marble of different colours, enclosed with yellowed walls almost as high as the poinciana trees here; the building had no roofs but was two-storeys high, painted in some ancient shade of yellow and the balconies and pillars were pebble-embedded of sorts. Rows of rooms chained together by a long hallway, taking in sunlight by small painted wooden windows. In the centre of the courtyard was a high pole, facing a golden-marbled stage. Sherline was nowhere to be seen. The summery sun made the air in the courtyard unbearably hot, even overwhelmed the heat of Nottingham summer.

On the hallway of the second storey, to the right side of the golden stage, a little girl in blunt fringes and a braid could be seen walking lethargically toward the— what was it called again?— chamber with rows of water basins. A shadowy, featureless figure followed the child like a parrot following its owner. It floated in the air like a ghost, appearing to be three to four heads taller than the child and dressed in some earth-coloured attire.

Out of curiosity, Anaivere found her way up the hallway and somehow crossed way with the little girl. Both were stupefied. The girl rubbed her eyes as though to wipe off some hallucination out of them and continued staring at Anaivere as if having seen an alien for the first time; oddly, she didn't run away or cry, despite the degree of bewilderment in her expression.

The basin chamber's door opened and Sherline— now seemingly less transparent and more solid than a few moments prior— stepped out with an impossibly nonchalant face while drying her hands with a handkerchief.

"Enjoyed your nap, Your Highness?", smiled Sherline casually.

"Wherefore you two always bring me to places I can't even comprehend where on earth am I standing on anymore...?", sighed the fed-up princess.

"I chose the most familiar place of all for you to visit first...", commented the barrister sarcastically, "Her Excellency's maternal house is literally twenty walking seconds away, that five-storeys tower sticking out in the neighbourhood like a sore thumb. Though I can somewhat fathom your confusion, they rebuilt and repainted this place by the time you came to existence..."

"Con đó hả? Sao hôm nay nhìn con hơi khác. Có vẻ... chi tiết hơn...", remarked the girl under her breath, "Và cái con người này là sao, tại sao ta lại thấy?"

"None of your concern now, darling...", said Sherline cryptically, gently patting the child's head.

Gesturing Anaivere to move nearer to the balcony railing, Sherline left a brief farewell salute to the little girl, but it seemingly was addressed to the apparition behind her, which had begun to take the form of a young woman whose features reminisced Sherline of a day long passed.

"In this mortal realm there is no loyalty like your loyalty. So, take care of her... even if it means the cost of your life...", whispered the barrister with a nostalgic smile, "Good luck, Victoria..."

The apparition dutifully nodded.

Once again, Anaivere was made to jump out of a high place; even though she was no stranger to this, admittedly she was also nothing of a fan. Hortense and Sherline surely were kins by blood, that was the only thing she could be certain.

Their surroundings disintegrated the moment Anaivere felt her feet departed the solid grounds into a whiteness characteristic of the Realm. She made sure to keep her eyes fixated upon the fading silhouette of the girl until it vanished completely; an overwhelming regret and bewilderment then suddenly engulfed her.

That estranged look the girl gave her... it was... perplexing and somewhat painful to recall.

"Was that an illusion again, or was that truly our Excellency...?", mused Anaivere, "She... did not recognise me..."

"She wouldn't recognise anyone but that apparition— essentially my beginning— accompanying her. Noticing how she noted I looked 'oddly detailed'? Nothing of the legendary trio you've been acquainted of to-day has yet crossed her mind; she couldn't even tell with certainty that I was her creation! This year is a special one, so we won't see illusions, Your Highness. You will be seeing true tales of this Realm with your own eyes!", affirmed Sherline confidently to the worrying princess.

"Flying too close to the sun, aren't we, how can you be so sure that everything I witness to-day is the actual history?", snarked Anaivere. Sherline just laughed sheepishly and suddenly disintegrated into thin air once the princess found her feet on solid grounds.

"Wait... What art thou going again?!", panicked she.

Her surroundings started picking up colours and shapes until she found herself amidst a stone bridge in a foggy city. In the distance she could catch a glimpse of a majestic tower with round, bright windows at the top, one at each side. There were pointy black beams attached to the centre of the window, pointing to various numbers around the circle's edge. The sounds of horse's hooves echoed from a distance. A carriage madly rushed on the bridge, and something like a chaotic quarrel accompanied the rhythmic but frenzied gallops. As it passed by Anaivere, a carriage's door was busted opened and a small silhouette of a person was thrown out of it, tumbling like a rag doll on the stone bridge. She instinctively hurried towards the figure, either to check if they were unhurt or to help them if she could; yet, another surprise awaited her. The figure was an adolescent girl with dark brown hair in blunt fringes and braid, struggling to stand up and seemingly attempting to continue her chase of the runaway carriage.

"Craven scoundrels! Wait till I—", cried the child as she desperately trying to pursue in the direction of the accursed carriage.

With all her might, Anaivere attempted to restrain the child to prevent her from hurting herself further. "Unhand me! Right now! I won't let them escape this time!", cried the child, flailing and struggling to rescue herself from Anaivere's grasp. "Unhand me this instant! I'd never forgive those abhorrent murderers, them! Silenced an innocent child and attempted to get rid of another to conceal their crimes!"

Witnessing a small child could have such intense fire of vengeance in her voice made Anaivere feel a little sick. "Heaven will punish them for the deeds they did, but nothing can help you return if you make yourself into another addition in their victim count!", cried Anaivere, trying to calm the child down. For some reasons unknown to her, seemingly her voice was impactful enough to stop the child's rampaging fury, hence the latter resigning herself into Anaivere's arms.

After helping the child sit up and checking if there were any injuries, Anaivere leaned over to have a close look at her, whose familiarity in her visage almost made the former choke.

"Y—Your Excellency... no, Sherline...?", gasped the princess.

"Have you mistaken me for some one or two?", the child raised an eyebrow.

"Perhaps...", chuckled the princess sheepishly, "Who are you, then?"

"Just someone who's kind of affiliated with Scotland Yard. I am involving in a murder case...", faltered the child.

"Why a child as young as you are is involving in murther cases?"

"A child, heh? Do I miss being called that...", mused the child to herself.

"Care to trust me enough to tell me your name...?", asked Anaivere with a hesitating undertone.

"My... name?", giggled the child quite awkwardly, "Well, my creator just wrote down a paper of names and apparently she still couldn't decide what to christen me with. So for the time being, my creator lets me go with the first name she came up, Victoria Holmes..."

Anaivere listened to the child's narration with a solemn curiosity. If she were to believe Sherline's words, then everything this child said was true history. Reminiscing about the times she feared Sherline's imperturbable dignity, Anaivere felt like it was foolish of her at those times to even judge; could a person be judged with one colour to begin with? This Sherline— when she had yet been called by that name— could be no further than someone regarded as an untouchable pedestal. Even though the character was still simple and unrefined, the characteristics that made Sherline the person she was had been clearly defined.

Anaivere stayed there in an almost catatonic state, lost in her own ponders until being awakened by a hand promptly touched her shoulder. Sherline— the one she was acquainted with— greeted her again with a warm and thoughtful smile, but Anaivere couldn't feel in her heart the right feeling to reciprocate the courtesy. Instead, a hot tear discreetly dropped down from her cheek.

"I... I had no idea... Sherline... I—", stuttered the princess, struggling to keep herself from unseemly sobbing.

Calmly, Sherline passed Anaivere and came kneeling by the girl. With a caring familiarity, the barrister reached out to gently pat the child's head as she did moments prior to her young creator.

"You've noticed, haven't you, Your Highness? This used to be the same apparition following our Excellency ten years ago, and this used to be my reality, around nine years ago...", said Sherline with a nostalgic smile, "And yes, I did look like Her Excellency's rip-off at one point..."

"I don't care about how thou looked like years ago! I just want to know... didst thou really—?", cried Anaivere concernedly.

"—get involved with murders on a frequent basis at age fourteen, you say?", a giggle was her reply, "I told you everything you would see to-day was real history of our Realm and not illusions, did I not? I was born into the murder mystery genre; don't blame me for what I couldn't even help!"

"Thou could have waited for a few more years, couldn't thee? Why risking thy life at such a tender age of fourteen?"

Sherline glanced down solemnly at the youthful visage her younger self was bearing— the visage mirroring her own creator at the time. "Everything occurred here has been equivalent exchanges, really... When the naïvely daring little fool I called my Author was gambling her brighter future on the existence of this nameless creation, the least I believed I could do was to live in her stead the life she had lost as the cost of said gamble...", the barrister tried to assure the princess with a smile, "If you think putting my well-being on the line at fourteen is tender, then consider our Author doing the same at eleven. And this is just the mere tip of an iceberg! You told me to be selfish once in a while for my own good, and I understood that... but, Your Highness, I just cannot afford to be selfish when the only crutch for her dwindling sanity is my existence..."

