Reborn as the Tragic First Boss...(Chapter 4 02/27/23)

[InkuHime]

Reborn as the Tragic First Boss who Dies to Set the Hero on His Path? No Thanks. I’ma gonna stay in my Nursery!

By Inku Hime

inc_himitsu@hotmail.com

Chapter 1

    Concern and perhaps a little fear laced the man’s voice, making it seem that the concern was a sham. “There is no medical reason for this condition, I will continue to research it, but at the moment, My Lady, I must beg for forgiveness, for there is no medical explanation.”
    A reply suggested umbrage, for with some sputtering, another man said, “My Lady, there is no magical reason for this either. No curse nor spell has been laid; it is neither illusion nor transformation nor changeling switch. The answer will not be found in the mystical arts.”
    Had the first man perhaps pointed at the second when he delivered his diagnosis? Was that why the second sounded so angry?
    There were tears, anger, exhaustion, and steel in the woman’s voice. “If not physical or mystical, how do you explain my daughter’s condition?” She nearly screamed.
    Silence. A silence so heavy it was uncomfortable.
    A cry sounded, breaking the silence.
    The woman said, “Colleen, see about the child.”
    “Yes, My Lady,” another woman said, tone differential and quiet.
    Things shifted in the room as if it all flipped around and grew warmer. The crying stopped.
    It oozed, the voice of the next speaker, like molasses poured on a white baking sheet. “If you will excuse me, My Lady, if neither physical nor mystical, could it not be spiritual?”
    “Spiritual? What do you mean?” The woman’s tone was snappish.
    One could almost picture the man bowing his head down low. “If neither physical ailment nor mystical curse, then perhaps a blessing from on high?”
    Blessing?
        Blessing?
            Blessing?
                Blessing?
    Why did that word echo like that? Why did it fall like a rock in a still pond?
    “A blessing?” The woman called ‘My Lady’ said in a tone that suggested she was keeping a scream in by the force of will alone. “You call this a blessing?”
    “Who can know the minds of the gods, My Lady.” The voice still oozed, the once clean baking sheet now halfway covered in dirty brown. Would it cover it all? Of course, it would. Molasses was slow, but it was persistent.
    And enough of it could be fatal.
    “That is ridiculous!”
    “But, My Lady, does not the Goddess Gaia love all children? Did not the poet Cathal say…”
    “I know the poems of bloody Cathal! If rain were Gaia’s damnable tears cried whenever a child grows up, it would be raining every damned day!”
    Gaia?
        Gaia?
            Gaia?
                Gaia?
    The word, a name, was uncomfortable, itchy, cold.
    “Still, My Lady, might we send for an expert? One who can intercede for us with the gods?”
    “I have little time for the church and its servants. I only put up with you because of my Husband. Don’t try my patience.”
    The heavy silence again.
    Then the man of magic spoke. “My Lady, please, consider it.”
    The man of science spoke. “If only to rule it out. Then Nial and I will redouble our efforts.”
    “You did not redouble them already?”
    “We will push ourselves beyond human bounds; we will not rest until we have an answer.”
    “It is as he says, My Lady.”
    Science and magic made friends. That pairing was fluffy and warm.
    Silence again but for soft murmurings from the woman called Colleen.
    Then the lady spoke. “Contact the Church, and let them know that I will not have them in this house for longer than needed.”
    “Of course, My Lady.”
    And the white sheet was stained brown.
    “I shall send for Father Raphael immediately.”
    Raphael?
        Raphael?
            Raphael?
                Raphael?
    If the word ‘Blessing’ has been itchy, this word was like fire.
    Again there was crying, and Colleen’s murmurings grew louder.
    “Let us go and leave Colleen to quiet her. Surely all our voices are upsetting the child,” the lady said.
    Likely they all left.
    Father Raphael.
    Hate.
    I put a word to the burning feeling.
    Hate.
    And like puzzle pieces coming together, I saw part of the picture.
    Envision, if you will, a puzzle, its pieces all dumped out at random, face up, on a flat surface.
    That was my mind, is my mind.
    Chaos.
    Now imagine that the surface is a vibrating tray and that the pieces all begin to move, sliding around.
    Chaos that makes you seasick if you try to stare at it for too long.
    But if it is your mind, you can not help but stare at it.
    Pieces move around, bumping into each other, gathering together and then splitting apart.
    But sometimes you see, several related pieces drift close together, and you see that, and you think something like, ‘Oh, that’s a cow’. But then the parts split apart, and you can no longer see that cow, and you do not even remember what a…. What was I thinking?
    Something about an animal?
    Animal?
        Animal?
            Animal?
    And so it goes.
    Chaos.
    But then something happens as the puzzle pieces dance around in their mad jig. Two pieces come together, and the tab jiggles into the blank, and now two parts are one, joined together, joining the dance.
    Dance.
        Dance.
            Dance.
                Dance.
    A bigger piece moving about the tray. It has gravity, and it engenders a different sort of chaos. A bully on the playground demanding everyone play their game.
    But other pieces slip together, tab and blank, another source of gravity on the tray.
    Order is being enforced on chaos.
    Does any of this make sense?
    Maybe?
    In time there are many of these joined pieces. More than two? Many more than two. They are made up of two parts, and more than two parts and then are recognizable. So now I see that cow, and it never comes apart, and I know what a cow is, and I know what milk is because it comes from a cow.
    That is not much to know.
    But I know it.
    Not that there is a cow.
    Well, there must be because I know what a cow is.
    Or that could be because there is a farm, and a cow is on a farm.
    I don’t know. And if I look at it too much, I get that seasick feeling.
    Is there a boat? Is that why I know what a seasick feeling is?
    Itching and burning and cold.
    I can’t think too much on it.
    But there is a set of pieces for Father Raphael. Or a set of pieces for hate. And I know that I hate Father Raphael. I know that he is my enemy.
    And I know that I must not go to the church, for if I do, my fate is sealed.
    I just don’t know what that fate is.
    And other than being a word that is itchy and cold, I am not sure what a church is.
    I am pretty sure it is not a cow.
    Not really sure why I think of cows so much.
    Maybe because of the milk?
    “You know that they say Father Raphael could become the High Priest.” The voice belongs to Colleen, and whenever I hear it, the world is warm and soft.
    However, this time, and those words, are itchy, spikey, cold.
    And on the vibrating tray, the puzzle pieces find their mates.
    Click.
        Click.
            Click.
    “You best not talk like that, Colleen. You know what the Viscountess thinks of the church.”
    Click.
    “I’d never speak against our Lady, but I worry about her feud with the Church.”
    Click.
        Click.
    “Worry? Why?”
    There was a feeling of the world shifting, and Colleen said, “I suppose because I think that she’ll never be able to go back.”
    “That won’t bother our Lady. Even if they throw her out and declare her an enemy of the church, you know she’ll just grab that big sword of hers and dare them to do something.”
    CLICK.
    I started crying, howling, and Colleen, who held me in her arms as she had been breastfeeding me, asked, “What’s wrong ShiShi?”
    What was wrong?
    What was wrong?
    There was a metaphorical puzzle in my baby brain that was coming together, and the meat in my small head could not easily contain it.
    It hurt.
    It might have been actual physical pain as my brain was being shredded.
    It might have been psychosomatic or hysterical because I was having an existential crisis.
    Click.
    Ouch.
    So what was wrong, Colleen, my dear wet nurse?
    Where do I start?
    I’ve been reborn, and I am now a baby.
    Somehow for some reason, the knowledge of my past life (well, some of it, at least) has been crammed into the tiny mind of said baby, and I don’t think it should have been.
    Oh, and if that was not bad enough, my future is dark and horrible things will happen to me.
    Then I will be killed for some reason that I think is really stupid.
    Click.
    Ouch.
    Click.
    Ouch.
    Click.
    Ouch.
    So that is what is wrong, Colleen, but as I can’t seem to even talk, I’m going to have a bloody hard time telling you!
    I poop my diaper at that moment, and it fills up with warm mush pressed against the too-sensitive skin of my bottom.
    Oh, for the love of…
    That’s it.
    I’m done.
    Go away, you stupid puzzle. I’m just a baby, and I’m gonna cry.
    And so I do.

