Mother is cosplaying as a poor wretched person. It would be funny if we not for the fact we all suffer with her.

"My hair!" she sobs in her plain undergown, breaking yet another comb in the excuse of a guest room vanity. A shined piece of a shield acting as a mirror.

But we can't expect luxury out here.

Those perfect ringlets of villainess worthy hair don't take care of themselves. Afterall Rosalia must get her curls from somewhere. Genetically that is mother's side, and thus grampa's fault. His own head often military cut shorter than the supposedly fashionable longer lengths of men in this era, but still very obviously where mother gets her statuesque hair from.

It's all grampa's fault.

Normally there are maids and servants to see to mother's every chore and whim, including hair care and getting ready in the morning. Without them carefully oil brushing and conditioning her locks into elaborate perfection, those curls bounce out in a way that's reminiscent of a wild fern.

Though that could just be from Lilyanne playing in it, making it poof even bushier in tangles and ropes. Yeah, three-year-olds aren't the best assistant hairdressers.

It's much easier to be beautiful when you're rich and have a salon crew right in your own house.

I don't really understand the big deal about her hair, but Lilyanne and I have mixed genes. Looser slightly more manageable curls, but at the great risk of those red undertones.

More importantly, shouldn't mother already be used to this? She's spent time without the maids before, like that month-long solo dungeon exploration with father. That and it's her own damn head.

"Booo hoo hoo, now we shall never go out!" she sobs miserably as Lilyanne giggles, hiding in the bronze curly fern growing over my mother's back.

What a drama queen. At least she has hair. Hey mother, do you wanna match? I can assure you that going near military bald has no brushing issues.

Underneath the wet pitiful cries of an overgrown drama queen, I hear the mournful whimpers that sound like "Fleas!", "Never again!", and "Oh my rose grown darling, with his petal silken splendor, it's not fair!!"

We'll never visit the leprosarium at this rate. So thus I must step in. I feel myself sighing at the arm workout I'm about to do, readying my purse.

"Mother? If I may suggest something."

From the inside of my bag, I procure something that was not originally meant for human use. It's...a brush!

Yes, extra large and thick. In this world, people tend to use combs, especially decorative ones from carved wood and ivory bones. Noblewomen would have their servants dutifully brush and care for them from the scalp to the tips, perhaps for hours a day. While everyone else who has lives and need to work? Meh, put on a hat or bonnet and call it day.

But brushes? Just not popular at all for some odd reason. I don't see why not? Just make it a bit prettier and sell them off?

"Rosalia....is that a...horse brush?" mother accurately guesses from where I got the base material

"Noooooo, of course not mother. It's a ...detangling brush. Look at the exquisite handle. The flow and carve. Only the grandest ladies of good taste, not super muscular beasts that get fleas, can use it." I advertise, though a bit too personalized. Hopefully, it works.

"...That's what your father said...and it was a certainly a horse brush." she sobs.

Ah. Well then.

"Mother. With the strong wide teeth, it's perfect to cure your curls back. Not like other disastrous fuzzy brushes or tight teeth combs. No one has to know. We must never brush it when wet, now try either my tester #3 or #7 hair oil." I pull out more products.

"...what are the differences?" she takes the bait, sniffing away her frustrated tears.

"Number 3 is an elixir of...almond and imported nut de coco! Coconut can penetrate your hair the way other oils can't, nourishing it with antibacteri-eerr cleasning properties. Combined with the sweet smooth almond, how can you go wrong?" I advertise.

"Hmmmm then what of the other one?" says the reasonable consumer.

"But #7...is new from the old. Olive oil...but with fennel and lemon oil! Good for strengthening, also with anti-bacteria, but research says the essential lemon can, ahem,...highlight lighten your hair."

"I'll take both! How wonderful! Oh ho hoho~"

"Great! Cash now or credit for later?"

Selling products to only your mother feels like a joke, but I have a limited market and my production lines are more testers than anything. That and my servents too easily sell out and offer her portions of everything I make anyways.