Anaivere felt ashamed for having merely suggested that, even if she only meant Sherline's good. "Thou art indeed too selflessly heroic for thy own sake. Just like... thine Author!", cried the princess while trying to crack a smile.

"Maybe I am, really...", grinned the barrister, rubbing the head of her younger self who'd also been chuckling along. "You say I was too selflessly heroic for my own sake, 'tis true, but that is the very person you will strive to become, Your Highness... However, that's not the story to bring out this year, so—"

Another carriage rushed to the bridge, but it stopped short before it reached the trio. Concern shouts echoed in the air, and several men in blue hurried out of the carriage, calling young Victoria's name. "Well, I guess it's time for us to proceed, Your Highness...", said Sherline as she grabbed Anaivere's hand, helping the latter to stand up. The former pulled her running towards the bridge's railings, and with a swift, acrobatic movement, Anaivere once again found herself in the air, floating above the river Thames below. The surroundings and the tower vanished as soon as the duo departed, giving way to the familiar whiteness of the Author Realm.

"Can we not jump out of something to get to the next place for once!", growled the princess in annoyance.

"If I could somehow just snap my fingers and transition the whole scene smoothly like our Author, I would gladly do so...", murmured the subtly fed-up barrister.

"Then how can you be so sure we're not sightseeing illusions!"

"Ah... since when did you just... flatly disbelieve the words of the one you knew for a fact had witnessed all these things personally...?"

"No idea. My mind hath been acting strangely ever since I met you people... The illusions seem too real and the reality seems like illusions..."

"Pardon Her Excellency's (weird) preference for anachronistic tales, will you?", giggled Sherline idiotically.

The salty scent of the ocean, the coldness of the winds and the raging thunders of some upcoming storms almost overwhelmed Anaivere's senses. When she came to, the princess found herself on a beach near a high cliff, Sherline sitting by her side, eyes fixating upon the very end of the cliff. Someone was standing there, against the winds, the raging thunders, the occasional snow and raindrops, the desperation in the people seemingly calling their name at the base slope, facing the tumultuous oceans beckoning for them. This scene... Anaivere happened to have heard once to many times...

"Remember the fabled place and moment in time everyone has mentioned about it at least once, Your Highness?", asked Sherline flatly, still observing the person on the cliff.

"What was it?", the princess tried to rummage through her memory, "I had no idea why I remembered that... 'Twas Portsmouth, January 1882... or something?"

The barrister nodded, her expression turned solemn and she pulled her legs closer to her chest, in the same position her Author usually did whenever the latter was pondering about some desperate things. "It does bring back memories...", chuckled she connotatively, "But, this has been collecting dust for longer than I before thought..."

Abruptly and seemingly for no reason at all, Sherline jolted up and ran up the slope to reach the person over there. Instinctively, Anaivere followed suit. Halfway on the slope, Sherline suddenly stopped for a second and proceeded to walk, very slowly, towards the figure at the other end of the cliff. A group of people, seemingly antagonists, were restraining and growling at each other on this end of the cliff, but they also appeared to not be able to see either of the duo. The figure over there, unsurprisingly, was Sherline; a little older and a profound sorrowfulness could be found in her silhouette from behind. The woman turned over and her expression briefly brightened as she caught a glimpse of her younger-in-appearance doppelgänger and the stranger accompanying the latter.

"I must admit, I sure looked pathetic at that time...", smirked Sherline as she greeted her past self, "It was a hard time, wasn't it, Victoria?"

Time seemed to halt for everyone but them as soon as the two parties encountered. "Let's spare the bystanders this conversation, all right?", suggested the smug barrister. Anaivere gingerly approached the Sherline of this time, glancing at the features of the latter's visage and looking fearfully into the latter's eyes. She was still having her Author's blunt fringes, but the features had become more definitively alike to the Sherline of the later years. The sorrowfulness in her darkly coloured eyes was reminiscent of the Author's, yet they somehow bore a heavier burden than the one seen in the miniature matriarch's eyes— even though it was not so apparent at face value.

"Wait, am I hallucinating from all these headaches or thine eyes actually changed colours?", said Anaivere, squinting and darting her sight between the two Sherline.

"Our little artist has just revised our concept art again, eh? Now I wonder how different will you look at the next time you visit me...", snickered Victoria.

"Nay, I believe it has been finalised. She seemed very contented with me having redwood-umber hair and amber eyes, really, she probably is going to keep it like this", commented Sherline, "Still, I do miss my old dark-brown eyes. The dark colour veiled the sorrows quite effectively..."

"I am glad she would change our old blunt fringes too, because blunt fringes seem to be a tad idiotic on someone who solves cases for a living!", remarked Victoria, "You know what, I bet your side-parted fringes would look good on her also. How old is she at your time, by the way?"

"She is turning twenty to-day..."

"Oh, gods, you did survive that long! Must've been nice to be out of this hellhole. So, the little creator has grown up, hasn't she? The 'prophecy', my goodness, she may be touching it right now! Tell me she is almost there, darling! How is university these days? Has the fate turned for the better? Has she been on the mend?", chimed Victoria, bombarding Sherline with questions full of whimsical expectations as the former heard that the little Excellency had reached the age of twenty. This made Anaivere shiver a bit, because it was so outlandishly far from her anticipation and so abruptly. It was like, an entirely different person at a flip of a hand.

A laugh broke the excitement of the past's Sherline, but that laugh appeared it couldn't be further than a joyous laugh. Cold rain and snow followed the skin-slitting ocean winds slapped viciously on the trio. Returning to the fabled cliff to-day, Sherline stared down the raging waves below and cackled a maniacal laugh as though a devil had just possessed her; just Anaivere couldn't find any glimpse of the composed and poised barrister she always knew at this point. However, this slippage of sanity in Sherline this year looked eerily alike to their Author in the incident last year.

"It has been four years since we arrived in America's soil, Victoria...", murmured the barrister with a monotonously dead tone in contrary to Victoria's anticipation, "And our Author has been attempting to forsake this haunting past and rebuild her name anew... She even tried to gamble her way to you-know-where and the likes (presumably for our sake, but perchance she was just attempting to fulfil the you-know-what). Everything seemed smooth and we thought it was time to let the fate do its job..."

"At least she's no longer contemplating a trip to the golden spring. Isn't that an improvement?"

"...and the fate decided to throw all efforts the pathetic creature we call our Author accrued throughout all three years out of the window. No universities accepted her but one, and that lone one is definitely not the you-know-where. And that, my dear colleen, makes us the only person in the whole history of the Realm to wear the Crimson Veritas crest, ever. How I do hate to break our little fantasy, and how I do hate it more to see our little fantasy broken personally but— 'tis the truth, and 'tis the reality...", said Sherline, sitting down the grounds and letting her legs dangle on the edge.

"Ah, we are no stranger to this thing any longer, aren't we? The creator ought to get used to having her years of efforts being ground under fate's heel already! 'Tis nothing so desirable, but still I'll count it a blessing", grinned Victoria, patting her future self on the shoulder comfortingly.

"Blessing? Nothing comes for free in this Realm, you know. Everything is a trade and every miracle has its toll here. Each subsequent year we survive, another sliver of her sanity is whittled away. You really ought to see how deliriously hysterical she was last year, almost as cynical as a certain hero bearing a magical shield..."

After another maniacal laugh to clear her head, Sherline gathered herself to her feet, tucked on Anaivere's sleeve as if signalling "time to go". Victoria saluted them a farewell and returned to the fateful stand. "It's good to know I wouldn't be the only creation in the Realm in the morrow. Being the sole literary punchbag is taxing, you know that!", smiled the woman warmly.

"With more creations in the Realm you'll no longer be the sole punchbag, that's true, but you'll get promoted to the sole team-carrier; nothing differs, really, we are essentially still the Realm's resident lifeline", snickered Sherline, waving a goodbye back to her past self.

"So long, immortal punchbag. Take good care of our little Author and send her the past's regards, will you?"

It was the last phrase Anaivere heard before the past's Sherline threw herself of the cliff, offering her small, insignificant presence into the mercilessly vast ocean below. The princess gasped in shock and jerked her sleeve off Sherline's grasp, running towards the spot a moment prior stood the sorrowfully defiant Victoria and peeking down the edge, all the while languishingly calling the latter's name. She was nowhere to be found, and the only evidence that denoted her vanishing presence was a smudge of crimson smeared on a boulder being slapped over and over by the frigid waves at the foot of the cliff. Unceremoniously and unannounced, Sherline grabbed the princess at the waist, and both of them also jumped off the cliff as if to follow Victoria. Their scenery disintegrated as soon as their feet departed from the ground, with Anaivere thrashing in Sherline's arms and the latter trying to calm the former down.

