Holda’s little rainbow light vanished before the drawbridge was entirely down. Minerva herself was illuminated by a rainbow lantern that the wooden soldier brought over to her instead.

  She felt a little awkward, sharing the safety light with the construct like that. Mere days ago, she beat a few of its kind to splinters with her bare hands to quell the rage within her. And after a quick mental review it almost felt like Madame Bille let her do it on purpose.

  As the drawbridge came down on the stone of the road with a ‘thunk’, Minerva turned towards the gate. She could hear the sound of soldiers marching – and lo and behold: two files of wooden men marched out of the gate in goose step, carrying their halberds at their sides with both hands. As they reached the end of the drawbridge, they turned ninety degrees outwards, opening a corridor with a step forward, then they turned one hundred and eighty degrees to face inwards, raising their halberds and forming a corridor with them.

  The wooden soldier by Minerva’s side gave her a curt nod and handed her the mana lamp, gesturing for her to move ahead.

  She obeyed for now, slowly walking through the corridor of paraded halberds. She could see a figure wait at the end of the corridor created by soldiers, though the surrounding darkness made it impossible to identify them.

  “This might be Madame Bille herself.”

  Feels weird to come face to face with her after all this time.

  She approached the figure. As she got closer, she saw them in an upright posture, hands by their side with their head turned a little bit upwards. A bit closer and she could see them wearing a suit.

  Minerva stopped roughly three meters away from the stranger, lifting her lamp. The first thing she saw was silver hair and crimson eyes focused on her. This person’s hair was slicked back and their clothes sat perfectly. There was not a single crease in the wrong place. Their face was androgynous, making it hard for Minerva to determine the gender of the person who was obviously a butler.

  “Mistress Minerva. Welcome.”

  The voice was deep, but not deep enough to let her be entirely sure she was talking to a man. The person in front of her bowed, one arm behind their back, the other on their breast, as butlers often do.

  “I hope my cousin’s detour didn’t prove too vexing.”

  “Oh, so you’re her relative…” Minerva pieced together.

  “Quite so. My name is Urfin. I’m the head servant of Castle Bille. The mistress is currently preparing your welcome, so it falls to me to greet you at the door.” The servant turned a little to the side, their arm pointing towards the inside of the castle in an inviting gesture as the lamps on the inside turned on one by one.

  It was an impressive hallway, filled with paintings and statues, guarded by wooden men every few meters. The paintings depicted scenes from the city’s history, or at least that’s what Minerva could figure out as she looked at grandiose depictions of battles. Demonic-looking creatures were routed by an impenetrable wall of spears held by a formation of wooden men. A marionette the size of a mountain stomped on what looked like a neighboring city. The same marionette shook hands with a giant in another picture before depictions of wooden men building this very castle became the focus.

  “It seems there was a lot of conflict in this city’s past.” Minerva commented.

  “Quite so, mistress Minerva.” Urfin concurred, casting a glance at the paintings.

  “In her thousand years of rule the Madame has made use of an iron fist for her enemies and open arms for her people, while keeping cautious relations with the spirits that reign at night and in nature.”

  “Does she consider Earth her enemy?” Minerva asked, looking at a statue that showed a woman in a uniform, a sheathed rapier at her hip while her gaze was cast into the distance. She wore a mask that made her face as featureless as the marionettes she commanded.

  “That is a bit of a complicated topic, I have to admit. The Madame does not consider you enemies per se, rather she is gauging your potential.”

  “So everything up until now was just a test? Or training?”

  “In essence. She will be able to explain it in more detail once the two of you meet. Please, come this way.”

  Urfin led her to a large double winged door. It was richly decorated with golden trims and carvings of formations of wooden soldiers. As Urfin pushed the door open she couldn’t see anything beyond a single royal-looking chair carved from what looked like mahogany, though Minerva was certain that it must have been an equivalent tree that existed only in this world – and was possibly just as expensive. Everything beyond the chair was covered in shadow.

  “Take a seat.” Urfin gestured towards the inviting red satin pillows on the seat of the chair.