    Time passes as it does when you are a baby trying to deny reality.
    I sleep, eat, and mess my diapers.
    That’s a baby’s job, you know?
    And I am serious about my job.
    Colleen and another nursemaid (whose name I do not know at the moment, so call her breastfeed me, and I nurse without a single complaint. The stuff is great, my baby brain tells me, and I don’t argue.
    And I fill my diapers without thought. That is the honest truth. I don’t think about it. One moment my diapers are dry, and another, they are wet and cold, and there is a load in the seat, and I’m crying, and I certainly don't recall wetting and messing them.
    When I sleep, I dream baby dreams, but I also remember things. In the unconscious world, the puzzle intrudes, but as pieces come together, it doesn't hurt. Well, maybe it does. I do hear the nursery maids talking about me and how I whimper in my sleep.
    I have good reason, you know? I’m not having nightmares about… what would babies have nightmares about?
    I am holding the bars of my crib, standing on the mattress, and looking out at my nursery. It is mostly empty now; an older woman (white hair and wrinkles old) is sitting in a rocking chair, perhaps napping. A younger woman, maybe a teenager, one of the nursery maids, is cleaning up, stocking cabinets, and looking over at me every now and then. What? Do you want to fight or something? No, probably not. Just keeping an eye on the baby.
    The weird baby.
    I figure most babies don’t act like me, but is there a baby in the world like me?
    No, there is not.
    And that is significant.
    I guess I need to work this out.
    I am four years old, but if you look at me, you would think I was probably around one year. My mother, the Viscountess, sent for doctors and wizards and has been trying to find out what is wrong with me.
    And after much research and study, magic and science could not answer her question.
    Which is why oozy wants someone from the church to take a look at me.
    Oh, I am Shivaun, ShiShi to the maids. Shivaun Hefferun.
    And in the series of novels called the Seven Roses and Seven Thorns (there are over fifty of them!) Shivaun Hefferun is the first boss of the first book, and she dies in the very first chapter.
    I mean, what is up with that? Being reborn as a villain or the last boss is one thing, but as a character who does not even make it out of the first chapter? Is there a god who did this? I would like to complain.
    “What’s the matter ShiShi? Have you pooped yourself?”
    Thoughts like water thrown on a hot surface, skittering around and poofing away.
    The nursery maid picked me up and checked my diaper, and I was all anger and tears. How dare she just pick me up and accuse me of pooping myself. How dare she pat my messy diaper and push the itchy mucky muck against my bum.
    So I cried and cried cause that is all I could do.
    At least until my diaper was changed and I was put into my crib.
    Thinking and crying and pooping were so exhausting.
    I fell asleep.

    Should I have teeth? I am not sure when babies start teething. I am chewing on a soft rubbery ring thing, drooling. It is incredible how enjoyable chewing on something can be, the soft squish between my gums. I guess the one good thing about not having teeth is that no one seriously thought to wean me.
    Other than the occasional bowl of something gross and mushy, it is breast milk daily.
    Chewy thing in my mouth, drool on my chin, thinking about when I next got to nurse.
    Being a baby is great.
    Wait, no. It is terrible.
    Remember.
    First boss and dead before the first chapter.
    All the boob milk in the world does not make up for that.
    But I got to think about the Seven Roses and Seven Thorns and the first book, ‘The Church Thorn’ because I am going to die in chapter one.
    Well, assuming that this is the world of the books.
    I chew and drool and notice my diaper is wet and warm. As it will soon be cold and clammy, and I’ll be just thinking of that and crying, I better try to get my thoughts together while I can.
    Seven Roses and Thorns starts with a swordsman named Conan. Not that barbarous guy; I guess he was ripped off from another Conan who was bald and hairy or something? No, don’t get distracted, baby brain. Stay on task. Chew on the rubbery thing and let me do the real work.
    Conan was a magical swordsman, I guess you’d call him. Young and idealistic in chapter 1. He comes to the realm’s capital city to make his name and fortune just in time to see large swaths of it, the city, not his fortune, being destroyed.
    Everyone is fleeing, shouting out confusing things about a monster attacking the church, trying to kill the Saint of Gaia.
    Being a heroic type of fellow, Conan runs into danger. He fights through disaster and puppet monsters, horrible creatures described as moving like something in a nightmare. There were also depraved demons stalking the city, killing and torturing the citizens.
    It was all exhilarating. He had been joined by a couple of other want-to-be heroes by then.
    Margreg, the sorceress and Colm, the archer.
    The three of them fight their way to the middle of the church and discover that the monster is the Saint of Gaia, a little baby throwing a tantrum, tossing out magic of incredibly destructive power and ripping open holes in time and space through which demons come.
    Can you imagine my surprise when I read that?
    The saint was a baby, the first boss was a baby. Who does that?
    I’ve grown bored with the chewy ring and let it fall. I’m squirming a little, crawling on the padded floor of my playpen, looking at some of the toys within. Baby brain is getting bored and becoming aware of a cooling diaper.
    I don’t have much time.
    Conan, Margreg, and Colm try their best to calm the baby. Margreg is almost killed when she grabs the baby and hugs it to her incredible bosoms (not my words, or the author’s, I suppose, but look at the novel’s cover art. They were huge!) saying that she, the baby, future me, will be safe. But the first boss is inconsolable, and she blasts poor Margreg away.
    In the end, the half-dead Conan does the unthinkable and kills the Saint of Gaia.
    Again think of how shocked you’d be in reading that. First the boss is an adorable baby, and then the hero of the piece kills that baby.
    I mean, tough man making tough choices kind of story.
    Some people threw the book away at that point, but most, like me, were intrigued enough by chapter one to continue.
    So, if I am named a saint by this Father Raphael (hate him), I am going to die.
    I have to stop that!
    I need to fight my fate!
    I must find a way to keep from being named a saint.
    I want my diaper changed.
    Diaper?
    Darn it!
    And then I’m crying, and who has time to think of fighting fate.
    Baby’s diapee is cold and clammy! Change me!