"A servant of justice, thou sayest, and thou just stood there watching a person dies!", teared Anaivere.

"Calm down, Your Highness! I understand it was an extraordinary shock, but did you just forget out of the blue that person was literally me?", said Sherline as she attempted to soothe the princess's hysteria, "I survived, all right! That's just a price to pay for this Realm's survival (and my name)!"

The whiteness of the Realm led them back to the foggy city where Anaivere encountered the young Victoria. It was daytime and people now filled the streets. The medieval princess was given a long coat to cover her out-of-place antique attire as she was being led through the streets to their next destination. Londinium— called London at this age— was mind-bogglingly complex with its multitudes of houses, streets and neighbourhoods both affluent and plebeian, but Sherline appeared to have known by heart every nooks and crannies there were in the city. The duo's figures weaved through waves of people and carriages, through the fouler corners to the nobler one, to somewhere only Sherline knew. They stopped at a townhouse numbered 75 Baker Street and knocked at the door— or at least that was what Anaivere intended to do; Sherline, with an extraordinary nonchalance, took out a key and opened the door, entering the house without a shred of hesitation, as though it was her own place. Her eyes also darted around the décors with a familiar smile on her face as she led Anaivere on the stairs, stopping in front of a room on the second floor.

The door was wide open. The house's owner appeared to be lounging on a flowery armchair by the fireplace reading something, their back turning towards the two guests. The hem of a satin gown peeked out from behind the chair's leg, so it seemed that the owner of this house was a woman.

"How is the case progressing?", asked Sherline as though to a professional peer.

"You know it better, Shirley", replied the house's mistress, with a peculiar level of familiarity. The mistress's voice was identical to Sherline, albeit a little older in essence.

She stood up from the armchair and turned over to face her guests, revealing herself to be an almost spitting image of the Sherline everyone knew. The only thing that could be used to differentiate them here would be their attire, and as Anaivere noticed, the Sherline of this time appeared to still retain the dark brown eyes and hair of old.

The mistress of the house approached Sherline with a kind of casualness one would give to their own self, resting an arm on the latter's shoulder. Sherline seemed to be annoyed by this, quite surprisingly.

"How old is the little Excellency in your time, again?", it was the mistress's greetings.

"Twenty. Second year in university now", replied Sherline with the same nonchalance.

"Twenty, eh? Thank the heavens we made it that far, but... Has she—", an awkward cough interrupted her line, "—grown up, somehow?"

"We've been asking that since literally the debut of our swashbuckling ancestor, and the only difference I can see throughout all those years is her age", said Sherline as she gave her doppelgänger a side glance.

"What she appears to be and what she actually appears are really... mismatched...", commented the mistress with a facepalm, "Anyway, the case, has it perchance ended at your time?"

"Nothing can be further from that. We haven't even reached the fourth victim!", grinned Sherline sheepishly, "To be honest, eh, almost the entirety of this bloody realm were created during the time our little Excellency scribbled the first twelve chapters or so of this god-forsaken novel..."

"She really meant it when she said this shall be the novel of her lifetime", said the mistress, jokingly slapped her doppelgänger in the back. "Remember to make sure she completes this bloody novel before she bites the dust, all right? We won't be able to cross the golden spring in peace knowing the non-canonicals get all of their godly-complicated books completed and us the literal foundation of this Realm cannot get even the one from a simpler time done!"

Anaivere, bearing an annoyed expression, stepped in between the two Sherline and pushing them swiftly apart. "Ain't ye going to fill the cluelessly ancient one in here?", chid the princess. The two barristers both replied with a sheepish smile, one in sync with the other. "You two, I mean, you-two-as-one know too much about everything... while I... have no idea...", said Anaivere, hanging down her head embarrassedly. "Why art thou insisting to carry this burden alone, Sherline, knowing thou wouldst suffer by it? Please, let the shoulders of mine share thy weights too!"

Both Sherline flustered as the princess was about to tear up, trying to calm the latter down. The gowned one suggested they should take Anaivere to their Author to give the princess better understanding of the situation, but her doppelgänger protested. "Don't. For the sake of everyone... Please don't. You will regret it!", attested Sherline firmly.

"Why not, then? Her Excellency at this time has not been that much better than the last years (and she is having a fateful battle to worry her head off), but she is surely sane enough to be pleasant most of the time. She will not refuse a little storytelling to her own creations", rebutted the mistress, to which Anaivere guiltily nodded.

"You know the sky is always clear in the storm's eye, correct?", enunciated Sherline, her eyes darted toward her doppelgänger but the tone in her voice appeared to be addressing the princess. "She may not refuse a little storytelling for us, she may be sane enough to stay pleasant most of the time, but can you bear yourself to see her now, knowing well what would eventually become of her!"

"She is always in need of us, but we do not always respond to her. What use is it for us if we can't even make our Author happy? Please, Sherline, let me see her. Just once should suffice...", pleaded the princess.

The barrister sighed resignedly and gingerly carried herself to the armchair. The nightmares of old seemed to about to make her relive them once more. "You simply cannot make her happy again. You simply cannot...!", Sherline could be heard mumbling to herself. She hated herself for having such occasional disloyal thoughts, but they had been her reality for years— each successive day all she could see was her Author gradually degenerating from an innocently shy but cheerful child to an insufferably stoic and cynical entity, gradually losing what made her the person she was at the first place. Even though once in a while people could still see the little Author enjoying herself, Sherline knew it better— those smiles blooming on her creator's visage had clearly lost their vitality— it was as if she was doing this just for the sake of everything's existence, not for the joy it brought her anymore. She continued scribing and kept this Realm from crumbling onto itself because her ten-year-old self initiated that, not because she enjoyed the tales of her own creations. Where had the gleam that used to spark in those little eyes whenever a scene, a chapter— no matter what it was about— was completed, gone? "It is not more painful to know that... your Author has never been technically lost, yet you can never be able to claim her back. Your Author is always beyond your reach, even though... you know... she is just right there...", murmured the barrister in a soliloquy, "What prevails in her mind now that is not either blackness, insanity and disillusion?"

Now recounting the sightseeing, Anaivere realised the only instance of the past Author Sherline had led her to meet was at the very beginning of the journey. Even though the time was so far back neither the creator nor the creation was able to recognise each other, she could put a finger to the pureness, the innocence and naivety in said little child's eyes; they were the same virtues that made Anaivere in the legends the beloved of all people. This odd reaction of Sherline stemmed another cruel insight in front of the princess.

"I... understand now. We shan't force thee for an audience with Her Excellency any longer...", said Anaivere as her hands clenched the fabrics of her gown as though she was to claw them torn. It pained her to say so.

"Ah, thank goodness you understand that!", the melancholy in Sherline's voice suddenly faded away in a heartbeat, giving way to the eagerness from the beginning.

"Last time I checked, you and I had no qualms with letting Her Excellency recollect all the times we went salt vending to prepare for a reconstruction of our chronicle...", sighed the mistress to her counterpart.

"Surely you would like to return to the legendary days when she mused about you dying with an unholy frequency, eh, my colleen?", deadpanned the barrister, "The amount of strawberry jam in our canon is ungodly already by itself!"

"Nay, 'twas a dark age and surely we wouldn't want to return to such a time, would we?", said the mistress with a smirk as she approached the tea tray and poured one cup for her future counterpart, "However, our purpose persists; resting upon our shoulders is the whole Realm's matter of survival. Really, the legends can exist now because we still exist. Nonetheless, no matter how counterintuitive it sounds to us, let Her Highness see Her Excellency for once. Your selflessness is causing you to stray from the path and this may be able to help..."

The mistress's words rang in Sherline's ears like the screams of her own conscience. However, unlike every other times, this time she couldn't bring her heart to accept it. "I have my reasons, dear colleen. Reasons at this time have yet to manifest. The Author's mental state of my time is a sky different to yours; it must have to be seen to believe...", her voice seemed calm and didactic, yet somehow subtly broken.

"Reasons... We've been saying this a lot, haven't we?", commented the mistress, "But why... Why does it this time sound like you have finally decided to give up believing in your own brethren? You sound considerably much like... a lost rōnin—"

"I... really?", faltered Sherline, gingerly received the cup of tea from her past self. "All right, 'I will always be with you' this, 'I shall accompany you till the end of the path' that, off with those nonsenses! You all must have been fed up with my nonsensical oath of loyalty. You all must have been fed up with my so-called selflessness when everything in my mind right now is nothing but selfish doubts about my own creator. Go on, call me a hypocrite all you want!"

Anaivere herself truly wondered what had happened to the Sherline everyone had known, because the one in front of her right now was nothing further from the character immortalised in the legends people in the Realm sung. What had happened that could change an imperturbable figure in this Realm into such a disturbed person?