  “The performance will begin immediately.”

  “A performance?” Minerva looked at Urfin quizzically.

  “The Madame prefers to give guests a little performance with her marionettes before formal meetings. Each performance is bespoke, only for the eyes of the visitor. It could be an epic, a religious play, a piece out of her history… no one knows, except for her guests and herself. The only thing that is for certain is that it will hold some meaning for you.”

  Intriguing.

  “This almost sounds like a good opportunity to murder guests, as well…”

  Let’s keep our guard up. But I still want to see what she has prepared for us specifically, if she’s being earnest.

  As Minerva sat down on the almost scarily comfortable chair, Urfin left through the door again and closed it.

  Minerva sat alone in darkness for a minute before a light turned on in front of her and illuminated a stage – large wallpapers that could be moved around and depicted various landscapes and scenes were in the background, currently not in use. Around forty or so marionettes, not dressed in any clothes, were standing on the stage and slumped over, their arms and heads hanging down. One by one they got animated as purple strings attached to their limbs. They started to move around and formed a large row, bowing to their audience of one person. Minerva could see someone on a catwalk behind the stage, a silhouette, but with the blindingly bright stage light in the way it was impossible to discern their appearance.

  The shadowy figure lifted a hand and snapped their fingers – in a flash the marionettes changed their appearances, and they all took eerily realistic human forms.

  One by one they stepped forwards before walking behind the stage, out of view. Most of them were soldiers and nobles – as well as the featureless marionettes that guarded the city and castle.

  Some peasants were in the mix as well.

  Next up there was a woman who most definitely depicted a queen. Her face was beautiful and captivating while her eyes looked fearful. The reason for said fear was the next character who stepped in front. Judging by his clothes he was the matching king to this queen, but his face was that of a featureless marionette. More than that, even, it was like his face depicted a void. Where he should be wearing heraldry, it was rendered unrecognizable by splatters of blood.

  Next up was a young woman with free-flowing red hair. She showed a sweet smile, only enhanced by her red lipstick. She spun in place once before she hurried off the stage.

  “Wait, that was that Romy woman, wasn’t it?”

  Finally, another woman stepped forward. Her face was framed by silver hair and featured eyes with crimson irises, with a permanent smile that only grew wider whenever she looked at the preceding redhead. She held a harp in one arm, its strings emitting a golden glow, and played a few chords with her free hand before she bowed and followed the rest behind the stage.

  An awful lot of people with that hair and eye color combination… another relative of Urfin’s?

  She couldn’t follow her train of thought any further, as the stage play began properly. The obscured figure stepped in front, out of the shadow.

  She was wearing a black-and-white, frilly button-up dress and vest over a white blouse with an elegant black ribbon worn as a bow tie. Her smile was mysterious as her crimson eyes pierced straight through Minerva’s soul.

  She held two marionette controllers, one in each hand. Purple, glowing strings hung from them, taut despite no obvious weight being attached, and vanishing into thin air after a certain length. The lady demonstratively moved one of her controllers and one of the ‘actors’ turned around, bowing again.

  Her silver hair was neatly braided and tied behind her head with a ribbon in a way that made Minerva question how in the world she got that intricate hairdo and outfit done in the one minute since ‘Urfin’ left.

  “Good evening, my wonderful audience.”

  Her voice was a perfect middle ground between Holda’s high pitch and Urfin’s androgynous bass, her appearance a perfect blend between two people who didn’t exist. Two roles she played until now.

  “My name is Nicola Bille, and tonight I will provide your entertainment. It is a very personal piece, called ‘The Minstrel’s Curse’. May it move your heart, move you to tears, or offer you new perspectives”

  Minerva would be lying if she said she wasn’t nervous. Being face to face with the mastermind behind the marionettes that irregularly attacked her city was already nerve-racking enough, but she also played her for a fool for a few hours straight beforehand. Who knew what she had planned?

  Though for some reason Minerva didn’t move – she reclined in her chair, taking the other woman’s invitation to simply enjoy whatever entertainment she prepared.