 

[smilekat414]

Ok this is an interesting take on the isekai (or however its spelled) stories, be interested to see where it goes, in particular the world building to justify this setup with a baby who doesn't ages but has demon summoning power. Also kinda interested in where the heck the cannon story goes from "I killed a baby, heroically"

[BabySiras]

14 minutes ago, smilekat414 said:

Ok this is an interesting take on the isekai (or however its spelled) stories, be interested to see where it goes, in particular the world building to justify this setup with a baby who doesn't ages but has demon summoning power. Also kinda interested in where the heck the cannon story goes from "I killed a baby, heroically"

I'm imagining it's a set up for a dark deconstruction of fantasy realms, similar to the Gods and Monsters Superman killing child braniac for being an uncontrollable danger to others. I'm sure the original book saw it as a tear jerking moment that set the tone

 

Also, normally font like isekai, but this is interesting. I like how there's sorts of a war going on between the adult intellect of the past life versus the pure instinct and need driven half thought of his current life.

 

Also, spoiler. But the true villain was clearly truck-kun all along

[BabyGabrial]

Interesting start. Keep it up.

[InkuHime]

Chapter 2

    What? A little baby crying and wanting her diapee changed?
    No idea what you are talking about.
    Nope, I’m just recalling the story in the first book of Seven Roses and Seven Thorns. About how Conan kills the baby Saint of Gaia, aka Shivaun Hefferun, aka me.
    It is late; I was woken in the middle of a diaper change and then fed. My tummy is full, and my diaper is probably going to stay dry for a bit. It is an excellent time to work. I know I said a baby’s job is to sleep, eat, and poop, but that’s not the work I’m doing right now.
    Man, that Conan must have been a total jackass, right? And if you threw the book away at the end of the chapter (and apparently some people did), you would have believed this. But the second chapter opens up with him riddled with guilt and in the midst of drinking himself to death. But his new companions Margreg and Colm come and drag him out of his spiral and ask the question, ‘Why did the Saint of Gaia go crazy like that?’
    So Conan, like a drowning man, grabs onto the life preserver, hoping to discover something that will alleviate his guilt.
    Not that he does. Poor bastard is eaten away by the guilt that haunts him over the fifty-plus volumes. I could almost feel sorry for him if I was not feeling more sorry for myself.
    Conan, Margreg, and Colm start to investigate and almost immediately find themselves targets of assassins. They also have to deal with people who are angry that Conan killed the Saint of Gaia. And there are the regular monsters you get in a fantasy novel.
    To say that the three were challenged is putting it lightly.
    But as they investigate, they uncover dark facts about the church and what happened to the Saint of Gaia during the sixteen years she was kept there.
    Yeah, sixteen years. So if I can’t figure something out, I have sixteen years of waiting to die. That’s crap and just the tip of this crapberg!
    They find out that the Saint of Gaia was terribly abused during her time at the church. She, I, could heal almost any injury due to what was called Gaia’s blessing, (I don't know if I could heal any wound right now, I have never been badly hurt that I know of, but I do suffer from diaper rash). Just think, well, don’t, but for people who liked abusing children, how much could they indulge in their twisted appetites with a child whose injuries would heal almost instantly.
    Well, physical injuries.
    It was well known that the author did not care for organized religion and was not afraid to paint his fictional ones as terrible places.
    So not only am I going to die, but I am also going to be abused while waiting to die? What the hell, author?
    In the story, Conan and company eventually have enough evidence to take to the Emperor. There is a big final fight between Conan and the High Priest Raphael (who gets much more character development and a cooler death scene than a certain saint).
    My thoughts are scattered by the nursery door opening, and I realize that my diaper is wet. Ugh. That’s it for any sort of planning. The best I can hope for is to get to sleep before a cooling diaper upsets me.
    There are soft voices, the old nurse and, to my surprise, a masculine voice.
    The nursery is not really a place where men come that often.
    That's novel.
    Novel interests me and the baby brain.
    “Not to worry,” a voice I think might belong to my father says.
    “As you say, sir,” the old nurse replies.
    Mother is My Lady, father is just sir. That reminds me of things; some of the puzzle pieces in my mind snap together. However, I can’t give it the attention I want. My baby brain is beginning to wander, and I’m tired.
    I close my eyes to narrow slits so I only see shadows approach the crib.
    Father’s voice, a whisper that probably carries further than he thinks, “When will Father Raphael arrive?”
    I hate Father Raphael, the real monster, pimp and trafficker hiding in the robes of the holy.
    “It will still be some time. There is much to arrange if things are to go as we wish them,” another man replies. I recognize that voice. It’s the ooze-voiced man who suggested the church. I am pretty sure I hate him too. I am almost positive he was in the first book… maybe he survived to show up as a petty little annoying shit stain in other books.
    Shit stain… all my best swears remind me of my diapers…
    “It has to be soon. Niamh already doubts your suggestion. I am trying to convince her, but the damn woman never listens to me.”
    “Do not worry, my lord,” was oozy the only person who called father ‘my lord’? “The Viscountess is worried; she is holding onto hope.”
    “What is the point of this? She will never give the girl over to the church.”
    The girl? I have a name you know.
    “You are her father.”
    He laughed, loud and bitter. You know, a baby is trying to sleep here? I know you are upset, but come on, don’t be complete shit… ugh.
    The two were quiet, and I could imagine the old nurse staring at the two men.
    My sham sleep was becoming closer to actual sleep. oozy said, “If Father Raphael identifies her as a saint, his power and the church’s power will grow. If that power is put behind you being her father will mean much more. The Viscountess will not be able to stand against us.”
    “She will fight.”
    In what might cause nightmares, I pictured oozy smiling, showing too many teeth. He said to my father, “She will lose.”