While I do wonder how Abbey is doing all by her lonesome back home, I am assured the stocks and inventory of all my experiments are being kept in order. Their upkeep still being seen to.

Georgie however?

I said would make him pay and so I did. Of course, all I did was mention, perhaps mournfully, to grampa how poor weak pathetic Georgie wanted to be a little stronger. Even for a mob character. That he wanted to be....a little closer to true "hero".

Well no we're in a military outpost in the middle of nowhere. Where there is nothing else to do but train, train, and train some more in this hard endurance-based terrain. He'll be joining the recruits in their epic hero boot camp training.

Grampa personally saw that he got in! No questions or troublesome qualifications needed. Oh ho ho ho.

Have fun my soft little assistant, whom I have confiscated not only some familiar wax wrapped caramels from but all other forms of unessential luxuries. After all he won't need them in grampa's mountainside boot camp, they'll just get dirty.

It wasn't hard, much easier than getting into a minion's secret sweets stash. Not that these inconspicuously drugged sleepy caramels are actually edible but hey, could be useful one day.

Go have lots and lots of fun Georgie!

"Oh Rosalia, that's my girl. So kind." mother smiles, still trying to wrestle her hair down.

Bwahahaha, yes my kindness involves perfect petty revenge where I won't get in any trouble at all. After all, it wasn't even me but grampa that cleared the orders.

As fun as imagining the pain and suffering my assistant must be going through, life is very inconvenient without more servents. No one to take care of Lilyanne or help brush the great mother's hair. Huff huff brush!

Untangle the tough knots. Separate the corkscrews. Oil up Lilyanne's hands because she wants to help too despite more likely just making up a bigger mess.

Who needs arm training? This is my workout of the week! Mother, why do you have so much hair?

"Oh my." mother giggles, acting as if she's the one doing us a great favor by allowing us to slave away at the brush.

Or well just me. If it weren't for the oil I think Lilyanne would be making things even worse. No no no bad Lily, don't tie them up further.

Such natural curls are troublesome. I can't believe now how much time as an adult I would spend on the curling iron. Not now I have these genetics, though it's not to mother's extent. Sheesh, the grass always does look greener on the other side. I miss my boring but easy straight hair already.

Eventually, mother takes over the daunting task, a great mercy on my poor little arms.

"There there Rosalia, you tried. Mama is very thankful." she smiles.

"My methods are effective! It's just, my arms...." I take a great breather.

They're so little! I can't even reach all this. It requires too much effort and forcer per calorie my squishy little muscles must exert. Like tiny t-rex arms, too short to be of any use. Absolutely useless.

I can't even do something as simple as brushing my mother's hair, how am I ever going to survive this world on my own?

"There there my Rosa, you did soooooo much. Don't be sad. Lookie, you can brush this little part right here." mother offers me a few long strands.

What do I look like? A real little toddler upset over nothing? Lilyanne? Perhaps in mother's very broken rose-colored vision that's exactly what I am.

I sigh, rolling away in defeat.

Eventually, mother manages to get ready all on her own. Two tightly woven farmgirl braids, tied and pinned up in a modest updo with ribbons. Topped off with a silky scarf-like veil under her sun hat. Said modesty is further themed with a plain very out of date gothic medieval dress and even duller outer robes. Dear god, we are cosplaying poor people today!

Well, at least it's comfortable. More importantly, safe and appropriate for where we shall be visiting today.

Inside the village of the leprosarium.

No one cares how the children are dressed, but this isn't the place to show off. Safety first. With my help, we get Lilyanne, and I suppose myself, into little white frocks, caplets and bonnets. Very easy to get dirty and we'll stand out like little mochi sheep, but I suppose that's the point.

"Alright! Let's go already." I feel myself getting impatient, tapping at my mother to hurry.

I should have toured the colony village days ago. What are we doing wasting all this time, I would like to ask. But alas I am not the big boss around here. I must follow not only the procedures of the staff here, but the whims of my mother and grampa.

Today is finally the day an official tour can be taken. Preparations organized on all sides with safety assured, even for visiting little children. I'm as terrified as I am excited.