"What a mess I am, but we need to persevere. Now may I escort you to the next destination?", said Sherline as she tried to collect herself, courteously leading the princess's hand toward the window.

"Leaving so soon, Shirley? Ah, but so long, anyway. I just thought that if the Highness here could see the Excellency of this time, then you, future witness, could let her know of what she would achieve in the morrow, and the past could have been... a little better...", bid the mistress farewell with a regretful smile.

As the duo prepared to depart from the room's window, the mistress of the house— Sherline of the past— gave Sherline one last unrelenting gaze, as though she wanted to say something before it was too late, but could not bear to let the words come out. "Really, so the past cannot be changed after all? If it could be, I reckon we would— in a heartbeat— offer our glorious existence to trade for even a smallest change in the distant past... Though, I would probably prefer you not insisting on carrying everything in this Realm by yourself and breaking your own back in the process", thought the Sherline of a bygone time to herself, "Anyway, keep the torch burning for a little longer, for the decade we have lived's sake, will you?"

As the duo traversed the white void once more, Anaivere could see Sherline's expression had tensed up noticeably through the journey. The mask of contentment she showed just a few moments prior had rotten away and in its place came a visage of utter despair and frustration. Her expression seemed to belong not to an ordinary literary creation living her creator's far-reached dreams in the latter's stead, but to a prophesied hero failing to exact the very prophecy they were born to exact.

Anaivere felt something hard in her throat as drops of salty tears started swelling in the corner of Sherline's always stoic and brave eyes.

A short while after the duo arrived in a barren wasteland filled with scent of blood and gunpowder as well as sights of ruins and rubbles. Sherline called this "Her Excellency's fondest memory". They were standing atop some fort, glancing at the rumbling battle down below and high above, and sitting imperturbably next to them, eyes patiently observing the conflicts unfolded was an apparition of a child— no older than thirteen— donning the cavalry's blue. Sherline venerently kneeled down by the apparition and called the princess over to mesmerise at the child's little hands clutching the sabre.

Despite Sherline's excessive obsession to said child-like apparition, those hands were anything but pretty: the nails were hastily trimmed by teeth, leaving jagged edges and sharp points; the right-hand fingers were plagued with hard and rough writer's calluses; the palms were stained with glossy graphite and ink of different colours. However, needless to expose, Anaivere could tell those were the hands that formed this literary realm from nothingness to interwoven tales of the legendary trio and the talented quartet as it was today.

"Don't you think you've been visiting me a little too much, darling?", an older voice of Sherline called them from behind, which somehow got the apparition's attention too.

Standing there in full cavalry's blue was a middle-aged beldame donning the brigadier's insignia, rather different in appearance to the barrister yet possessing the same soul.

"'Twas nice to see you again, dear Highness. Did you two come to see the little Excellency or just stop by for a birthday sightseeing?", said the brigadière, tipping her kepi in greetings.

Anaivere's eyes brightened as she heard that. "I... can, can I not?", murmured the princess, taking a quick gaze back to the apparition.

"Why can you not?", inquired the brigadière.

"Sherline— this one here— told me I ought not to see our Excellency, lest the situation becomes worse..."

The brigadière took a glance at the barrister, whose eyes seemed to want to scream the unspeakable, who faltered to meet her older self's gaze.

"Tell me, my dear colleen...", said the older Sherline with a firm voice while pulling the younger a little closer, "Our little liege, how is she faring these days? Tell me, and be as frank as you physically and possibly can!"

Sherline faltered as the pathetic sights of her Author flashing through her mind, which got progressively worse as time went by. "Please understand that I just can't, not at this moment...", said she simply.

The brigadière's visage softened as if understod, tapping her younger self endearingly on the shoulder. "How about you and I have a little chat over some brandy while the princess here savouring this peaceful moment with our little Excellency?"

"We were in the middle of a freaking war", said the barrister in a deadpan tone.

"Exactly. We reap the most peaceful moments amidst the most intense battles", smiled the brigadière assuringly.

And the princess was left behind with the apparition, who started materialising into a person, still as childlike in figure as one would remember. Anaivere took a cautious step back, in case the child wouldn't recognise her and to avoid awkward circumstances arising; however, the latter did know who she was this time... somewhat.

"My darling!", the child smiled to her a warm greeting.

"You... recognise me?"

"Why can I not recognise my own handiwork? You are Princess Annatoire, inspired from Classic Starts' Robin Hood!"

Instinctively the princess let out a confusing "eh?" at first, but then realising the point in the past she was visiting, it came out as no surprise. However, it did leave Anaivere wonder what was the person she had been, before she was christened Anaivere Plantagenet for good. Sherline probably knew that, being the Realm's first, yet it appeared no one could pry that from her cold hands. However, was there a place to find the answer better than from the Author's mouth?

While the princess was enthusiastically listening to the tale of her past incomplete self unveiling, the two Sherline walked down to the older's office, beyond the earshot of the other duo, to pour themselves a glass of brandy.

"How is it?", asked the brigadière with a gentle smile, "Pleasantly sweet, isn't it?"

"No, it isn't. It's bitter and unpleasantly strong", said the barrister as she took a sip. "This brandy is strong enough to bring a corpse back to life, how can you drink this stuff without grimacing!"

The brigadière smirked as though she'd heard the exact reply she wanted to hear. "If you can't find the brandy even remotely palatable, how will you suppose to find solace amidst the increasingly wild and painful storm that is our Author's mentality then? How are you helping yourself, let alone saving our Author?"

The barrister took another sip and tried to refrain herself from grimacing at the wild taste and strength of this particular brandy, to little avail. She shook her head remorsefully.

"If this brandy was such horrendously distasteful, how do you suppose I finish the whole bottle?", asked the brigadière philosophically.

"Either having some once in a while, or sharing some with the companions—", the barrister jolted up in realisation for a brief moment, then slumped down immediately. "No. I... I just can't..."

"Because of the princess, is it not? The princess who guards Her Excellency's youthful innocence. You cannot bear getting her involved, cannot bear to see the last sliver of what remains of our Excellency, of a time very long passed, destroyed..."

"Neither can you, correct? You are I and I am you, we all know what is going on..."

"Then let me ask you one simple thing: would you rather risk her sanity to save her innocence, or gamble her innocence to take back her sanity? No, scratch that, let me rephrase it a little: would you rather see our Author die as an innocent soul or live as a rather cynical but sane person?"

"What... are you talking about?", the barrister almost slammed the glass on the desk, her voice trembling in what couldn't be told exactly if rage or despair.

"I don't know how our little Author in your time is faring, but seeing you apparently regard mine as some most pleasant incarnation of hers around, I shall just take a wild guess and say... she must have been at her lowest yet. Not erratic nor outwardly bold like the one up there, probably, but... far worse. Like a refermenting champagne with a tight cork, probably...", mused the brigadière, taking a big sip out of her glass. "The last thing you will need to worry about is her youthful innocence, because I'm as sure as Stonehenge's arches it's wasted away ages ago. Almost nobody waded through hell and back with their innocence intact, except perhaps blissfully ignorant ones and fictional characters... Another reason not to worry about the princess, we are fictional entities, our characters are more likely to end with our Author's eventual death than to change at any time. Am I correct, my dear colleen!"

"The older the ginger is the spicier it becomes, you really prove that saying", said the barrister, tipping the brandy glass respectfully.

"It's definitely creepily weird to receive a praise from the one who is technically yourself...", remarked the brigadière, raising her glass in reply.

"Anything you would like to propose, wiser me?"

"Well, let's just rewind time a bit and consult our esteemed ancestor. She spent a good portion of her existence in the pickle jar, ought to have known the taste of a steady descent to madness and how to get rid of that unsavouriness", giggled the brigadière, pouring two cups of tea to cleanse the palate and to bid the other a farewell. "Just don't get irritated when she proposes some outlandish ideas, as usual. Our esteemed ancestor was born into that swashbuckling genre, unfortunately..."

"This Realm has become more and more gloomier as the days go by, what can some outlandish theatrics to lift the mood hurt?"

The barrister gave her past self a reassuring smile, indicating she had somewhat returned to her character, and promptly departed to fetch the princess, who was listening to the little Author's untold stories as though being in a trance. Apparently Anaivere found her past incarnation, Princess Annatoire, quite amusing; more of a rogue and less of a royal, but still retaining the golden heart that made an anonymous creation of an anonymous artist into a much loved legend. At one point, just after the stories ended and just prior to when Sherline arrived to retrieve her, the princess could be seen emotionally breaking down in tears, her head burying in her Author's calloused hands. The poor child looked pretty perplexed, having few idea why Anaivere reacted as such to a fairly light-hearted and whimsical story of when the latter was still a little more than a draft.

"Your Highness, it is time to go. We are off to our next destination", called Sherline.