  She could see the hint of a smirk move the corner of Madame Bille’s mouth as she cleared her throat and began her play. With another snap of her finger all the lights went out again – and as they came back on, Minerva found herself in a field of roses that swayed in a gentle breeze. Not content with a mere stage play, Madame Bille pulled her right into the world of her performance. She could see the fires of a battle over the horizon, with the cries of the dying carrying on the wind.

  Then Madame Bille’s voice spoke over the scenery, reciting a poem to accompany the visuals that Minerva was plunged into the middle of.

  “Once there was a kingdom - in bloody conquest won,

  Ruled by baleful monarch - to oppose him dared none.

  He built a mighty castle - in rose fields did it stand,

  From there he reigned with terror - over splend’rous land.”

  The fires on the horizon slowly faded and the clouds in the sky moved at a high speed – to Minerva’s left a castle was being erected in accelerated time, soon standing oppressively tall in the beautiful landscape.

  Peasants walked past and didn’t dare to look at it, covering the sides of their faces as they hurried past, talking in hushed voices.

  “None dared to even whisper - or write rebellious thought,

  For by the tyrant’s feather - they soon would feed the rot.

  His thoughts were those of horror - his eyes frenzied shone,

  His words brought only scourge - he wrote with blood alone. “

  The scenery flashed and glitched. Minerva saw flashes of mass graves, of discarded corpses thrown into pits. Of knights who hunted down people who dared to speak ill of the king, in word or verse alike. Slowly but surely the tyrannical king cleansed his ill-won realm.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  After those flashes time accelerated again and Minerva’s chair was flying in the air, approaching a village far away from the castle. She saw the familiar young redhead and the silver-haired woman standing next to each other as Madame Bille’s narration continued.

  “‘Please teach me your artform, let me sing while you play’,

  Young Romy asked a minstrel - a harpist who crossed her way.

  Nicola she was called - taught her the minstrel’s art,

  And before the year was out - they had won each other’s heart.”

  The two women gathered crowds around them as Nicola, now clearly Madame Bille’s younger self, and Romy performed. The calming sound of expert harp play embraced Minerva, accompanied by the sweet voice of the young girl.

  Her voice is so familiar…

  The scenes continued. They played in various places. Taverns, town plazas, around a campfire which they shared with knights or other weary travelers at night. And every scene the two seemed to be closer and closer together, until they finally kissed and vanished into the same inn room. Madame Bille wasn’t lying when she said this was deeply personal.

  There was a hint of jealousy in Minerva’s heart, seeing a couple living so carefree, so earnest with their feelings for each other. Her thoughts went to Miori back home and stirred yearning inside her core.

  Time accelerated again, and she watched the couple plying their trade in various villages and towns before Madame Bille’s voice could be heard once more.

  “So come their third summer - a summon they received,

  For bloody monarch wished to hear – all songs they conceived.

  They approached the baleful castle - its pure white stone a lie,

  And embraced before the gate - for this may be good-bye.”

  The couple approached the large castle in the rose field. She could see the unease in their eyes. Madame Bille’s younger self looked downright scared as she took Romy into her arms and stroked her hair to calm her.

  “The harpist spoke to the singer - ‘Be ready, my dearest love,

  Sing about true love’s heart - and of everything above.

  Sing of nature’s beauty - of the lilies you adore,

  Bring back the king’s emotions - so his terrors he abhor!’”

  The voice of Madame Bille the narrator and Nicola Bille the minstrel blended. Minerva could hear a tremble in her words – either her host was a magnificent actress, or the memory impacted her personally, and Minerva assumed that it was both. The two minstrels entered the castle, beginning a long, solemn walk through marble corridors towards the throne room.

  “Within the marbled halls - the minstrels now arrive,

  Upon his throne the monarch – to his right his wife.

  The king proud and majestic - like hellish demon’s might,

  The queen sweet and angelic - like full moon shining bright.”

  The figures of the king and the queen came into play. Just as Madame Bille’s verses described, the queen sat to the king’s right side, with an enchanting beauty radiating from her, while the tyrant was still as faceless as ever – and yet he radiated malevolence.