By now taking the wagon tram across the other side is a pretty familiar practice. Made even easier as all passing soldiers and officers salute themselves out our way. Some of going so far to bow, perhaps in shaking fear, while shouting our her hails, as mother carries us through.

Well, that's nothing new.

On the other side, grampa is already there getting things ready ahead of time. He greets us, not at the nature grown fork that leads to the orchards, but in front of the actual front buildings. Yes! We're getting in!

"Now then! Do we all remember the ground rules? Hmmm? Rosalia?" grampa stands with both the hands on his hips.

I have no idea why he's targetting me, but I shall comply if only to get this over with faster.

"No wandering. No straying for you or mama. No touching anything. Definitely no licking anything. Stay within the cleared pathways and zones, no barrier-breaking. Do not bother anyone. Be polite. No gawking at anyone or asking rude questions, at least not for now. No-"

"Great job memorizing pumpkin, now show me those results and have fun! Oh and definitely no licking. "

I would hope not.

It's a very difficult thing explaining to anyone that the world is made up of super tiny atoms, and that some diseases are caused by these tiny living organisms called bacteria. Hate to say it but my best bet is the crazy old man.

The problem is that he doesn't actually get it either!

He liked the concept of a period table just fine. Got all the more excited, and confusing, when on the topic of atoms. "The indivisibles!" he called them and even kept me up past bedtime on the chalkboard. He's really stuck on the concept of protons and electrons for some odd reason.

But biology? Germ theory or the evolution of bacteria? Cell structure?

Yeah, he gave me a look that clearly showed he thought I was the crazy one.

So either grampa was never privileged with modern education or he comes from an entirely different world, which honestly should be the case given how insane he is. No wonder medicine isn't one of the fields that really progressed under the influence of the great hero.

That lacking was why something like Lilyanne's healing magic was so revered.

Grampa has conceded to me on the topic of face masks though! Disease possibly spreading through air and by breath. They already have evidence of that much.

Now that I'm here though... the problem with that point is that they're bird masks? I'm sorry. Are some of the workers here wearing black plague masks?

The stupid things that didn't actually work the way people thought?

"Rosalia? What did papa just warn you about." mother scolds me already.

"...Keep my comments to myself until later." I recite.

That would be for the best.

No having a toddler supernaturally point out everything right and wrong with the way things are being run. If even grampa gave me the look like I'm alien talking nonsense, with the rest of the population I'll only be lucky to be burned at the stake.

Alright. Staying good and no talking out loud. Or at least close enough to grampa that no one will blame me too much.

The halls to the stone and concrete-like administrative buildings are as sanitary as they can be given this world's standards. Boiling water is regarded as better housekeeping than plain for scrubbing or mopping. Mints and herbs are used as deodorizers, and even without my soaps, a solution of lye mix is already used as a cleaning agent.

The floors and walls are hard, but flat and easy to clean. In the area closest to the tunnel tram, no one wears any extra safety gear. The troop members look just about the same as on the other side, or anywhere. However the further in we go the more people wear extra leather coverings, boots, gloves and more of those strange bird masks.

Beyond the deepest buildings lay more reinforced gates, along with a barrier outpost by large slightly glowing stones. It appears to be a gray zone. Perhaps for disinfection and inspection as certified people come and go.

So it surprises me when the gates all proceed to open too easily with grampa leaning the way.

"Do we have to wear those too?" I can't help but ask.

I don't think they make plague beak masks in my size?

"Wait for it~" grampa hushes me with a grin, face rugged from the lack of a shave recently.

As the gate slowly creak themselves open, clearing a straight path, the barriers a glows in something thin. I'm most impressed by how it can produce such a strange sound, getting louder and louder. It sounds like a cute but annoying little boy's squeaky voice.

"Here here here! We're here! No leaving without the awesome us, we're here!"

I should not be surprised that not only is Lukas here, somehow shaking snow off himself, but he's brought an entire loaded sleigh sliding with him from wherever he came from. Seriously what the hell?