"Eh? Sherline, too!", the child's expression brightened up immediately at the sight of the barrister, she eagerly stood up and ran toward the latter like a kid welcoming an older relative home. "Aren't you two looking a tad different than I remember...", commented she. "You ought to be from a few years from the future, I reckon! Tell me, Sherline, how would my days after be? Tell me, dear!"

"Time will tell, Your Excellency. Time... will tell...", said Sherline with a smile hiding a heavy heart, warmly patting her little Author on the head. How nice would it be if her Author, many years after, still possessed such purity, with scarce a worrisome thought taunting her mind. And yet... Sherline must accept the fact such innocence would eventually be lost as the child she called her Author ventured into the cruel life of a grown-up. It wouldn't help her a bit to retain the mind of a child inside the body of an adult (although her appearance and her actual age were really mismatched). To save her sanity, which was the price she paid to keep her creations in existence, her innocence must be sacrificed; it was lamentable, but it was necessary. It was time, time to bid her idyllic Author of the past farewell and (albeit a little begrudgingly) embrace the Author they had in the present. One who was fighting in futile for the continuing existence of her creations and for the betterment of her morrow— which more likely than not wouldn't be.

"A visit to the Renaissance creation, and... we'll decide", said Sherline solemnly to the princess, who was rather indignantly wiping her tears with her sleeves like a child. The little Author had gone somewhere else, presumably to another battle to sightsee. And before the duo departed, the brigadière came back up to see them off, not forgetting a message for them to take along.

"Once you return to Her Excellency of your time, dear colleen, tell her... that... wherever she would end up in the morrow, whether the most prestigious place or the most lowly one, it shall matter not to us. That little failure of ours had been able to keep this Realm and everything in it existent (let alone active) for a full decade, despite everything that happened and would happen; it is her greatest pride, bar none, and as long as she doesn't give up, it will only get more impressive with time. Please tell her that, please, please wake her up from this nightmare...", said the brigadière with a forlorn smile, "I really want to see her winter finally comes someday, Shirley, when her pretty fringes grow as white as the snow..."

The barrister nodded sincerely in agreement and solemnly put a hand on her chest and recited the creed they had been repeating for the umpteenth time.

"Immortal Sherline is created and existing for a reason. We are to suffer, to endure, to mourn the regrets and unfulfilled deeds, so our author does not have to. We shall die a thousand times, so our author may live yet another day..."

The brigadière replied with the same serene gesture.

"Yes, we shall, nevertheless...", smiled the brigadière with much regrets, "It's lamentable in hindsight, my dear colleen, that we are created in the first place. If our honourable Author could enjoy the bright, joyous and fulfilling life her gift, then I would rather not have been born at all; however, would it have been selfish to think as such, for we would have had denied the others subsequent to us an existence?"

Anaivere instinctively shook her head at the brigadière, at Sherline. The roles she and Sherline played in each respective circumstances were hauntingly similar, now she understood. In the hierarchy of the Realm and the kingdom, both stood at the top— Sherline as the primordial creation and she as the monarch. However, speaking plainly, the burden Sherline was carrying on her shoulders seemed to weigh much heavier than what Anaivere was to carry: it was not the matter of prosperity of the kingdom and the citizens, it was the matter of survival of herself, of everyone else and of the Realm's own. How much had she sacrificed, it was near unfathomable.

"Your Highness, before you depart for our ancestor Hortense's, may we ask you a little question: what is a person who refuses the selfishness in their heart despite it's for their own good and remains silent despite being quite aware of what they've done?", inquired the brigadière connotatively.

"They must have been a saint. Or at least, an unsung hero?", replied Anaivere, being rather confused.

"No, dear Highness. That, is a human."

"Pardon? Surely they must be human, but, just an ordinary human? How..."

"Humans are eccentric entities, curious creatures, one cannot simply tell. An ordinary, mortal human is capable of doing pretty extraordinary things, my princess. Miracles, even!"

And the brigadière gave the barrister a thoughtful wink, who replied with the same. "What do you think that made all these things, these woeful nightmares, these memorable moments, these legendary histories? Not a wordsmith, not a woman of letters, not a saint nor hero, but just... a naive human child. It fascinates me, princess, what impressiveness a little human like her could do... and I want to see it till the end, I want to see what further impressiveness she is capable of."

Following a moment of serene silence, the brigadière stood up straight and drew the sabre for a salute. The next time she would see herself return for a visit, it would probably be utmost auspicious. "Let us wait", thought the two Sherline in unison.

All of a sudden, the sound of a finger snap was heard, and the future's Sherline as well as the princess abruptly vanished away, to who-knows-when. Behind the brigadière the Author stood, eyes furrowed in half confusion and half curiosity. She had seemingly overheard the last conversation.

"Your Excellency!", cried the brigadière as she noticed the presence.

"Fret not, Sherline, I merely saw them off."

"No, that isn't my concern! It's..."

"I told you to not fret, didn't I? Believe me, I want to enjoy life as much as you wish me to, but... while the past cannot be changed, the future may!", the little Author exclaimed, desperate yet hopeful tones rang in her voice. "I know too well what's behind that faux smile she gave me. I want to live a long life, Sherline, I want to wake up from this nightmare. I want to see myself waking up from this nightmare. I want to believe I can, and I will someday... wake up... from this nightmare!"

She was frustrated, frustrated of her own helplessness. She wished to reach for the stars, but above her, the sky had always been starless; and if there was any bright glimmer, she was born too short a stature to even have a good look at it. She wanted to bathe in her own glorious sunlight, but her days had always been the gloomy night. She wanted to dream the rosy dreams she used to have, but all she had been dreaming lately were thorny nightmares. And, she was helpless, chained and imprisoned by her own self-imposed unworthiness born from years of knowing nothing but failures.

"Your Excellency..."

"I told you not to fret. My future self may be more and more sick, broken, cynical and desperate as time goes by, and my soul hereafter may be tainted with more and more lies, but there is one absolute truth in this Realm, Sherline. The moment this author of yours definitely gives up... is the moment she breathes her last, and should the worst comes to reality, it just means... she is definite that bringing you with her beneath the dust is a choice too bargain to pass..."

In the de Beaudelaire manor, sometime around three hundred years prior, the Third Duchess almost fell out of the couch and flipped the wine table as two strangers just appeared in her room. At this point they couldn't technically be strangers to her, but still, they had just practically materialised out of thin air in front of her.

"It's a good thing she showed up, Her Excellency's fingers are always the most efficient means of travel around", commented the barrister nonchalantly to the princess.

"Would it hurt to just ENTER THROUGH THE DOOR?", growled the duchess, perchance this wasn't the first time it happened.

"I can't tell where I would land when Her Excellency was the one who did the trick. And, this is my house anyway."

"Don't claim your inheritance two and a half centuries too soon! I am still alive here!", exclaimed the duchess, rather annoyed. "And I've just been able to set my bottom down my own couch for the first time since who-knows-when!"

"Calm down, dear ancestor, you are in the presence of royalty", said Sherline, gesturing towards the princess.

The duchess halted in a moment of surprise, then hastily stood up for a greeting. "The Altesse is here? Wait! Is it Her Excellency's birthday again?"

Sherline casually nodded.

"Don't you tell me..."

"Needless I tell."

"This has begun to become hopeless...", said the duchess, falling back down to her couch agonisingly. "Oh, where are my manners, why do you not have a seat? There, just sit on my bed or... something... wherever you can settle down..."

"My brigadière self advised me to seek your consultant about this", said Sherline while seating herself on the footboard. "You know about the region of this Realm where Her Excellency likes to make parodies? Apparently she was locked in there for quite a while now."

"I believe I know exactly where she is kept in that region. The only thing comes to mind is that Miyazaki film she's being very interested in... the one with a big castle and high towers...", pondered the duchess.

"Well then, my dear ancestor, being a scion of the swashbuckling romance genre, have you any idea of how to rescue our Author out of wherever hellhole that is?"

An excruciatingly long moment of silence followed. All three women glanced at each other hopefully, as though anticipating an unimaginable answer.

"No, frankly", the duchess shrugged in acquiescence, breaking the tense atmosphere in the room. "Can't think of anything that is not overtly swashbuckling and theatrical as those over-the-top noir films. Well, my darling..." Then, unforewarningly, she stood up and went to the gloves drawer, throwing a linen pair over to her descendant. "... the classical way it is."

Sherline took a glance over the gloves on her lap, and back to her ancestor, a dead man's eyes impression plastered on her orbs. The sight was such outlandish and so seemingly out-of-character even Anaivere and the ever stoic Hortense couldn't keep the giggles inside.

"I mean... really? AGAIN? Why must I be the default person for everything?"