    It is warm, and the air is scented by flowers. Butterflies and fat bees fly between many blooms delighting me. The walled family garden behind the estate is beautiful, at least the parts I have seen. Most of the time, I am in a small section created just for me. Tall flower beds and a gate keep me trapped within, even if all of my caretakers were to suddenly fall asleep. It is an outdoor, giant playpen in some manners.
    The grass is soft, kept short, and I’ve seen the gardeners removing small stones from the ground. Things I might scratch myself on when I crawl around on the grass wearing only my diaper. That’s right, I am nude but for my crinkly white diaper.
    It is like they are trying to embarrass me!
    Of course, they aren’t, I know. It is a warm day, and it is nice to feel the sun and the wind. I guess nudity is the privilege of babies. Yeah, it is a privilege, not people bigger than me stealing my clothes and putting me on display.
    I am glad it is a privilege; otherwise, I would probably try to hide away.
    Sitting down heavily on the padding under my bum, only a little damp, thank you, I look around. I already said there were butterflies and fat bees but also fairies. Few people can see them as they dance among the flowers, teasing the insects and the flowers, stealing a little pollen to sprinkle in their hair.
    Sometimes they would fly around me, apparently delighted by the baby. I could not tell what they said; their language was a mystery to me.
    I am the only person who can see them in the garden. Powerful wizards can; they often form contracts with such beings to learn magic of a specific type.
    I reach out for them, playing their game. They seem delighted to dart out of the reach of my chubby fingers.
    It never hurts to have the favour of fairies, or so the books in the Seven Roses and Seven Thorns have led me to believe. ‘Hey, you faeries, can you hear me?’ I asked. Okay, I said nothing like that.
    This baby brain of mine is probably soaking up language like crazy; I think that is why I understand what is being said around me. But I still remember the language I spoke in my other life. So the sound I made was a confusing mix of this world’s language (probably nation or region, really, what are the chances everyone speaks the same language?) and my previous life’s language. And because of this baby's mouth, every one of the words was garbled, so it sounded like babel.
    One of the nurses said with delight, “Yes ShiShi, we can hear the birds.” She smiled broadly at me and, to a nursery maid, said, “Did you hear that? I am sure she asked if we could hear the birds.”
    “Sounded more like nonsense to me,” the nursery maid said.
    I sighed, though it was not a good sigh and might have been mistaken for a burp.
    And for the record, the faeries did not respond at all.
    Giving up on the faeries, I crawled across the grass to a pile of toys, pulled a soft bear from it, and hugged it to myself. If I looked busy playing with the bear (his name was Colonel Kuma Kuroi, by the way. His patchy fur is a proud battle injury and not because someone drooled and chewed on him), they were less likely to bother me and shake me out of my thoughts.
    Mama saw me this morning before I was taken outside to play.
    Mama often comes to the nursery, just to look in at me. I thought at first she did not like me, but as I remember more about Seven Roses and Seven Thorns (the puzzle pieces are still shaking about, more large pieces, but still a lot of chaos) I realize that she does love me and is just really, super busy.
    Viscountess Niamh Hefferrun, general of the Empire’s Third Heavy Cavalry Brigade. According to what Conan hears in SRST (Seven Roses and Seven Thorns), she was a self-made woman. The daughter of a provincial Baron, she climbed the ranks during the Empier’s war with the Kingdom of Rust. The previous Emperor (at least he was previous when SRST started… maybe he still is in power at this time? No one tells a baby about politics.) made her a Viscountess for her service to the Empire, gifting some precious lands, both Imperial and those captured by the Empire from the Kingdom.
    So she is wealthy and powerful.
    So why is her presence in SRST just what Conan learns about her?
    Well, it is because she is dead at the start of the series.
    The thought almost starts me crying.
    My mama is dead.
    But she is not. Not now.
    She is alive and powerful, and I got to find out how to save both me and my mama from the stupid fate that SRST laid out.
    You might ask how one of the most influential people in the Empire died?
    It was like oozy and stupid papa were saying by my crib the other night. Getting a saint supercharges the church, the weakest of the state’s institutions at this moment in time.
    I guess during the war, the government and the army had grown in importance, and the church became less important. But now the war is over. With a saint under its control, the church could say that it was time for a new way of thinking. It was time to start looking towards the gods, especially the world mother, Gaia. That is why the church is so powerful at the start of SRST.
    Conan discovers that Viscountess Hefferrun made many attempts to take her daughter back from the church, but with the weakening of the army and the strengthening of the church she had less power and few allies.
    She dies in mysterious circumstances about six years before the first novel starts.
    What about stupid papa?
    As ‘Father of the Saint’, he is an important religious figure, the church says. Conan and co will discover him leading a debauched life of luxury in the second or third book.
    Stupid pervert, papa.
    I hug my bear tight and wonder what I can do to keep myself out of the church’s hands and save mama. She’s my most powerful ally, after all.
    The puzzle pieces shake across the tray, and hints of new patterns appear and disappear.
    Maybe I have an idea.
    What if…
    The nurse is suddenly looming behind me, reaching out, pulling the back of my diaper open. “Well, it looks like someone is a mucky little thing.”
    No!
    What was I thinking?
    ‘Stop checking my damn diaper,’ I snap.
    Well, not really. I guess the only word the nurse might have understood was ‘diaper’ for she says in a high-pitched sing-song voice, “Yes, I know you want a new diaper 'cause you’re a stinky little baby.”
    And as I am whisked up and Colonel Kuma falls from my hands, I start crying.