  Surrounding the minstrels was a gaggle of nobles who cast them disdainful glances as well as knights who looked all too ready to cut the two down if the king only so much as nodded their way. A sickeningly deep voice boomed out as the monarch lifted a finger and pointed at the two minstrels.

  “‘Now play and entertain me - and hope you play your best,

  Lest I shall amuse myself - and dye blood-red my crest.’

  They played and sang and danced – until the moon did rise,

  Their lives would be their wager - to survive would be their prize.”

  Just as Madame Bille said – they played and played. The nobles kept up their mockery while the knights held their hands on their weapons as the monarch kept looking on, seemingly unimpressed.

  “Their song told many stories - of golden times now lost,

  Of nature and of beauty – of lovers been star-crossed.

  The courtiers now fell silent – their mockery suppressed,

  The queen a heavy sigh did breathe - a yearning in her breast.”

  The sneering ceased. The knights fell to their knees as if a spell was broken. Tears welled in many onlookers’ eyes as the songs continued. The couple of minstrels were yearnfully singing love songs, while the courtiers looked on, mesmerized.

  But as the queen joined in and squirmed on her throne, looking at the two minstrels with a yearning that felt like years of repression were broken, the malignant figure of the king screamed, his voice even piercing the music.

  “‘You dare enchant my people – and now seduce my wife?

  For this transgression heavy – I shall now take your life!’

  The king rose from his throne - baring steel with malice,

  His sword impaled the singer– stained with blood his palace.”

  Rising from his throne the king drew steel. Each step was booming with malicious intent as the minstrels continued on, apparently oblivious – they were too caught up in their yearnful performance to notice – until it was too late. The king simply grabbed Romy and turned her around to make her face him. Then he put all his weight into a thrust that made his sword sink into her chest all the way to the hilt. Her eyes went wide, and she couldn’t manage to sing any longer, nor vocalize the pain she must have felt in this very moment. The music from Nicola’s harp came to a stop and a scream pierced the scene. A terrible, loud and long scream that lasted for an eternity as the king twisted the blade in Romy’s heart and pushed her off it, sending her falling to the ground. Nicola immediately hurried to her side and held her in her arms as life faded from her eyes. The cruel king simply turned away from the scene and returned to his throne, looking on as if this was the entertainment he wanted to see all along.

  “Holding tight her dying love – hearing a last breath fade,

  The harpist wailed loudly – and sealed the tyrant’s fate.

  Her harp soon was shattered – against stained marble floor.

  Its strings she used to pluck at fate – revenge bitter she swore.”

  Nicola’s face was a contorted, twisted expression of grief and wrath intermingling and creating a horrific sight. Her cries of anguish and anger still pierced the air of the marble hall as the king’s knights drew close to finish the job their king started. She grabbed her harp and smashed it against the ground, releasing the golden magic strings she only used to play music until this point. They came to her and wrapped around her fingers. With swift movements she extended the strings which latched onto the first soldier, then another.

  The young Nicola added further gestures with her arms and hands and before long the knights killed each other as half of them were controlled by her enchanted strings. She quickly wrapped the dead Romy in her cloak and carried her in her arms, running towards the gate. Before she left the throne room she turned around once more and yelled the next two stanzas in Madame Bille’s place:

  “An heir you’ll never sire – your seed shall find no bed!

  Your conquests may they falter – your armies shall know dread!

  Your castle may it crumble – reclaimed by nature’s green!

  And may your corpse be rotting – ignored and left unseen!

  “Your name shall be forgotten – your glories be undone!

  Your gardens they shall wither – tended to by none!

  Now weep, o monarch foul – my wrath you have incurred!

  Your legacy now soon undone – by nothing but my word!”

