(0) A reflection of one's self

A wooden carriage treks through wintertide. With its velvet curtain strung shut, it treaded on a snail's pace as the howling frost swerved against its frame. The world lay still amidst snow, under the gaze of the moon did it turn cold.

Though its light may not reach that far inside, the breeze was enough to send chills down one's spine.

That's the only reason why the archduke wore three layers of fine winter clothes.

To keep him warm, to protect him from the cold and to shield his heart from woe.

Even if it barely comforted him, he needed it.

Archduke Emilian fluttered his eyelashes awake from slumber. His heart had raced like a wild horse, and his eyes filled with dark circles shook with fierce anticipation. He caught his breath exhaling at an uneven rate. He touched the edges of his temples—sweat had dripped down like a dam had just burst open. But in a matter of seconds, as he put his hand over his sight—he had calmed down. The darkness seemed to compose his sense of self. His head hung low, gripping tight onto his chest, as if to soothe himself once more.

What a nightmare did he just witnessed. However, that was nothing compared to the reality that had already come true. Finding his missing daughter.

He wiped away the wetness he could feel, every bit of it as if it wasn't there in the first place. He took one shaky inhale and puffed it out of his lungs as he scratched the back of his chilly neck. With just a snap of his finger, his face turned to stone, unfeeling and foreboding. A fitting image as the master of the north.

The archduke pulled the curtain to the side.

An upward hill came into view as a vast marble gold palace lay waiting. Large windows covered the place, ornamented gates stood guard, and towering spires reached to meet the horizon.

As soon as they reached the estate, a pair of knights watched over the entrance. When the carriage halted near, suspicion seemed to arise in their faces, but once they saw who the coachman was, the carriage was let in without any inspection. It was none other than the archduke's trusted aide who reigned the horses. That was telling enough who sat inside.

"Your Grace we have arrived home." The aide announced.

The hinged-rear door burst open. The archduke stepped out with heavy fur boots, melting the snow beneath them.

His skin was of warm ivory, his eyes resembled rose quartz and his hair is drawn honey blonde, falling through his forehead. He also had a high nose bridge, a well defined jawline and a broad-shouldered body. The ideal look in the empire of Valeriev.

He was so handsome, that the air around him was always different, it was dense, intimidating, to the point where people could barely speak around him.

However, tonight, he is only surrounded by people he trusts. His close aide, waiting for his orders beside him and his butler, the second in command of the estate standing right in front.

"Had there been any traces of Evelina's return on your end?" The archduke asked, flat.

The butler shook his head. Lips parted, about to say something, then he changed his mind, turned away his face with a downward gaze.

"Your Grace, I can handle the paperwork tomorrow. You can continue to look for Evelina while I'm at it." The aide pleaded, hand over his chest.

The archduke scoffed. "And risk the well-being of my territory to you? Not a chance." He signaled the butler to open the door.

"Is that it? Are you giving up on your daughter just like that?"

"Watch your tone." The archduke walks over to the staircase unbothered.

The aide trails behind him. "I just don't understand you, your grace! We've almost searched every corner of the north, why would you stop at the last second!"

"Stay back." The archduke paused.

The butler pulls the door wide with his head down, averting the hollow eyes of his master and to what is about to come down. The archduke reaches for his belt in his waist.

"No!" The aide grabs him by the shoulder. "Your only daughter is lost and scared somewhere for days now! If it was your wife who had gone missing—"

Then, with a flick of the archduke's wrist, a sword glints under moonlight and skids upon the aide's throat, trickling crimson with sharp precision, pouring a tangy metallic odor into the atmosphere. It blended well against his hair.

The aide's body quivered. He gulps down, glancing at the metallic weapon.

"Don't you dare dirty the name of my beloved."

The archduke hounds. If looks could kill, his was one of them.

The frosty weather never felt so warm before the aide. "I-I apologize. It was a slip of the tongue."

The sword streaked descending upon his chest, with a slight pressure pressing onto it, the archduke could almost feel the faint panic of his heartbeat.