[InkuHime]

Chapter 3

    I pull myself up using my crib bars and take a quick look around the nursery, just to make sure no one is paying attention to me. Or at least more attention than you usually need to give a baby. I’m amazed any babies survive. When my baby brain is let to do what it wants, I am often in danger of death! Or so it seems.
    I drop back to my crib mattress and focus on the toy in the crib with me. It is another toy bear, and this one is named ‘Dame Bearlina Brownstien’. Bearlina’s fur is free of battle wounds because she’s never been chewed or drooled on. I am almost sorry for what I am about to try.
    Getting on my knees, I make a pudgy fist, draw it back, and then with all the force I can muster, I punch Bearlina.
    Wouldn’t it be great if the bear just exploded? If the soft material covering was shredded and its glass eyes rocketing out to punch holes in the wall. If the stuffing became a fine dust which filled the room.
    Baby Punch!
    That would be a great cheat power, and I could do in Father Raphael when he showed up.
    However, as you might guess, that did not happen.
    My best punch did not even shift Bearlina Brownstein while; I fell on my side.
    Well played, Dame Brownstein, well played. You win this time.
    I considered crying because I had fallen over and was a little frustrated. However, after a moment I rolled over and looked out between my crib bars. I suppose a baby punch would have been a little too convenient of a power. Plus, if I had some kind of super strength, I would probably know by now.
    How was I going to deal with Father Raphael?
    I could cry and poop myself when he showed up, but that would not be that different from how I usually am. And who am I kidding? As if I could poop on demand.
    I rolled back over and looked up at Bearlina. A lot of help you are, I think bitterly.
    Bearlina turned her head and looked at me.
    I am so surprised; it is a good thing I am wearing a diaper.
    Shocked and wet, I start crying.
    A nursery maid rushes over to lift me from the crib, holding me up on her shoulder, bouncing me as she walks towards the changing table, saying, “There there ShiShi, let’s get you out of the diaper.”
    I look back towards my crib where Bearlina lies on her side, no evidence her head had ever turned.
    I’m watching you, Brownstein.

    I throw my toys out of my crib. And because I am a baby, no one complains; they just call me fussy and put the toys in the toy chest. And then they wait for me to start crying because I don’t have my toys.
    Yeah, I’m a jerk, but so are most babies.
    At least, I assume.
    I don’t really know any other babies.
    Why did Bearlina Brownstein turn her head towards me? That’s not usual behaviour for my toys. I ponder this as wet nurse B holds me to her breast so I can nurse.
    “You like my milk, don’t you, sweetling,” B says, bouching me gently in her arms. I mean, I do like her milk, but do you have to say it while I am eating?
    She gently squeezes my diapered bottom, checking to see if I am messy. I’m not at the moment, but give it time.
    Now is not the time to be thinking of my soon-to-be stinky diapers. I have to think about my teddy bear.
    Click.
    Ouch.
    “What’s the matter, sweetling? Do you have some gas in your tummy?”
    Not that she expected an answer, for she removed me from her breast (Hey, I was eating), put me up on her shoulder and patted my back.
    It’s not like I need help burping; I can do it on my own, and… well, sure, I’ll still burp if you do this to me, but it is not like I needed it.
    “There we go, sweetling,” B said as she returned me to her breast.
    Finally, I can eat.
    Maybe my baby brain is right. Maybe this stuff is delicious. Certainly better than the mushed-up food I get spoon-fed because, apparently, my diet needs some variety. Whoever said that never had breast milk.
    Wait, I was not thinking about how great breast milk is.
    It was thinking about Bearlina. Good try on distracting me, baby brain, but I win this time.
    Was that toy alive? Or some kind of magical construct? Maybe a bear golem? Mom seems too sharp to me to let something like that enter the nursery. Would that mean she put it in here? Perhaps they are toy-shaped bodyguards.
    If I had toy soldiers, would they actually be soldiers I could command?
    Why don’t I have toy soldiers? Is it because I’m a girl? That is pretty sexist. Or maybe it is because I would probably put them in my mouth and choke on them. It’s your fault, baby brain that we don’t have better toys.
    Click.
    Ouch.
    “Oh, it looks like you're messy, sweetling.”
    I’m going to whine and cry now.

    Nighttime.
    It’s been a busy day of being a baby.
    If I don’t mess those diapers, who will?
    I wish anyone but me.
    The nursery is nearly empty, but for the old nurse and a young nursery maid. They sit at a small table, enjoying tea and some kind of biscuit while playing cards. They are not really looking at me.
    I turn my attention towards my toy chest. Bearlina and several other bears are seated atop it. Waiting for me to demand then. But I’m not ready to share my crib with them.
    If they (or just Bearlina) are golems, why would they never have moved before? There would be no reason for Bearlina to have turned to look at me with her glass eyes (aren’t they a choking hazard? No. Focus).
    I stare at the toy, focus on it, and think about how upset I was earlier that I had not proven the efficacy of my ‘Baby Punch’ (™).
    And from where she is sat upon the toy chest, Bearlina shifts and once more looks towards me.
    I am not as shocked this time and don’t wet my diaper (it was already wet). However, I am surprised enough that I lose focus as my thoughts go to stories (movies?) about killer toys. Bearlina’s head snaps back with enough force that she falls to the side.
    Neither nurse nor the nursery maid noticed.
    Holding the bars of my crib, I carefully lower myself until my diapered bottom rests on my mattress. I put my thumb in my mouth, and I think.
    Click.
    Ouch.
    Argh. That stupid puzzle. I worry that my baby brain might eventually explode, metaphorically, of course. But I can’t seem to do anything about it. Maybe when that happens, I’ll disappear and leave the eternal baby behind.
    If that happens, who is going to protect ShiShi from the church? Who is going to protect mama?
    I had best work this all out then… just in case.
    As I suck on my thumb, I think about the first chapter of the first book of SRST. The boss has been shooting out deadly beams of destructive power. I had tried that, testing in directions where no one would be hurt.
    I’m not sure how you shoot a deadly beam, but if you focus so much that you scrunch up, you end up pooping yourself.
    I figure that is not how most wizards accomplish it.
    So, for the time being, deadly beams are off the table.
    The boss had also ripped open holes in space through which demons came.
    I have not even tried that.
    Demons are bad news.
    But… there had also been those weird puppet things. They had been creepy, and I had never thought about that. Why had there been puppets?
    Sucking on my thumb with intent, I ponder that.
    Poor ShiShi dies in the first chapter, and everything we learn about her comes from what Conan and company uncover while investigating the church.
    But while the results of that investigation were all the author told the readers about ShiShi… he would have known more about her. Things he did not share. Maybe ideas that never really made it into the story.
    Being able to control toys and toy-like things might explain the puppets.
    And if you were writing a baby character, wouldn’t toy control seem like a suitable type of magic?
    I take my drool-soaked thumb from my mouth, wipe it on my fuzzy onesie, and then grasp my crib bars and pull myself up to stand.
    Focusing on Bearlina, trying to keep my thoughts and emotions clear, I enforce my will on the toy.
    And to my amazement, I watch as Bearlina stands. She looks about and then puts her short arms over her head like she is stretching out. After rolling her shoulders like a prizefighter getting ready to enter the ring, she takes a few steps.
    Isn’t she showing a lot of personality? And what’s with that fighter-like behaviour? You're Dame Bearlina Brownstein, a proper lady.
    She looks back at me like she is saying, ‘What the heck, don’t tell me who I got to be’.
    Then she punches poor Colonel Kuma.
    He flies across the room and hits the hard wall with a loud thump, like a pillow hitting something.
    “What was that?” the nursery maid asks, looking up from the cards.
    I’m surprised and drop down onto my crib mattress, landing on the mess that has appeared in the seat of my diaper.
    Bearlina falls and is motionless.
    I start crying.
    The nurse and the nursery maid forget the sound as they focus on me.