  With that she ran outside of the castle. She stopped in the rose fields outside, crying while burying Romy’s body under the beautiful flowers. The next scenes showed her felling trees with an axe and carving the wood with a knife, shaping it into marionette soldiers. Using the strings from her harp she puppeteered them over great distances – and before long an entire army of wooden men marched on the castle. Men, women, children, whoever lived there wasn’t spared. The walls crumbled, and soon nothing was left as Madame Bille’s voice boomed over the scene:

  “So spoke the former harpist – marionettes she did raise,

  Invaded monarch’s kingdom – to set it all ablaze!

  The tyrant’s name extinguished – from song and poem’s verse,

  A second death he can’t escape – such is the minstrel’s curse!”

  An eerie silence hung over the scene as nature reclaimed the ruins of the former castle. A grave marker for Romy was erected in its place and many flowers of remembrance bloomed. Minerva’s eyes went wide upon recognizing the place.

  This is…!

  “Buried among the roses - young Romy was laid to rest,

  Yet from her grave she did arise – a black heart in her chest.

  Claiming the former kingdom – all memory she did perverse,

  Of innocent and the guilty – for she is the minstrel’s curse.”

  Romy’s corpse stirred within the rose fields and before long she stood up. Her body looked like it merged with the thorny plants around her. Her skin was sickly green, and her red hair turned to leaves of the same color. Her irises were the shade of blood, set within black sclera.

  Lethe rose from Romy’s grave and looked directly at the ‘audience’.

  This time it was Minerva who screamed.

  Minerva was restrained by half a dozen marionettes who grabbed her limbs and held her back as she flailed around – her body wanted to rush the demon in front of her, while also locking up in fear. With the sound of snapping fingers, the illusionary stage vanished – ‘Lethe’ was a blank marionette and collapsed without any strings holding it up.

  Minerva went limp in the arms of the wooden men holding her, tears streaming down her face.

  Madame Bille stood at the center of the stage, eyes closed with a hand on her chest, like she herself needed a moment to process her own memories again.

  “Calm yourself, Minerva.” She said in a sympathetic tone as she approached.

  “She is not here. She can’t hurt you in my castle.”

  She brought a cold hand to Minerva’s cheek and wiped her tears as she looked her in the eyes.

  “I wanted you to see this so you can beat her. You could never kill her before, because you assumed she was a demon, a spirit, a grave walker. No. She is much worse than that: she is a curse.”

  ***

  It took a few more minutes for Minerva to completely calm down. It was a small wonder that she let the wooden men restrain her, come to think of it - maybe a sign that she didn’t see them as enemies right now.

  Her and Madame Bille withdrew to the castle’s private chambers, and they shared an awkward dinner, sitting across from each other at a relatively short table. Minerva suspiciously eyed the ‘chicken’ which was served, remembering the odd scaled creatures from the market.

  She poked it with her fork and sometimes shot a glance at Madame Bille who simply appeared to enjoy her own meal – until she had enough of Minerva’s fidgeting.

  “I assure you, Minerva. If I wanted to poison you, I would pick something more dramatic than elwetritsch. Maybe something… ironic even. Like the garum that you are so fond of.”

  Minerva blushed and finally decided to eat the weird creature - at least it did taste like chicken.

  Afterwards the lady offered the Magical Girl a bath and she gladly accepted. Minerva sat in a tub of hot water as large as a swimming pool, staring at the marbled wall as she let the heat of the water soak into her.

  So Madame Bille and Lethe are connected… I don’t know what to make of it.

  “How are you holding up, Seika?”

  I’ll manage. I’m actually more embarrassed by the way I reacted, rather than truly shaken. I think.

  In that moment she heard the door – after a quick glance she immediately turned her head away again as she confirmed that it was Madame Bille who entered.

  “Uh, wh- why are you in here?”

  “Isn’t it common in your world for women to bathe together in large places like this?” the aristocrat countered and chuckled. The water rippled and hit Minerva’s arm. She only dared to look towards the other woman as the water settled again.

  She sat right next to Minerva, submerged up to her shoulders.

  “I’m sorry for that… shocking revelation at the end.”

  “It’s fine. I overreacted.”

  “Did you, though? That thing has caused you immeasurable damage.”

  “You talk quite coldly about her. Wasn’t she your beloved?”