The aide swallowed his saliva. "I'm always on your side, your grace. I am only here to help ease your troubles. So please, let me.. There's only so much you could do until the start of the academy."

"Yes, I know." The archduke withdraws his sword.

The aide stares at him with much expectation, as if he held the right answer. Like he always had been. That's why he served him as his master.

And yet, when their eyes meet, the archduke only puts out a stoic expression, hardened, controlled with no emotion. He sighed as he turned around. Leaving the aide at a loss for words.

Before the archduke could go inside however, his butler spoke. "Master, I have a suggestion that could be of use to you." he bowed lower.

"In the morning." The door closed shut.

***

The arched moon twinkled in a dark veil of stars, clouded by a milky mist where snow crystals fall, where a glacial gale envelops through the ether.

A chill runs down Archduke Emilian's spine as his strides echo through the halls, clicking one after the other.

Later, he paused his tracks.

Rainbow luster passes through the corridor like a prism. Soft, faint, dazzling, but cool and crisp like luminescent embracing ambience. This was all thanks to the crescent moon facing the array of stained glass.

Emilian exhaled a sharp, bitter breath aiming his focus at the door at the very end of the hallway. His eyes shook briefly and the lines on his forehead deepened, anxiety taking a hold of him for just a second before he snapped back to a stern poker-face. Not letting his emotions get the better of him before he entered that room. Not once, not ever, not when people can still roam the estate.

He made his way through the gallery of jazzy windows. Casting a dim colored shadow, he made careful steps against the vivid half-moon as his silhouette cast a trail of shade behind him.

These decorated glasses were requested by a precious person who is no longer in this world. She once said that she loved the narrative that the windows revealed in churches and wished she had one in her home too. Though she never got to see all of them, she was happy at the time she strolled through these halls.

Emilian would catch a glimpse of the abstract streaked windows every so often. It reminded him of the life he lived, and the tale it told.

The first one was radiant with love, a man and a woman hands tied together with their heart over their sleeves. The second was their wedding day, triumphed in church bells ringing and blooming flowers embellishing the scene. Following that, a crib hung tight over the hue as the woman caressed her pregnant belly. A bundle of joy was on the way, and a family would start to form.

However, the next one wasn't so bright.

Emilian laid still for less than a second, scanning the area before staring at the casket ridden stained glass. Unlike the others, this one wasn't so colorful and flashy to honor the dead. It was almost bare, stripped naked that screamed of sorrow.

Emilian forced a chuckle. "Korneliya my love please wait for me." He muttered, then rushed along his way.

The rest was history. A baby girl was born from their love where he raised her alone, giving her whatever she asked for because of her sickly nature. Her poor health made it harder for the archduke to take care of her, and yet he persevered through the power of fatherhood and the will he had left.

Emilian tightened a fist when he passed by her in display. Her frame was so small that she slept ill in bed, locked in her room. His daughter had a particular ailment that even he, the great archduke, couldn't understand. She must be trembling in her shoes alone on this winter night, feeling abandoned and purposeless while Emilian had a roof over his head. He couldn't forgive himself. Yet here he is, turning away from her as he failed. Now he's on his way asking for solace from his dead wife.

Silver keys dangled in his waist as they clashed together. Emilian reached his destination to a room from the very end of the right wing. He took out the key before pushing them in.

...

The knob was loose, it meant that the door was open the entire time.

Emilian raised a brow "Did I not lock it when I left?"

He took a moment to ponder the thought. Then erased it from his mind.

'It doesn't matter, I just wanna see her.' Emilian went in as he closed the door behind him.