More importantly, from out behind the sleigh's driver seat, a magnificent heavenly fairy sits. He looks like the beauty of death. Tumbling pale blonde hair, grumpy parenting eyes of distinguished silver, nose, cheeks, and ears stunningly flushed pink at all the right places. He pulls off his scarf to expose the pale graceful length of his neck, adam's apple pronounced as he alluringly sighs.

Oh my. Oh my blessed eyes. To see Gable in any capacity instantly soothes the soul, the mind. This sight alone could cure the blind!

"You look hot."

Grampa said that. Not me. No one can get mad at me for blurting out stupid things when grampa is here.

"There's a slight pressure but drastic temperature change from here to the summits yes," Gable blessedly does not misunderstand, further shedding another layer.

"You too Lukaspatootus, let's get you out there before you melt into a puddle! Told you that you overdressed him. It's the middle of summer!" grampa grapples with a giant pillow that jumped to smother my mother.

"You cannot underestimate the elements Ron, especially that high. And you know how easily I burned then, do you sincerely think Lukas is any different?"

Oh wait no that's just Lukas, bundles up like a tiny puft marshmallow man. At least he's well protected against mother's crushing hugs like that.

Three layers of puff and fluff undressing later, Lukas is as ready as he'll ever be. Face a tad pink in an awkward shape I guess we can call a fresh and modest sunburn. Looking a bit like a strawberry shortcake popsicle there, though albeit more painful.

"Owie?" Lilyanne pokes at the older boy in the face.

Oh no. Oh no no no. No hunting or poaching hearts so early you cute little protagonist. I forbid it. I, Rosalia, your villainy big sister, absolutely forbids it.

"Nope! I'm too awesome for owies." states Lukas, no shame in his demeanor.

I should be assured of the original plotlines and routes...but I just don't trust Lilyanne for that very reason. How many hearts must she conquer? This little mob however is such a wall of soft pinchable mochi and denseness that none of Lilyanne's reverse harem gathering charms work at all. Thank goodness.

"Lukas, do you really think you're stronger than the sun? The sun!" I inspect his skin.

Meh, he'll live. Kids. We'll give him a milk bath and use tester cream number 8 on him later.

In the time it takes to try convincing Lukas that no, no he is not stronger than the sun's rays or that 'awesomeness' has no correlation to 'owies', we've somehow already walked across the line of gates.

Between each gate a magical barrier activates, blowing a protective shield all around us. Once again it's similar to something I've seen before at the main troop's camp. The snowglobe. Bubble layers have blown around us, encasing us in a dome casing snowglobe that moves as we walk.

"There will be no touching the barriers now. Or leaving them. Am I understood? Children?" Gable instructs, taking the lead.

Why does everyone always seem to pay attention to me on these matters?

I mutely nod along with Lukas and Lilyanne, because I swear I have recited the same lines over and over again. And what's the point of reminding me to keep close when there's already another barrier to prevents me from getting far? The amount of trust I get.

"Thank you Gabbey~" mother says in a coquettish voice, pawing up at Gable.

How dare she, but at the same time, against the overwhelming beauty that is Gable, how can she not? Well too bad mother. You already a married woman with your weird nerd, and now you have to settle for him. Settle!

Wonder what father is up to these days without anyone keeping an eye on him? A nagging feeling tells me it's not just being buried in desk work. Well, at least there's always Alfonso.

"Of course Maria. Buttercup dear, I hope you'll be a ....good...example for the children." Gable smiles, and oh be still my heart.

"Yes Gabbey." mother deflates to grampa's laughter in the background.

Despite the noise and commotion, we make walking into the village, no one seems to regard us. Not the now covered guards who normally salute, not the masked workers, and certainly not...the villagers.

There are so many of them. Going about their day as if in any other town or village. They walk with goods or mingle by the water pump. In this section, many of them interact freely with the masked workers, like it were a bank or communuty center. Exchanging credits, settling accounts or picking up their orders.

The weavers spinning their thread and making cloth. Potters rolling their clay. Old men peacefully chatting over morning games while small children play tag.

It's almost like anywhere else.