  Madame Bille paused after Minerva’s observation and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before she answered.

  “That thing isn’t Romy anymore.” She looked at a distant spot on the wall and Minerva felt a twinge of sympathy for her.

  “Most of her soul has long passed on, and the curse merely puppeteers her corpse. Just like I do my wooden men.” She let out a dry chuckle at the irony.

  “She’s out there, in our vast multiverse, getting reincarnated over and over… and I’m hoping against hope that fate will allow me to see her one more time after I righted my wrongs.”

  “Most?”

  Madame Bille looked Minerva in the eyes again after that inquiry.

  “The curse is anchored to the smallest sliver of her soul still trapped in her corpse. It’s what I labor to undo.”

  She let out a long sigh.

  “My curse on the king was meant seriously, though it was… figuratively. As a minstrel I possessed the influence and means to ensure that his name wouldn’t survive through history. But… something listened and offered me to make the curse a physical thing.”

  Minerva furrowed her brow.

  “Something?”

  “Yes. But I fear that is all I can tell you about the nature of the curse for now.” The aristocrat looked strangely uncomfortable all of a sudden, putting a hand on her chest.

  “I will be able to tell you everything tomorrow. We’ll finish our trade, and I’ll have a favor to ask.”

  She looked Minerva up and down before she grabbed a strand of her hair, pulling it forward into the Magical Girl’s field of view.

  “Your dye is coming undone, see? I have something to get it all out at once. You don’t have to hide anymore, so feel free to bring back that beautiful red. It’s the cyan powder in the cosmetics drawer.”

  Minerva blinked and looked at her hair. There was indeed a red glow coming through the hair dye, even though it was supposed to be washing resistant. Apparently, her battle-hardened form didn’t like being obscured like this for long.

  “So… that entire ‘performance’ of you leading me into that room, from the town square to the gate, to the door…?”

  The corner of Madame Bille’s mouth rose in a smirk, letting go of Minerva’s hair.

  “I play the role that is required of me, no matter what it might be.”

  A sudden twister of shadows engulfed her and she was a few centimeters smaller, with her chest having noticeably shrunk. Her formerly braided hair was hanging loosely to her shoulders as the innocent young weaver called Holda was looking up at Minerva.

  “The role of a young maiden who encounters the protagonist and leads her up the mountain while telling her about the spirits that rule night and nature…”

  She leaned a bit closer, her eyes wide.

  “Madame mage, I never realized how beautiful your skin is! This must be the result of all your days studying in a library without overdue exposure to the sun!”

  She ran a finger over Minerva’s shoulder.

  The shadows engulfed her again and Urfin emerged. Out of the butler’s suit she was clearly a woman. Her face still displayed an androgynous handsomeness as she bowed her head to Minerva.

  “Mistress Minerva… is the temperature to your liking? Naturally I played the role of a servant, as is expected when a protagonist enters a castle. It would be unbecoming of the ruler living inside to greet a visitor at the door.”

  Her figure vanished and appeared again as Nicola, the young minstrel.

  “And of course I played my own part in the stage play, rather than having a wooden man do it.”

  She turned back into Madame Bille, the aristocrat and puppet master.

  “Were my roles convincing?” She asked with a smile.

  “You had me fooled.” Minerva answered with a sigh.

  “Very good. Now, do rest up, Minerva. There is much to discuss tomorrow.”

  With that said the woman got out of the water and left the bath. Minerva followed her with her eyes until she was gone, then she got to work removing the hair dye from her appearance as instructed before she went to her provided bedroom.

  It was a reasonably large guest room with a canopy bed. A simple mana lamp stood on the bedside table.

  Minerva rested on the bed and closed her eyes, shifting and turning a while. She found the rainbow light shining on her eyelids to be a distracting annoyance, so she extinguished the lamp.

  She tried to sleep again, but her body heated up as she thought about Lethe again and rage filled her heart. Her room felt stuffy, so she opened the window a crack wide.

  All those measures didn’t help much and only after two hours she finally drifted into an uneasy sleep.