An aroma of earthy mildew lingered in the air, coupled in old paper with a hint of vanilla and aged varnish. The space was cramped, hampered by rows and rows of intricate furnishing. It was hard to find your footing in them, but when it comes to Emilian, it was just another Tuesday. They were all covered in this white dust cloth from top to bottom, preserving its essence and tangible memories. Under these sheets were stacked cabinets, wardrobes, book shelves, vanity tables and sideboards. As if it was just yesterday since Korneliya brought her things to the mansion. Emilian can still remember the countless novels she collected, her heaps of trendy frocks back in the day, her prized jewelry and antique wares from fine china to tapestries. She even had a liking to foreign furniture, refusing to put them into use and keeping them to herself. As far as he knew, the most expensive items inside this room were the commissioned sculptures and paintings that Korneliya ordered. There was no exception whether they were small, big or tall, they all had to fit here one way or another. If she hadn't died, she would have sucked him dry out of his pockets.

Emilian laughed dryly. 'If she had lived longer, I would have to build another room for her. Alas.'

He trotted forward, wary of the ceramics surrounding the area.

To Emilian, only one thing mattered here. And that was the golden framed oil painting of his beloved hung above the fireplace beside the moonlit window, the only source of light inside.

Although the place was as dark as ash, Emilian had seen it a thousand times with his keen eyes. The awestruck beauty of her wife and her sunny smile.

In the portrait, Korneliya had luscious locks of ginger and a gaze as deep as the ocean. She wore an orchid patterned evening gown that smelled like lavender at the time she was still here.

Emilian's pulse soared. He could feel his blushing face burning as exhaustion melted away. Just the sight of her portrait made him feel a tad bit better. If his aide caught him red right now, he would have stared at him ghost-faced. Bewildered and all the more interested in this side of him. But that day would never come, as this was only reserved for his dear Korneliya.

Emilian had a habit of coming here to clear his head. To pretend that she was still by her side to help him find an answer to all of his problems. To their problems. Just as she had done when she was alive. She was his answer.

Yet this time, it seemed too steep of a mountain to climb.

"My love" His lips quivered. "Our daughter is missing and I have not the slightest idea what to make out of our situation."

He then gripped his chest, heart aching in solitude. "Do you remember the academy? It is where you and I met. There had been no record of a noble ever evading the school of Maksim, no matter if they are sick or not, they have to go under imperial decree. We may have dodged the elemental contract ceremony but the emperor can't let us slide this time. There's only so much we can do."

Emilian's breath tickled. He averted his gaze from the portrait. His eyes had flooded, clouding his vision through underwater, blurring the line of his visuals. As soon as a tear dripped down by his cheek, he rubbed them off with his forearm, harsh and heavy, as if to conceal any emotions he had left in him.

'Not in front of her.' He gazed at her back again.

Then for the first time since he had seen himself in the mirror, the upper corner of his mouth rose to the occasion. Subtle but enough to reassure himself to her.

"If only there were someone to go in her stead."

CRASH!

A sharp crackle interrupted him.

Emilian's body hair stiffened from the sound. He turned his weight before his mind could even think.

"Who's there!?" he yelled.

He could feel his veins popping out of his forehead from his waking paranoia. If someone eavesdropped here, he wouldn't let them leave alive.

Stillness hushed.

Only the sight of a large porcelain vase was seen broken into pieces near the door.

Emilian glanced at the locked window. 'The wind couldn't have blown it over.'

Then he wandered towards the shattered porcelain.

He didn't notice this at first, but at closer inspection, the vase was spotless as if it were brand new. But that couldn't be it, some of these items were older than him, they must have built up some dust now that no one looked after them. That was unless someone must have put on the effort to wipe them clean. If he could remember correctly, he did send out an order to the butler to have someone take care of this room.

Emilian's thoughts filtered like weaving looms, interlaced one after the other, and yet nothing felt conclusive. It just seemed like he was going in circles.

Unease tampered the atmosphere as suspicion perked his ears. Heightening his senses. Maybe the reason he didn't hear any footsteps was because he was getting rusty, distracted by his miseries.

Still, he had one thing left to check.