    I am the toy wizard!
    Under my command, toys are my conquering army!
    Are you afraid, puny mortal?
    Well, not really.
    I’ve been experimenting.
    I can’t just control any toy. It has to be a toy I care about that I have named. Maybe that I have hugged and even drooled on, just a little.
    But that’s still pretty good.
    But at best, I can control only two at once, which makes me tired. Even one toy will tire me out; it just takes longer.
    And I have to focus: mind and emotions.
    Baby brain interferes with that focus.
    How did ShiShi control hundreds, if not more, of those puppets? Was she that powerful at the First Boss? Will I get that power without having to become the First Boss?
    I can only hope.
    I learned something new this morning.
    I can sense things through the toy I am controlling. Like I can see out of its eyes.
    So I’ve decided this evening I am going to test this out.
    I am lying in my crib, pretending to be asleep.
    I don’t need to look at a toy now; I can just focus on it.
    Mr Shinobi Slim is an all-black bear; even his dark eyes are like chips of onyx. He is undoubtedly the most sneaky of the bears.
    With my eyes closed, it is easy to see what is around Slim. The other toys (minus Colonel Kuma, who is with me because I feel bad that Bearlina punched him) and the toy chest.
    Slim flips out of the chest, his stuffing-filled feet landing silently on the wood floor.
    Moving along the wall in shadow, he makes his way to the far end of the room and slips through the open door into the nursery suite's bathroom. I seldom come here for obvious reasons. I am still bathed in a small tub in the nursery.
    Slim pauses so I can take in the room’s tub, toilet, and other things.
    If I could just get another year or two of physical growth, I could master this room.
    But no time for feeling sorry for myself.
    Slim makes a leap to the window sill and works the latch far more adroitly than you would expect from toy bear paws. Then he opens it. The toys are pretty strong when under my control.
    Outside, the summer evening is chilly, not like the warm nursery.
    Focusing on what Slim feels helps me put what I feel out of my mind. That is useful because so much could knock me out of my focus state.
    Slim dashes across the nursery garden and out into the family garden. He leaps the wall that separates the family garden from the estate grounds.
    With Slim, I explore the immediate area around the estate. When he comes across people, I have him stop, hide, and listen. I pick up some gossip that never makes it to the nursery. It seems like Father Rapeal is on his way.
    Father Raphael, I think, all angry.
    That is when I noticed Slim had grown claws.
    Fascinated, I have Slim take a swipe at a tree.
    The claws score deep, carving out wood maybe an inch deep.
    Wow.
    With this, I could do some damage.
    But that is enough today.
    I have Slim return. As he steals back into the family garden, the claws disappear.
    He returns through the bathroom window, closes and locks it, and then returns to the toy box.
    I release the control and am so exhausted that I am soon asleep.

[Panther Cub]

Whelp, now I'm invested in this story!

[InkuHime]