"Usually I would say some joke here, something along the line of 'well, you know we're just squishy unarmoured knights', but this time...", said the duchess solemnly, "...believe me, neither of us can do it. Her plague is mental, and you are born of the essence of her mind. The one climbing the towers to rescue her, it has to be you and nobody else."

"We know we have been bothering thee much since our creation, Sherline, however...", added Anaivere, "Her Excellency, she trusts thee the most. Who else can wake her from her nightmares now?"

"When I said I shall gladly put my life on the line for this Realm's continuation, I didn't mean I shall be gladly doing it every time!", snarked the slightly annoyed Sherline, clutching the pair of gloves tightly in her hands. "However, since this is for her sake... Let us venture once more."

"Mind if this ancestor of yours tag along?", chimed in Hortense, "It's been a while since I last saw you did these heroic stunts."

A good, long moment later, the trio was seen approaching a ruin by the cliff overseeing a monumental castle amidst a lake; it had been nightfall in this region. To their surprise, the non-canonical quartet (sans one) was there first, as well as their miniature Author, who had been gleefully holding onto a package addressed to Sherline.

"Told thee, the main characters did come!", chirped the miniature Author enthusiastically.

"Eh? Her Eminence Authoria is here too?", said Anaivere, meekly peeking over behind Hortense.

"What on earth are you three doing here?", inquired Hortense with a slight half-annoyance half-curiosity.

"Don't mind us spectators, please", grinned the priestess innocently.

After a brief banter between the canonical trio and their non-canonical counterparts, Authoria the miniature matriarch led them over to the gazebo on the pond by the ruins, before handing Sherline the peculiar package.

"Your Author is in that North Tower, and the castle is guarded by those shadow demons you've had a chance to encounter last year. It's lamentable to say I couldn't get close to it", said Authoria, pointing towards the highest tower of the castle.

"Even Her Eminence the almighty Authoria could not approach that castle?", remarked Sherline as she tried to open the package filled with curiosity. "Hm? What's with all these weird gadgets? How tightly guarded it was and how powerful the demons inside were, really?"

"It's elementary my dear, since your author essentially allowed herself to be locked in the tower, my power would be useless, for I— authorial intuition— am basically she. We need some brave soul to rescue her out (so as to buy us another year or ten), and who would be best for the job if not our darling Sherline!"

Authoria looked at the somewhat befuddled Sherline with a bright, hopeful grin. She could very well be putting on a courageous guise herself; being the intuitive half of this Realm's creator and the omniscient brain of everything in it (though there might be occasions where she would pretend to not know), she would be the only person knew how actually grim the situation was. Sherline took a quick glance towards the North Tower, where a faint and blurry silhouette of the imprisoned Princess— her Author— could be seen sitting moribundly by the windows. Amidst the thoughtful trance, the barrister could hear the great Authoria snapping a finger, which jolted her mind back to reality. The location was still the same, but her attire had changed: the modest blouse-and-waistcoat ensemble was gone, and now worn on her were a green suit over a black dress shirt; in lieu of the twill plus-fours, there was a pair of dark grey trousers.

"Whoa, you are absolutely right, milady! No-one but Sherline is most suitable for this job!", commented Hortense at her descendant's new get-up with a hearty chuckle.

"Et vous, m'ancêtre?", growled the mildly exasperated Sherline, "And what's with this sort-of insipid outfit you put me in, Your Eminence?"

"Ah, you remind me, forgot something in this ensemble", Authoria grinned sheepishly, rummaging for a while in her pockets and sleeves before taking out a plain yellow silk tie with matching silver pin and urging the barrister to put on, which earned a pique look from the latter. "1967 vintage, your Author's favourite", smiled she innocently.

"I am pretty much dead thirty years before that... But nay, alas, this is a special chapter and canonicity doesn't matter!", remarked Sherline with a slight sarcasm as she struggled to tie the tie and pin it securely on the dress shirt.

Sitting in the background, the non-canonical quartet seemed to be having a hard time keeping their giggles in as they saw the amusing transformation of the Realm's first creation from an imperturbably poised barrister to a comically chivalrous rogue. Though they could recite the script of the film blindfolded by now, it still would be definitely interesting to see how Sherline act out the hero, and the usually cynical Sherline being all-out heroic was a exceedingly rare treat in the canon anyway.

"Alright, you are all set, my dear. Now break into that bloody castle, navigate the interior, find your Author, rescue her out of the tower and try your best to keep yourself in one piece for the entire process", the great Authoria said half-jokingly while Sherline was attempting to stuff as much gadgets as possible into the scarce pockets she had on her suit. "Oh, and the secret entrance into the castle is beneath this gazebo, by the way."

"Your Eminence, we are in the middle of a pond."

"Exactly."

"What."

"But the only thing that differs from the Miyazaki original, in which the protagonist swims under the aqueduct to infiltrate the interior, is that you have your Authoria here", smugly smirked the miniature matriarch, fingers readied for her usual magic. "I can get you to the end of the aqueduct, inside that water tower there, however that will be all I can help. Good luck navigating those bloody halls rigged with traps while we're waiting here till the time is right."

Sherline let out a resigning sigh and reluctantly nodded, considering this— though a nuisance it apparently seemed— was what exactly she was made for. To be the Realm's stone foundation, to be its marble pillar, to be her Author's lifeline during times of need. Yet no matter how hard she tried, the wee reaching hands of her little Excellency still were slowly drifting away far. That child used to be full of life, cheerful if not a tad naïve, and though she knew her limits, was very confident of her capability; but all her creations could see in her now was a doubtful husk of a damned soul. Even if Sherline successfully saved her out of this castle she condemned herself in, there was no guarantee the morrow would be better.

Authoria swiftly snapped her finger, and Sherline vanished out of everyone's sight. On the former's visage, her forged cheeriness had also gone with Sherline's tangible image. She let herself gently down on the railings, eyes fixated upon the high tower where her other half was being imprisoned, looking quite exhausted.

"They said there would be a time when even the most righteous had to resort to the wrong side of the law just to survive. Perhaps this is such a time...", mused the eldest poetess.

"To-day, our venerable judge the Honourable Sherline became a thief. And not just any thief, she became THE thief...", added the priestess jokingly in a falsely serene manner.

"By the way, where was that imperial guard my expy?", inquired Hortense.

"Thought you were aware of it. The marriage of Thi Kỳ, that is. She went along to be that child's personal guard."

"That little dolt has gotten married? WHAT?! Whatever the devil happened to this Realm's famous celibacy?", exclaimed the duchess surprisedly.

"Political marriage, and the Grandmaster herself signed the approval. The plot is rising, wars were being waged and it would be quite a hassle to protect her, so the next best option was to marry her off to another country (no, the Prince won't even touch her). Well, the one who stood the lowest in the non-canonical hierarchy is the high Princess Consort of a grand kingdom now", expounded the eldest poetess, shrugging nonchalantly.

While the duchess stepped aside for a banter with the non-canonical sisters, Anaivere meekly seated herself down next to the great Authoria. The latter was still staring motionlessly at one particular point in the scenery, in her eyes subtly gleamed a glimmer of hopeful desperation.

"Anaivere, my dear, what dost thou see in thine author?", Authoria abruptly asked, her voice sounded tiredly monotonous. "Be as frank as thou humanly couldst."

"Pardon my insolence, Your Eminence, I... see..." Taking a moment to gather herself, the princess then shyly replied. "...A soul whose essences created our forms. A wailing, pathetic soul. A soul who unsuccessfully tried to please everyone, a soul so small and insignificant, a sinful soul..."

"Thou sayest nothing but the truth, my dear Anaivere", smiled Authoria grimly. "That woman is, practically saying, a waste of living space. What use is a person who gambles their best days away to keep some human-shaped words on papers in existence, and to accomplish nothing they hope they can do? Everything expected of her, from the smallest to the greatest, she failed all. The only sliver of grace to that piece of rubbish is... she has been able to keep a bunch of human-shaped words on papers in existence for an entire decade."

The great Authoria had never been this gloomy, ever. Like the Author, she did have her ups and downs, yet she was never known to speak such deprecating words; the Authoria they knew always had this faint but noticeable air of optimism lingering on her, probably remnants from the glorious days when their poor Author was still her former joyous and innocent self. Perchance this was what the Author had been so afraid of: her survival instincts eating away at the last image of a better time she could call rightfully hers. Her compassionate and bright heart seemed to finally be petrified and darkened by the same thing that had been keeping her alive.

"Please do not say that, Your Eminence. Our Author... is not rubbish. And especially... not a waste of living space", Anaivere's voice seemed to tremble, and apparently she was trying hard not to choke on her own tears.

"What do you suppose her to be, then, if not the filth she is known by?" This time, the voice of Authoria began to sound dangerously indifferent.