"Waaah!" Lilyanne exclaims, fearfully running up to mother, demanding to be held.

She's been taught and warned not to make a fuss, but the sight still shakes her up. Recoil naturally if not out of instinctual fear and disgust.

So many of them are disfigured. Telltale signs of the disease already eating away at their bodies. Inside the colony, no one wears dark sanctions robes or hide as they do on the other side of these walls. In the outside world.

Here there is no judgment since they all share the same fate.

The old men that sit enjoying the summer sun have cloudy eyes, most likely already blind, faces and limbs in a mix match of disfigured shapes. A mature woman passing by with a basket of bread dough, most likely to the communal bakery, is missing a nose and an arm. A running errand boy, healthy with all four limbs is covered in various shades of polka dots and discolored chunks of his skin.

Lilyanne has been warned repeatedly before this. Not to say it. But her whimpers and little cries still escape from mother's hold.

"Scary monsters."

Is she wrong? Is this not how the rest of the world sees it? That's why they're isolated in the first place. From here to every leper's colony across the lands. They're where we leave the ill and undesirables.

No one wants to see this. No one wants to live with such fear and ugliness. So it's better to just..not look. Throw them away and not look.

"Weeeeak, stupid stinky baby! We already beat all the monsters here and the ones outside go to make bacon! Or salami and sausages and jerky. Lots of jerky. " Lukas laughs, seemingly breaking the awkward mood with his chatter.

"Alright, that's enough out of you." Gable shakes his head good-naturedly, sharing a strange look with a smirking grampa. When he moves to take the lead, the bubble dome follows, sliding along our every step.

No one seems to notice or care about our appearance. If a passing by villager brushes by, we avoid them but otherwise, they seem to not even regard us.

Under the bubble, no one can see us. That's what Gable's doing. Providing a cover and shelter.

Like this, we can see the village uninterrupted. As it would be on any other day, how it operates, lives, and breathes.

It's still breathing. All the people here are still breathing, doing their best to live with what they can.

They line the paved streets and well built buildings in various stages of health. Some are missing both their legs, so they can't walk. Amputations are more common than not around here. Fingers. Toes. Whole parts pieces of something missing. Many are covered in bandages and wrappings, treating as well as preventing their open sores and infections. The ones are that open-color green and yellow dry healing crusts, gruesome to uphold.

The strangest thing that baffles me however is the polka dots.

Everything else is textbook. While real-life if a lot more shocking than seen in an internet video or a medical book, they're all symptoms I'm mentally prepared for. The skin lesions, the easy to be infected wounds, and nerve damage that swells and forces amputation. Even blindness. All checkmarks on the list.

But I've never heard of the bumps. These polka dot raised bumps that line people's skin.

Some wrap around all their exposed skin while others are more neat lines and bars. They look like patches of bubble wrap, and I recall the same pattern on the healer mother. Multa Melitta.

I get my tour, obvious distractions aside. I get to see how roads organize and wrap in pavement and stone. How water funnels through shaped clay baked titled pipes, metal pumps feeding wells underground. How spread out space is, making things perhaps a little more difficult to traverse but open and breathable.

These are the things we should be looking at. What we can change, what we can actually do. Not gawking at everyone.

But it's hard not to.

It's a good thing they can't see or hear us. Maybe that's the whole point of this barrier. To spare the people from the stares of dumb little children.

I'm not surprised at the adults' calmness. One of them built this place while the other is Gable of all people. Even mother, while occasionally marveling at something, doesn't seem phased at all. But then again, I can easily infer she's been here before. Perhaps many times in the past.

They speak of things like how this building was replaced, what used to be in that plot of land, and even strange stories I have no knowledge.

"Aaaaaaah remember you slide down the pipes and completely tainted the water supply baby girl? And we had to come up with extra filters and carry jugs from the falls! h that time you got your butt stuck in a jug and had to walk like a hermit crab! Ahhhh good times." grampa points out randomly.

"....Papa...do never bring that up again." mother seems to be getting tired. Weakening further and further as the tour goes on, though that could just be from listening to grampa talk.