Emilian's tense hand clutches the handle of his sword, thick and firm. Then, he peered through the gaps of cloth furniture. Perusing the endless pieces was challenging, Emilian couldn't get his grasp on the very end where darkness gloomed such as the wide wardrobe confined with layers of bookshelves blocking the path. Even if he were to come towards it, he would need to be extra careful not to crash into the ceramics. By then, he had only restricted himself from movement. Something he is in disadvantage of if this soured into a fight.

Even with that exception, nothing was amiss, everything stayed in its place.

Emilian frowned as his stomach churned.

He lets go of his sword as soon as his heart throbbed, his senses overloading, telling him to do something. If it wasn't bad enough that someone was listening in, they just had to do it inside this room.

Emilian turned his heel over the window. He gazed out at the bright moon, shining ever so brilliant as it cascaded the contour of his profile. Then, his eyes narrowed to his faint stature reflecting in the glass. It was dim but with how sharp his vision was, he could make it out.

A light bulb sparked above his head.

Emilian marched back to the portrait of his beloved. Making sure his steps were loud enough to echo.

A drawn-out heavy sigh escaped his lips. "I fear the worst has already come for our Evelina."

Emilian fixed his attention to the window's mirrored surface. As far as his eyes can see, the scene was bare. Nothing awry.

This gave him the chance to slip his hand in his belt, where at the opposite end of his sword's sheath, a scabbard anchored a dagger. Emilian fiddled with its hilt.

"Forget who she is, what if they learn what she is!" he wailed. "She is already a danger to herself!"

'A little more.' He glared at the reflection.

A flicker of blonde hair swayed close to the door. The back of the figure carefully navigates through the area, not letting a single shard touch its shoes from the vase's breakage. Silence and skill ruled. Something an assassin is trained to do. This one however, wore a black dress to a bloodbath. Emilian's hand twitched, eager to throw it in her face. Except, it was not the right time yet. The person had not revealed itself well.

Emilian then roared. "Please, If you're listening, my love! Please bring our precious daughter back home!"

The trespasser flinched. Emilian didn't look back at her, he didn't move an inch. Instead he began to sob crocodile tears.

Noticing this, she continued as she neared the exit.

The knob twisted, and he could see it clear as day.

Emilian whirled around. He pulled out his dagger and hurled it forward like throwing darts. It bullseyed a fingerbreadth away from her face.

He could hear her gasp, her body straightening as she dropped to the floor where the shattered vase scattered.

'How pathetic.' He watched.

As white stockings trembled over porcelain shards cutting through her skin.

Emilian scowled, teeth clenching, itching as he cracked his knuckles. Ready to relinquish his anger on Fyodorova grounds.

The moonlight beamed across her stature as he walked towards her. The girl's eyes were sealed shut, sweat dripping in her temples. She was no older than sixteen, close to the age of her daughter. This child was fit and petite, nothing compared to Evelina who was thin and tall. Yet something about her screams familiarity. It wasn't just the apron over her dress matching the Fyodorova maid attire, it was her warm ivory skin, her honey-blonde hair and sleek, lifted bridge. They all contested to his own features. More so his daughter's despite their slight differences.

"Please don't hurt me master!" She lifted both of his hands, covering her face.

Emilian snickered, arms crossed. "Master? You can't fool me, I've never had a servant like you before."

"That...that's because I've never been assigned to serve you in the main building before, master. This is my first time. Please believe me.." She peeked an eye out, meeting his gaze.

Without a second thought, Emilian jolted back as if he was shocked by lightning. He shook his head and swallowed hard. He had just seen something very wrong, and he couldn't get it out of his head.

"You! Open your eyes!" he ordered.

"Y-yes." The girl obeyed as her quivering stopped at last.

Emilian's eyes widened, his heartbeat quickened and his body stiffened.

"Evelina?!"

"Are you talking about my lady, master?"

Beautiful and opulent rose quartz irises glittered under moonlight, its reflection parrying on its own. Like fragments of a puzzle, Emilian pieced her together. From her small face, thin lips and long lashes, Emilian couldn't believe it! She is the picture perfect replica of Evelina!