All of a sudden, the last words of the brigadière heard before Anaivere was departed struck more painful than ever. This made her question how could the brigadière know it, giving that she was a past's entity, living in a horrible period having no way to look into a more terrible future.

"Your Eminence, my author... is a human. An exquisitely hapless one, that is. She is every mortal flaw known to human, yet very little recognisable talents she may call her pride. 'Tis unfortunate, but..."

A heart-skipping exclaim from the priestess cut out the princess's conversation, and all eyes abruptly darted towards the high castle. A small human figure emerged from one of the rooftop windows and nimbly climbed themself up to the very summit of the northern roof, though there were a few occasions where they missed a step and almost fell down the lake in the process.

"Whoa, she did make it to the roof!", cried all the non-canonical sisters in great awe.

"I still can't understand why on earth would she choose to be a detective if she was THIS good as a thief, even when just acting as one!", commented the astonished Hortense, half-jokingly.

Authoria had a brief moment of pride as she caught Sherline's familiar form standing atop the heights, yet she wouldn't admit it. She sat there, gazing up to the barrister's silhouette breezing by on the windy castle roofs for a while, and then, seemingly rather reluctant, adopted her usual tender tone.

"Consider this, my dear princess: if a peasant managed to get an exquisite harvest after decades of bad seasons, would you reckon that he would keep trying for that good harvest? No, my darling, whether the gods bless him with golden harvests his entire life thenceforth, he is and will still be a peasant. If he works more diligently, he may earn a little more food for his family to survive one or two days further; if he works the same amount, nothing changes; but if he works a tad less, his family may starve. The peasant stays in his pernicious, perpetual peasantry no matter what he tries..." The analogy seemed to choke on her throat. "Ten years is a long time to wait, literally half of your author's life until now, and there is no reason for us to cling on those far-reached dreams anymore. We are playing a negative-sum game here, and your author can only lose. Either paying the toll to survive, or... sinking to the eternal depths..."

At this time, Sherline had reached the closest point to the Tower where the Author was being kept. She sat down the roof for a moment to catch her breath, letting the breeze tousle the delicate fringes framing her rather sweaty forehead. Glancing a little towards the ruins, she chuckled softly as she noticed the non-canonical sisters, as well as her overly enthusiastic ancestor, cheering louder the closer she approached the Tower. This probably was the most dangerous thing she'd ever done in a very long while, but it was worthy to gamble the dangers; it was worth it to see a smile blooming on her Author's small lips again, no matter how faint.

Rummaging through the gadgets, Sherline stumbled upon a firework rocket with a long, hooked tether, as well as a cheap lighter to light the fuse. She attempted to position the rocket towards the other side's roof, so she could use the tether to somehow carry herself across.

Down in the ruins, the non-canonical sisters could no longer hold in their hysterical laughters as Sherline was trying to spark the lighter to flame. Anaivere had joined them, anticipating Sherline's heroic stunts with a childlike eagerness.

"Pardon, we can't help it...!", the priestess wheezed as she struggled to regain her composure.

"You three seem to be enjoying yourselves", commented Hortense with a falsified sternness, "Can't imagine of the day these non-canonical jackanapes have the guts to laugh when one certain person in this Realm is putting their life on the line to buy you a few days further of existence..."

"You can barely conceal your snickers there, Your Grace."

"I should not have read the script beforehand..."

While still struggling to spark the rocket fuse, Sherline instinctively glanced towards the Tower's windows to find the familiar silhouette of her Author somewhere inside. She couldn't find it, and felt despairs started rising in her heart. Rummaging through the pockets again to find some other lighter that would work, Sherline's hands touched a certain trinket; it might not spark the fuse, but probably could spark Her Excellency's smile. As she was being lost in thought, her grasps on the rocket loosened and it tumbled down the roof. She instinctively climbed down to try retrieving it, but that only made it tumbled down further, faster.

And, the momentum built up.

Sherline was speeding down the slopping roof, incidentally leaping through the watchtower between the castle and the North Tower, and before her brain was able to catch up with her feet, she had found herself already clinging onto the Tower's outer walls.

Anaivere couldn't blink; she was greatly awed, witnessing such extraordinary stunt.

Hortense and the non-canonical sisters were struggling to breathe again after laughing harder than they should.

The creations were being tranced following each step Sherline climbed up the Tower, blithely unaware that bitter tears were silently streaming down the graceful Authoria's visage. This would be the first true miracle this Realm ever witnessed for years, and even the authorial intuition couldn't believe it would happen. To-day they might be able to see the Author's first genuine smile in years. Trying to conceal her joyful sorrow, the ever graceful Authoria indignantly wiped the tears with her sleeves, calling the creations over to observe what would be unfurling in the Tower. Sherline at this point had successfully reached the top window, the only entrance to the chamber inside. She gingerly opened the glass frame so as to not disturb the Princess— her Author— and stealthily entered with the help of a long tether.

Back in the gazebo, the creations were gathering around Authoria, who was preparing a looking glass on the surface of the pond with her authorial magic. The interior of the Tower chamber slowly appeared with decent clarity on the water surface. Under the gentle blue light of the moon, there lied the imprisoned Princess, whose small moribund figure was almost swallowed while by the regal armchair she was resting on. And on the other side of the moonlight, in the chilly darkness of the chamber, a familiar silhouette could be seen gingerly lowering themself down the ceiling window with a tether. Everyone cheered loudly for the arrival of the green-coated hero, except for the miniature matriarch. Her heart wept.

"Please, Sherline... Don't... ever... let her hand go...", Authoria murmured to herself.

As Sherline's feet had touched the floor and her mind swirling about how a humiliation it was, the Princess slightly turned towards her, eyes seemed more alerted and anxious. The barrister tried to swallow down an invisible lump in her throat and nervously anticipated whatever the reaction the Princess might produce. She might likely call in guards, which would be bad. However, it wasn't what Sherline was greeted.

"Who... is there?", the meek yet ever recognisable voice of the Author murmured.

Here goes nothing. Sherline thought and decided to swallow her pride as a barrister.

"A thief."

I can never live down this humiliation! Sherline's self-esteem thus rang thunderously inside her mind, with which she struggled to maintain the composure.

"A thief?" As soon as she heard the voice, the Author suddenly perked up from her armchair, staring tentatively into the shadows.

Trying to steady herself, Sherline put one hand into the coat pockets out of habits and accidentally touched the trinket. I shan't falter, this is what I braved those demons to reach here for! She whispered some encouragement to her confidence and, with all boldness she could muster from her form, ceremoniously stepped out of the shadows.

"Good evening, Your Excellency", greeted Sherline to her little Author with a wonted warm smile.

"You're... Sherline! Why would you—"

"You forgot something."

Sherline interrupted the Author's bewilderment, promptly taking out the fateful trinket from her coat pocket in a courteous manner and gently slipped it onto the latter's finger. It was a small, thin, gilded ring decorated with a single faux crystal. As soon as the Author recognised the plain piece of jewellery and the unpleasantness it exhumed from the graveyard of time, she let out a fearful shriek and hastily attempted to get it off from her hand, almost breaking down in tears. Sherline glanced concernedly down the cowering form of the little prisoner, gently putting one hand over the ring on the latter's own, shielding it from that frightened gaze; the insecurity inside her mind now vanished, and only selfless instincts remained.

"Sorry, Your Excellency... My purpose is to protect you, to endure these woes so you would not have to, and yet... I could not be there when you were forced to suffer the greatest humiliation thus far."

It was not her fault. The incident's age exceeded her own, yet she claimed responsibility, for she felt it could have been different... had she been there, even if just in essence. It was the incident that indirectly created Sherline the barrister. And to-day she would resolve it, to dispel an accusation, to dry the guilty innocent's tears from her Author's eyes, she would repay the deed... fifteen years too late.

"No, don't say sorry! You didn't even exist yet when that happened!", cried the Author, her ringed hand tensed up, clutching Sherline's own tightly.

"But, you made me a barrister, did you not? It is my job to defend the innocent and seek the justice, is it not?", Sherline abruptly paused, recalling who she apparently was at the moment. Oh God, I've just become the very thing I've sworn to destroy... "History may never know the truth, however... your heart may."

Once the Author had calmed down somewhat, Sherline gingerly lifted her hand covering the ring and let the tiny crystal spark under the moonlight. "Can't you see, Your Excellency? It's still as spotless as you remember it, fifteen years ago... Not even a scanty speck of blood can be seen. Something might have happened that day, but it was more likely than not not your handiwork, accidental or not..."

"You... came here just for this? But... if the shadow demons see you..."

"No matter, Your Excellency. I have hunted and I have been hunted, this is just the nature of being an investig—", Sherline briefly paused to glance at her current get-up, "— a thief. I will leave once I've finished my job."

"Your job?"