Chapter 4

    From the night I first explored with Slim to the day that Father Raphael arrives, six days passed.
    During that time, I had been practising with my toys, exploring the manor, watching and learning. I had seen stupid papa and oozy talking in secret; about how with the church’s help, stupid papa could exercise his full rights at my father.
    Oozy’s name was actually Fiach, Brother Fiach.
    Fiach and stupid papa seemed confident, which made me positive I was simply to be a political piece for the church’s benefit. Whether blessed by Gaia or not, Father Raphael would say I was.
    And Fiach and stupid papa were already putting things in place. The weeks it had taken for Father Raphael to arrive was an indication of the amount of backroom dealing and planning that was going on to attack mama.
    It made me mad. Whenever Slim watched these two, he grew claws.
    I worried that I might lose control of my toys at times like these. It’s not like I wanted stupid papa or oozy Fiach dead. I just wanted them gone.
    Things seemed hectic the day Father Rpahael and his entourage arrived. Maybe not so much in the nursery suite, but that business everywhere else did not go unnoticed.
    I had known mama’s manor was big, but I learned how big when I explored it with my toys. Three stories, and an attic and basement. That’s five levels of house. And if you think it might be a thin townhouse, well, you think pretty wrong. It has a huge (and I am not talking from a toy or a baby’s perspective) central hall, all stonework and windows, and two almost equally large wings.
    And the place is packed! The east wing is full of soldiers, mostly officers and a few knights (I heard the word ‘Sir’ said once or twice). The central hall’s ground floor is full of public rooms and offices for officials.
    My nursery suite is in the west wing, by the way.
    So you can tell when the many servants and other residents are moving about.
    The nursery staff was talking about Father Raphael. Another nursery maid whose name I do not know (I’ll call her C) saw the entourage come in. Four carriages and three carts, with a troop of church soldiers marching in behind them.
    Everyone sounds impressed. ‘Why are you impressed! You should be suspicious!’ I shouted without thinking.
    Well, what I really shout is something to them that sounds like 'bable, bable, goo, Impweth, goo, ga, bable, bable'. So not really getting my point across.
    “Did she just say impressive?” Colleen asks.
    “Don’t be silly,” one of the older nurses says. “She’s probably just messy. Someone check her diaper.”
    The nerve of that nurse.
    Well, my diaper was messy, but still.
    Is it so hard to think I might say impressive?
    Sometime in the early afternoon, a maid, not one of the nursery maids, entered the suite. “The Lady would like Shivaun made ready.”
    Suddenly I was taken out of the crib and undressed to be bathed, which involved three nursery maids. After getting me clean and patting me dry with big fluffy towels, they sprinkled sweet-smelling talc all over me and rubbed it into my skin.
    It was rather nice.
    Then they liberally coated my bottom in cream so thick that you could almost mistake the lotion for a garment.
    Powdered and creamed, they proceeded to tape two diapers on me, with absorbent stuffers in the first. It pushed my legs wide, all that padding between them, and I thought I would be hard-pressed to stand even if I had something to pull myself up with.
    This was all so different--and my baby brain tended to either get scared or delighted by the 'new'. One of the nursery maids, C, gently tickled my tummy and said, “You’ll be so pretty.” That was enough to make me delighted, and I giggled.
    Then they pulled a thick pair of yellow rubber pants over my diapers. I had never worn rubber pants before, though I had seen them among the changing table supplies.
    The cream, the thick diapering, the rubber pants… this was to keep me from leaking and from developing a rash if left in wet and messy diapers too long. Probably also to keep me from smelling too bad to others as well.
    Something was up.
    White tights were pulled up my legs and over my thick diapers and rubber pants. Pink ruffled panties were drawn up and over my bottom, poofing it out further. Two nursery maids held each of my arms up as the third drew a ruffled pink dress down over my head.
    A bonnet was tied around my head, and patent leather shoes were buckled on my feet.
    “You look so beautiful,” nursery maid B told me.
    I probably looked adorable. I wanted to see myself in a mirror, but no one thought the baby would want to look at her reflection.
    No, they were the ones who got to enjoy the adorable baby.
    It’s not fair.
    Before I can set about fussing and reaching out towards the small mirror, the door opens, and mama sweeps in.
    Everyone is bowing and curtseying, even the nursery maid holding me, though she abbreviates the movement to avoid dropping me.
    Mama is dressed in what I guess is her military uniform. Tight grey breaches tucked into polished black riding boots. She wears a crimson tunic with buttons of polished brass or gold and a gold braid across her chest. Across her shoulders is a sky-blue cape trimmed with grey fur. She wears a sword at her belt--a slim sabre in a silver sheath with a well-worn handle.
    Her blond hair is neatly styled, and she wears only a little makeup.
    Mama is beautiful. If I were older and not her daughter, I would fall in love with her in a moment. Of course, I love her already because she is my mama.
    She smiled at me, and I reached out towards her, “Mama,” I say because I can.
    The nurses and nursery maids are all like ‘awww’ as their hearts melt. Mama smiled as she takes me in her arms. I want to snuggle against her, but am afraid I might drool on her tunic. I also remember my plan and turn in her hands, reaching out towards the toy chest and say something that does not sound anything like 'bear'.
    However, mama seems to understand, for she says,” She wants one of her bears.”
    What follows is about twenty seconds of nursery maids bringing the wrong bears and me making angry sounds before they finally bring me Dame Bearlina Brownstein.
    I think mama is confused for a moment as I grab the bear in my hands. Likely she does not recognise Bearlina, and that is no surprise.
    Bearlina has evolved into ner next stage, Bearlina Mk 2.
    Among old boxes and dusty forgotten things in the attic, I found an old taxidermied snowy owl and had Slim cut its wings off. That’s not cruel; the owl was dead. It was a dead owl!
    I magicked those wings onto Bearlina, so they looked like they had been part of her all along. I also found a yellow embroidery hoop which I used as a halo.
    Do they have angels in this world? If they don’t, then I wasted a lot of time.
    And Bearlina Mk 2 has a few more surprises, trust me.
    Mama is in a bit of a hurry, so she does not have time to closely examine my bear. With me in her arms and Bearlina in mine, mama leaves the nursery and walks me towards the central block of the house.
    I know that I am going to meet Father Raphael and that today is when I need to be at my strongest.
    To save mama and me.
    As we walk, two men in light armour fall in behind mama. Are they knights? They look like knights. Behind them, more people join, they are dressed in uniforms similar to mama’s, just not as much gold braid, and none wears capes. They are maybe fifteen of them together.
    That seems to be a lot of people following us.
    Is mama getting ready for a fight too?
    A large room is just off the front entrance in the central block. We enter through a rear door hidden behind a tapestry. It is big enough to host a ball of maybe one hundred or more people. But today, it serves as an audience chamber. There is a raised dais and a seat without a back, too fancy to be called a bench, but it is almost a bench.
    Mama takes a seat, and the lack of back makes sense since it allows her to wear her sword, and her cape does not bunch up behind her. She sets my padded bottom on her knee and gently bounces me. Softly she says, “Such a good girl, such a pretty girl.”
    I’m not sure who is happier, baby brain or me. Mama loves us and thinks we are good and pretty.
    As she soothes me, she looks about the room. As far as I can tell, everyone here is her subordinate, senior staff and officers. Stupid papa is here with oozy Fiach, standing a little distance off, whispering to each other.
    Could you look any more suspicious stupid papa?
    I notice mama look up. The great room takes up two levels, and on the second, there is a broad walkway where people might go up to look down at the dancers. Over the room's front door is a wider balcony which I suppose a small orchestra might occupy if one wanted music.
    The room was really fancy. I’d seen it through my toys, but it looked so much more in person. Polished tiled floor, and dark wood on the walls, probably something like oak. It looked expensive. And while the nursery was lovely, it was a nursery. The best stuff was saved for the rest of the house. The uniforms of the house staff looked a little nicer than what the nursery staff wore.