Emilian sank to the floor as he threw rationality overboard. Impulse reeled him in as he reached for the 'Evelina' and embraced her as if she were his own. The weight over his shoulders collapsed like the world finally found peace. His heart filled half a whole as his eyes began to swell with tears. All those feelings he tried hard to conceal had fractured his mask, finally giving him the time of day to catch his breath.

"M-Master!?" The girl flinched, hair all over her body standing up. She didn't know what to do at first but when she saw his arms wrapped around her, she did the same, caressing his back to comfort.

The archduke can hear his instincts kicking in, telling him to let go, that this was just a clone of her, that their voices were much too different or that her eyes were slightly darker than hers. Emilian knew all of it as he went to hug her. Yet he rejected the notion out of sheer fatigue, unable to suppress his desires any longer.

He even confirmed his suspicions when he looked over her nape. It was barren—no sign of a birthmark. That hit the nail on the head.

The two clung to each other for a few minutes. Letting Emilian's droplets fall to the floor with ease, finally free from the matters that trouble him.

Before Emilian pulled back, he wiped his tears away and hardened his face.

"I apologize." He dusted off his clothes.

He then stood up and offered her his hand.

"Thank you Master," She rose. "And please, don't be sorry master! It was all my fault! I was ordered to clean this room and panicked when somebody came in. I shouldn't have hidden!" her voice cracked.

"Your stealth amazes me." He said deadpan. Though his puffy cheeks said otherwise, he was still trying to pull himself together.

The girl turned her gaze away."Thank you! I wake up earlier than any other servant, so I have to practice a lot to keep them from rousing!"

"That wasn't a compliment."

"Oh...then I'm sorry master." Her head lowered, flashing an awkward smile.

'I doubt she's an assassin, or even a spy. What kind of undercover act is this feeblemindedness?' Emilian sighed.

"Master, may I speak for a moment?"

His hands waved. "Go ahead"

The girl met his eyes."Since I interrupted master's private time, you may give me any punishment you see fit! I'll do anything you wish!" she yelled with sincerity.

Emilian can feel his ears bleeding from all her rattle, high-pitched and squeaky. Again, he reminds himself, that voice is far from her Evelina.

He already had the idea before she even mentioned it, all that's left is the kind of work she would be doing. Would he make her clean the halls? Wipe the windows? Wash every cloth there is? No, that would be too merciful. This girl heard every word he said, something that only a select few people knew. If she were smart, she would have used this against him.

"What is your name?" Emilian asked, snapping away from his thoughts for a moment.

"Zoya, master. At your service." she curtsied.

'How is it possible that they look the same?' he pondered.

Then, the realization hit.

"There is one thing that only you could do." he grinned.

***

"What kind of prologue is almost four thousand words long? What was going on inside my young and immature head back then?" Kim Bora pulled out a cigar from her lips, stubbing it out in a nearby ashtray.

Yet it was already too late, the air had been stuffed with smoke unrelenting. Kim Bora could only wave her hands over them while coughing.

"Duke it out Kim Bora, if famous writers can do it, you can too." She cleared her throat.

Her gray hoodie buried the shape of her frame as she sat crosslegged in her leathered desk chair. She looked over at the clock at the other side of the wall. It was six thirty in the morning, and sunlight had just poured across her dry skin, warm but stifling.

The room she was in rained paper trails of unfinished text and notebooks flipped empty. In exception to the journal book that lay in her hands, almost no pages were written, not even in her document screen.

"This is so cringe." She skimmed in disgust. "My cursive is dreadful." Kim Bora groaned.

However, when she found out it was filled to the brim, her hazel eyes blinked. "Ho ho, I wasn't familiar with your game before but now I am." She grinned, but then she reached the end, and that smile turned upside down.

Before she knew it, she had already tossed it aside, bouncing from the wall and falling to its demise.

Kim Bora dusted off her hands with a blank stare.

"I have no use for a story with no ending." she declared.