"Yes. I am here to seek a treasure which the shadow demons had locked inside a high and dark tower. Will you allow this humble... thief... to please steal it away?"

Back in the ruins, the non-canonical sisters were sobbing at the scene. It was too cheesy, even in this Realm's theatric standards, yet it was too true. The rest of the creations, they were patiently witnessing and tearily cheering for Sherline, who was about to make the miracle happen.

"You... can't. You cannot fight against the shadow demons alone, and if they come here... Please just leave me and go", the Author faltered at her creation's offer and slumped back down the armchair.

Sherline sighed, and cautiously glanced over her shoulders. The demons hadn't noticed her infiltration yet, she would be safe for the time being.

"Oh, how can this be? My liege believes in the might of those shadow demons, yet she doesn't believe in the ability of her humble... thief. Oh, if only she'd believe in me, I would be able to fly through the air! I would be able to vanquish the shadow demons no matter how numerous they are!" Feigning histrionics, she gathered her courage to put up a theatric act, hoping it might encourage the fearful little author somehow. The others could be watching through Her Eminence Authoria's magic at the moment, but that wasn't her priority right now. From her clenched fist magically appeared a small rose, dainty yet should not be underestimated, just like the little blossom that was her Author. "For now, this is the best I can do."

The little Author remained speechless for a spell, then she curiously accepted the rose. To everyone's surprise, Sherline pulled out a dainty string of flags connected to the rose, and was met with a rather baffled look from the Author. A brief, awkward silence followed that, and then...

Miraculously, the mournful lips of their Author parted to a smile. The most touchingly blissful smile anyone had seen on her for the last decade.

Back in the ruins, everyone both canonical and not was cheering louder than ever before, though tears were also pouring down like waterfalls from their eyes. Sherline had successfully done the allegedly impossible.

"This is the most cheesy thing I've ever orchestrated in this Realm's entire existence; nevertheless, it is totally worth it." Their Authoria comments, feeling quite proud about the plan she cooked up. "The shadow demons are reaching that chamber soon. Now, it is you two's turn as reinforcements", she turned over to Anaivere and Hortense, fingers ready for the magic. In a blink of an eye, the elegant period attires on them had transformed into a formal 1960s suit-and-tie ensemble for Hortense, completed with a matching fedora and a kimono-and-hakama ensemble for Anaivere.

"This Oriental get-up does suit you more than it suits Hortense, darling", remarked the Authoria to the princess, then the two were handed the weapons for the oncoming battle. A sharp sword for Anaivere, and a revolver with plenty ammunitions for Hortense.

"Normally I'm the fencer, not the gunner, but anyway", said Hortense as she tucked the revolver into the belt.

"You are canonically a musketeer with an occasional flintlock pistol, not a six-shooter", commented the priestess.

"Oh, shut up. I've spent weeks practising the six-shooter for this day!"

Authoria came to the wall by the siege cannons and clapped her hands so she got the attention of the bickering creations of theirs. Of course, it took a while before they all gathered to where she wanted them to be. "Here is the plan: the non-canonical trio is going to blow up the north wall of the tower, which is to the south of us. Meanwhile, I will form a bridge with my magic connecting this wall to the hole these extras blew up, and you, Hortense and Anaivere, shall rush right in an escort your Author out of that hellish tower. Is that clear?"

"Totally clear, Your Eminence!", the creations replied in unison.

Immediately, each one got to their assigned position as though this situation had been rehearsed many times. The eldest poetess gave the others a fresh reminder about how to use a siege cannon, and they blithely took aim and lit the fuse (the cannons were all loaded magically) at once. It took more than two cannonballs to pierce through the thick wall of the castle tower, but the non-canonical trio was enjoying the whole castle-blasting task. As soon as the interior of the chamber was revealed, Authoria did one loud clap, summoning an ethereal stair leading all the way to the chamber and her canonical duo immediately rushed to the destination, weapons ready for battle.

Back in the chamber, the shadow demons had noticed the presence of an intruder, and were closing up on the targets. They were just vaguely humanoid, with crude sharp claws and contorted limbs; their twisted mouths gasped in hunger for the deliciously desperate soul of the author; their eyes gave off a lustrous glow, gleaming with murderous intent. Between them, the predators and their prisoner prey, there was a barri— thief, feet planted firmly on the floors as though holding a last stand, a mere pistol as the only means of defence.

"Oi, don't just barge in and ruin the ten-year-long efforts of others like that. Have you no manners?", remarked Sherline mockingly.

All of a sudden, the tower was attacked. A gaping hole was blown up in the northern wall of the chamber atop the tower, courtesy of the non-canonical trio, who somehow were discovered to be experts in siege cannons. Sherline and her Author were pushed closer to the hole by sheer number of the shadow demons; they scarcely attacked, but it seemed they wanted to nudge the prey to fall to their death, adding on to the delicious despair in the souls that they were to devour. However, Sherline was not falling for it; the footsteps of the reinforcements were drawing nearer and nearer, if she could hold these demons back and keep them from touching the Author for a while longer...

A demon boldly lunged forth towards Sherline, its vile claws spread wide as though about to maul the barri— thief's frail form. Reflexively, she leaned back to dodge and fired a couple rounds; the shots didn't wound the demon even one bit, but did buy her enough time for the reinforcements to bridge the gap. The nimble figure of a gunner leaped forth and swiftly blasted away the demons in the front line with a revolver; albeit the more powerful bullets couldn't harm them also, it helped pushing the fiends back a little.

"Are we not too late?", smirked Hortense, tipping the fedora in greeting.

"Almost." Sherline replied, pushing the little Author into the arms of Anaivere, who had just arrived, so as to have a free hand to hold back the demons while their liege escaped.

"At least I'm able to found the correct castle this time", shrugged Hortense, throwing over a familiar revolver for her descendant. "Your Colt. It wouldn't be a proper anniversary chapter without this."

In a brief moment of distraction, a shadow demon leaped above the two defenders' heads and rushes towards the escaping Author and her guard, who were just a little from reaching the palace's ruins. Anaivere drew the sword and successfully blocked an attack, unfortunately the might of the demon was a little too great for her own strength. Out of a sudden, the shadowy hunk staggered then fell off the bridge, and a baffled shout rang out, courtesy of an amazed Hortense. "What on earth DID YOU JUST DO?"

"Let's scram!" Sherline said, not letting her ancestor ask any more question, then tucked the pistol back into her coat and turned back to make an escape. Still baffled, Hortense followed suit, firing a few additional rounds to stall some seconds just to be safe. As soon as the feet of both of them left the chamber, the bridge gradually disintegrated, preventing the shadow demons from pursuing the two. Unfortunately the disintegration of the bridge was a little fast for the duo, whose speed slowed down because exhaustion started catching up with them, and they fell into the lake. Thankfully, they landed on a boat which Authoria had put there just in case, for even the authorial magic had limits.

"You won't believe what I've just seen, folks...", Hortense mouthed to the non-canonical trio, who were helping them off. "Sherline shooting down the shadow demon behind her without even looking back..."

"I performed that shot once or twice in the canon, I reckon. Not really a new trick, though. Human has this sense called sound localisation, and my sense just happens to be more tuned in", said Sherline, taking a glance back to be sure they had successfully escaped, then perked up towards the gazebo.

Her Author was sitting by her intuition on the balustrade, blissfully smiling and joking around. Thank goodness, she whispered to herself. Unluckily, the war with the shadow demons was anything but near the end; this was only the beginning.

"We witnessed everything, dear Sherpin. You look better as a thief than a private eye, how about changing your profession to welcome a new decade?", teased the priestess to her canonical counterpart, to which the eldest poetess also nodded.

"You two shut up", the barrister-turned-thief hissed in annoyance, yet in her heart, she secretly wished she had been born a thief. Had she been a thief, no-one could take their Author away no matter the twisted demons nor the cursed devil lurking in the latter's shadow, she would have been able to steal her liege back. Alas, life only allowed her to ask "What if..."

This is the decadal anniversary of the literary realm of a nameless author. And the twentieth year she has been living. Despite ordeals have taken away the author's youthful innocence, they have also tempered her quill and spirit. No matter how many times fate decides to grind her efforts into the grounds, the author of these legendary creations still picks up the pen and stand up once again.

The creations are the reason she still lives, so is she, whose hands keep them alive.

Happy Birthday to Sherline Holmes, An Immortal Legend;
Happy Birthday to Hortense de Beaudelaire, An Outstanding Legend;
Happy Birthday to Anaivere Plantagenet, A Forgotten Legend;
Happy Birthday to the non-canonical expies, the unsung heroes in this saga of perseverance;
And A Very Happy Birthday to their Author, who has brought this literary realm and everything in it to existence. Who, despite all the nightmares she has dreamed and has lived, never surrendered.

Three thousand nights of storytelling and counting...