"Or that time you let a stampede of buckaroo deer through the gates?! Now they're living happily in the crater forest. Mmmm deer jerky. Such cute jerky. Or-" grampa considers.

"Papa! Gabbey oh please stop him! I promise to be good, I haven't broken a single thing all week, not even a teacup, please just stop him. " she begs for mercy.

"What are you talking about baby girl? There were two casualties in that tunnel expansion, which is ahead of schedule by 3 months! Thanks Maria,~ you didn't have but you were such a help! But that's broken bones! Ahaha that will teach them to sneak around restricted zones, ah though I can't blame them too much. Youth. Ahhhh." grampa does not know the definition of mercy.

"There were what?! No no no I just wanted to finish up and that inspection you made me do was sooooo long. I didn't know they were there! Boo hoo..." mother panics.

I admit they make a better kind of distraction.

All Gable does is pinch his temple and move on, pulling along Lukas by the hand. A wise choice, ignoring them.

Eventually, this touristy little wander ends up at a large building, of about four stories. It's room, with a lot of open space and even a pretty courtyard. Judging from the type of people that linger outside and about, it appears to be a sort of medical or rehabilitation center. Not urgent, but meant for long term healing.

I am well versed in the signs, the walkers and bars across. Equipment in physical therapy. I know these sorts of things far too well.

We pass by the rehab courtyard and a section of smelly pools used as therapeutic baths. The sights familiar but not, not in this world. Not as Rosalia.

We continue on past waiting rooms and restrictive areas, where patients are being treated. Lilyanne huddling in mother's arms the whole time, while I peer nervously. Lukas asking occasional questions like what are the needles are for and why people are getting them shot into their skin.

It's the ultimate invasion of privacy.

"All done, now that wasn't so bad. See you in three weeks." speaks a woman dressed like a nun, patching up a boy of around 13 after a shot.

The bumps. They're from the shots. I understand now, each and every bump is from an injection shot that doesn't really go away.

It's multa Melitta under that nun's veil. Her disfigured face is on full display but it's also her voice I recognize. The patient grimaces but nods, quickly running off when he was cleared. SO quickly he doesn't notice how his limp hand smack the doorway.

He can't feel his arm.

It's too familiar. This place is too familiar. These people are too familiar.

For a moment it's not a stranger the escapes out of here. His straw like hair turns darker, straighter. These foreign features they call normal blur, smooth and ivory pale, features morphing. I can almost hear him telling me he was off, almost feel how he rolls his eyes and laughs.

But Heng-Fei can't walk, can't run. Not anymore. Definitely not at that age.

He was only 17 last I can recall. We were living together again, his legal guardian was only me. He was only 17 when I died.

A curtain closes over the door. A curtain has closed over that part of my life, my existence.

"Well now, you're right on time. Were things to your satisfaction?" multa Melitta turns to address us as a group.

When she looks straight ahead, I can see one of her eyes has already discolored pale. A cloudy cataract blinding her sight.

We could have fixed that. In modern times we could remove and replace that cataract so easily. We have anti-biotics and do so much more.

But we were far from advanced either.

Who knows? Maybe there's another alien out there, looking in and laughing at how deplorable the state of the earth is. My earth. My terrible capitalist fueled overworked hell on earth. Where my brother lives. Where my brother, my co-workers, my damn manager, all my stupid friends, the Parks...where they all still live.

Without me.

"Well enough. I see they raising another barn out in the skirts." grampa replies, tapping through Gable's barrier.

I can see it fall back, just a layer, and a shine of focus in multa Melitta's one working eye.

"Exciting times. Oh, we all do love a good barn raising." multa Melitta plays nice if a little senile. The wrinkled lines on her face hidden by the raised bumps of treatment. She's much older than she sounds.

"Oh my, now would you look at this little berry. My my my you have the blood of the North in you, no worries now. I'm sure you'll grow to be a fine beauty still. Your big sister got in far many more bends than that and look how she turned out. " she bends down, bones breaking, to giggle and gesture at Luka-->>

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