    But the house staff had less spit up, drool, and other unpleasant things were staining their clothing.
    I’m sorry, nursery maids!
    “Send them in,” mama said in a clear, crisp voice that echoed in the room.
    I noticed stupid papa and oozy Fiach started at that noise.
    Like they were trained to be afraid of mama’s voice. Like those dogs that drooled when… a phonograph played?
    Click.
    Ouch.
    Oops, let’s not think too much about that kind of thing. I need to keep my mind clear; having the puzzle come together won’t help.
    At the front of the room are doors, each about five feet wide and maybe twice that high. They swing open into the room and reveal the visitors from the church. There are about thirty of them, maybe? And leading them is a tall man in green and white robes, his hair a bright blonde.
    As he enters the room, something about how he walks, a sort of stalking gait, each foot being placed down harder than it needs to be, suggests he is upset.
    Are you mad?
    As he gets closer and I get an idea of his expression, I am sure he is mad.
    How long did you make him wait out there, mama?
    This must be father Raphael.
    His robes look fancy, and a white that bright means it is either brand new, or laundered often and expertly, or magically cleaned. None of which would be cheap.
    He is, I hate to admit it, beautiful. In the first book, an older father Raphel is described as handsome and distinguished. But this is that man at his prime.
    Rich, powerful, and beautiful.
    Just like mama.
    But mama is far more of each, and I’m not just saying that.
    Father Raphael knows that, and I bet it really chafes his ass that he was made to wait.
    The men behind him wear armour and have swords on their belts. Two in the lead carry flags on which I assume are symbols of Gaia (a female mother figure, arms raised above her head, on either side a pair of crescent moons). The rest hold staffs before them in two hands, each capped with the same symbol on the flag. If the crescent moons on those staffs are sharpened, each man is also carrying an axe.
    That’s a lot of weapons there, father Rapahel…
    Are you looking for a fight?
    Father Raphel approaches, and it looks like he is planning on walking right up to mama, but before he gets ten feet from mama and me, an older man, a total butler type, coughs softly.
    Father Raphel frowned but came to a stop. The men behind him seemed surprised and barely managed to stop, avoiding crashing into Raphael.
    He bowed, and the soldiers behind him held out their staffs like a salute.
    “Viscountess Hefferun, I have come at your invitation.”
    I suppose mama had asked for him to come.
    But he had made her wait.
    So both were being equally rude, I guess.
    “Welcome, Father Raphael,” Mama said. “You have travelled a long distance to offer me the church’s insight into my daughter’s condition. I am thankful.”
    “Of course Viscountess Hefferun. Gaia offers her guidance and love to all.”
    Mama did not say anything in response to that.
    “May I approach?” Father Raphael asked.
    After a moment, mama said, “You may.”
    He crossed the distance between them, stopping just short of the raised dais.
    All the time, his gaze was on me, something avaricious in his eyes. No matter what, he planned on using the little girl who was not ageing to his benefit. I was sure of that. But as I got closer, I thought maybe there was some surprise as well. Was he seeing something he had not expected? Was it Bearlina’s wings? They are pretty surprising. Or maybe was it that I was truly blessed (Ha!) by Gaia? Or that I was not?
    But he dropped to his knees, raised his head to the ceiling like he was looking at the sky, and called out, “Surely this child is most blessed by Goddess Gaia.”
    In unison and so obviously practised, the church soldiers lifted their staffs, banged them on the floor (rude, you know, that’s not your floor), and sang, “Blessed by Goddess Gaia!”
    Mama and the soldiers hardly reacted, but most of the staff started, as did I. If baby brain had its way, I would be crying now. I mean, really, we babies don’t like that kind of thing. Shouting, thumping, and strange men, it is all too much.
    However, I keep a tight leash on my baby instincts and stay calm. I look back and up at mama, taking comfort in her calm visage. If mama is not worried, then I don’t have to be.
    Calmly she asks, “So you say that Gaia’s blessing has trapped my daughter at this age.”
    “Trapped?” Raphael asked. “Surely you cannot consider a blessing a trap.”
    “I can, and I do. If you have identified the cause, then I must know what I need to do to end this blessing. A large donation to the church, perhaps?”
    Can you bribe a goddess like that? I suppose maybe if Father Raphael is an indication.
    But Raphael is having none of it. “A blessing is not,” he paused, a sour look on his face, “ended. No Viscountess; this is a miracle for a country that has so long been at war. It is a sign that the Goddess Gaia shows us her favour. Your daughter must come to the cathedral; her presence must be a gift to all the country.” He again gazed skyward. “To the world.” He sprung to his feet. “This is greater than you, Viscountess, greater than all of us.”
    I saw stupid papa step forward, and I could guess he was going to say that his daughter must go to the cathedral in the capital. With stupid papa, oozy Fiach, and Father Raphael all speaking against Mama, she was going to be at a disadvantage. And I knew in the original story of SRST that she was going to lose.
    But I’m not going to let that happen.
    Now is the time to change the story.
    I release my hold on Bearlina Mk 2. She jumps to the floor and spreads her wings, the yellow hoop hovering over her head, glowing gold.
    Everyone looks towards her.
    I mean, who wouldn’t?
    Then she cries in a high-pitched voice, “Bad man!” (How did Bearlina speak, you might ask? In the attic, Slim found a toy cow that 'mooed' when you turned it. He tore out the sound maker, and I magically transplanted it into Bearlina. That was not cruel! It was just an old toy cow!)
    One of the soldiers lost hold of his staff, and it clattered on the floor.
    No one seemed to know what to do.
    But I did.
    Bearlina Mk 2 jumped forward and, with a little bear fist, punched Father Raphael so hard that his jaw was pushed to the side with a crack, and he was sent spinning like a ballerina before he collapsed messily to the floor.
    Bearlina Mk 2 landed on the back of his head and looked about the room with her beady glass eyes. “Bad man,” she said, lifting a plushie foot and stomping on his head. I wished she could say more, but in my thoughts, any longer sentence got garbled into babel, which was no good.
    Mama was the first to recover.
    She stood. “You heard the bear; I want them all out of here.”
    Had anyone else asked that a churchman be thrown out on the word of a toy bear, I bet no one would listen. But mama was mama.
    With Raphael unconscious, the church soldiers looked uncertain. Many of them were looking at Bearlina as if they thought they must attack her.
    Mama snapped her fingers.
    It echoed in the room.
    There was movement above, and the walkway was filled with soldiers, each holding a crossbow pointed down at the church soldiers.
    Mama had planned this well, and I wondered why she had lost in the original story. Maybe stupid papa had done something, but stupid papa was standing frozen in place, pinned by Bearlina Mk 2’s stare.
    The flag bearers had to put their flags down as they went to pick up Raphael. Bearlina Mk 2 stepped off him and walked back towards mama and me.
    The soldiers gathered up Raphael and carried him out, the other soldiers all turning and filing out under the close watch of the soldiers with crossbows.
    Mama looked at one of her officers. “See that they leave my property and have four days to leave my territory.”
    “Four days is…”
    “They brought too much with them; they will have to abandon it for speed. Not our concern.”
    The officer smiled. “As you say, General.” He saluted and then left.
    Mama looked around and then down at the fallen flags. “Should we add those to our battle trophies?”
    There was laughter, and a soldier on the balcony called out, “Who wants trophies from cowards like that?”
    More laughter.
    Mama held me tight in one arm and raised her other hand to silence everyone. “I am done with the church. Worship as you will, but the organisation is no longer welcome on this estate.” 
    Mama was staring at stupid papa and oozy Fiach as she said that.
    Me 1, the story 0.

 

 

 

And I think this will be the last chapter I post, a good place to stop.

[Panther Cub]

YAY! That was great!

[Guilend]

I finally read this. It was hard for me to understand at first. It took me reading the first half of the first chapter a couple of times and finally reading further before I understood what was going on lol. I absolutely love it.