It is not every day that I wake up in a cage.

But when I do, I can easily process, eliminate, and blame one of two people. Either my grandfather or my father. One of those.

That or I've been kidnapped for real and am doomed. Doomed I say!

"Leeeeeet me out!" I squeeze and scramble about the cage. Trying to find the door to this thing.

Come on, I had to get in here somehow? Where's the way out? Is this a cage?! I've been literally imprisoned in a giant cage!

It's not even a proper prisoner cage, it's far more detailed. There's netting?! A thick metal grid to make a fence, with even more soft netting inside.

"Wheeeeeeeeeee~" my sister rolls about the piles of colorful cushion and other child stimulating fun.

It's like a children's playpen on steroids in here. Pillows. Blankets. Stuffies. I even notice a heated warmth radiating from somewhere underneath. Making the cage deceptively warm and cozy. The available walls are padded like a hyperactive insane asylum, only attached with more terrible contraptions. Ropes and cloth ladders for climbing. Tiny tea tables. A low chalkboard. Things I don't want to identify. Nothing but soft surfaces

"Lilyanne, this is serious! We must escape!" I manage to squeeze my arms through the holes.

Just my arms though, not the rest of me.

"Where. Does. This. OPEN?!" I can't help but scream.

No locks. No mechanism. Not a single trap door. It's like a ship in a bottle mystery?! How did I get in here in the first place?

My sister is rolling around doing absolutely nothing to help me!

This has the scent of Father's handiwork all over it. Don't ask how or why I know. I just do.

"Smells like mama and papa! Rosa?" Lilyanne rubs herself on the various cushions and blankets. Possibly belonging to the parentals.

Hey....is she a dog? What the hell?

A very useless one too. In fact, she seems quite comfortable. Barefoot and helpless in her little nightgown and pumpkin bloomers, flashing me with every roll.

I continue to climb, higher and higher up over and around the cage. The netting makes it almost too easy to do so. Even if I fall, there are layers of cushioning everywhere. But there has to be a mechanism or entry path somewhere.

"Aaaaaah!!!!!" I scream in frustration, climbing up to the ceiling. Crawling about.

"Oooooh." Lilyanne cheers me on, waving upside down.

No, wait it's me that's upside down. Even the ceiling is covered in soft nets and such materials. Eventually, though, I've found it. A hole in the hard to access the ceiling. Narrow, but more than enough space for me to get through.

I drop down. Really drop.

Then slide back out to the cushions on the floor with my sister. Right through the hidden slide and all.

What. The. Hell!?

What is this contraption?! This trap of trickery? Was it made on purpose?!

"Well now, you girls are up earlier than expected." a wall opens up behind the netting.

A wall of soft velvet curtains, letting in the unfiltered light of early day. Shadowed only by a single tall figure.

A man as beautiful as a brilliantly blooming summer rose smiles down upon me. The hottest of fires burned white and deceptively clean. A being of dark that should not walk in the light yet stands there like divinity feigning mortality.

I fear him so.

His sunlight eyes crinkle at the sight of us, innocent prey awaiting the pot, the boil, for his consumption. The soft line of his blushing lips curves up, the fondest of gaze. It causes Lilyanne to go absolutely gaga.

"Papa! Good morning Papa!"

"What is the meaning of this, Father?!"

I pull back my own sister, not allowing her any nearer to that fiend. Despite the netted cage that separates us, he's a danger for all mankind. Especially to little girlkind.

"How did my girls sleep? Do you like your new play place?" Father ignores me completely, smiling at his favorite little angel.

"Yaaaay so softies!" Lilyanne cheers with a downy blanket.

"Despicable. " I block the line of sight between them. Glaring up at the fiend who dares take us from our morning bed and into this prison of all things.

I don't even have my trusty purse with me. Helpless. I've been helplessly grabbed and thrown in a new place with no way out. Do you know how scary that is?!

"Hmm my, you girls have hardly moved. Why don't you explore some more?" Father pulls the velvet thick curtains, hanging them up.

Light clearly shows it to be an office room on the other side. One of his many, though not his most personal one. A desk, shelves, and even a courtyard window. In the corner, I even see my usual school desk of doom.

Ah, this room.

"Okay, Papa!" Lilyanne waves like a good girl, crawling up to plop herself around the cage. A child sent on a scavenger hunt for fun times.

One day, she is going to be kidnapped for real, and helpless to do anything about it! Ahhh, what a useless little heroine!

I should follow my own words.

"...Lord Father, I apologize for my earlier outburst. Tis' early, and I have not yet composed myself properly. May I ask, what is your purpose for this? " I give a small, simplified courtesy in my pajamas, staying wary.

It wouldn't do to upset any kidnapper, let alone this villain. I haven't had much experience in being kidnapped, but it's bound to happen again. Right?

Rosalia survival tactics, start!

Father, however, regards me with a glint in his eyes, and that very same deceptively sly smile.

"My own precarious darling of a brat. To think your comprehension only reaches this level. What else, my dear, but for my own amusement?" he chuckles.

Evil. Hate him. He just called me simple and stupid. Yet he's not wrong, for I can't find the exit to this thing!

"Pray, my honorable and oh so graciously free, Lord Father, may I be released from this...space?" I bow my head low once again.

Anyone of my size would look quite ridiculous in my place, yes, but there are rules and manners to follow. A certain level I must showcase, not to impress my horrifyingly strict father figure, but to reach the bare minimum of his approval.

I, as a young lady, do not appreciate nor deserve this.

"Hmm, perhaps in due time, my little Chippy dear. You haven't even given it a try yet. Nor have you seen the exercise wheel in your new room." father points out, still handsomely smiling away.

The... what now?

"Whhhheeeeeee! " my own little sister, the delicate sweetheart of countless men and women, runs on all fours.

I stay rooted, twitching at the sight. Lilyanne clamors about in a human child-sized hamster wheel that's attached to the wall. It goes round and round, a pinwheel of dizzying colors. The pinwheel bets faster and faster, forcing her to give up her clumsy puppy run to plop over. By the force of momentum, it takes her spinning round and round, over and upside down.

"Lilyanne!" I scream in horror.

"Wah ahahaha soooooo dizzy! Ahahaha!" she falls out, upside down to flash me with her fat diaper like bloomers.

With her arms and legs uselessly limp, she splays out like a starfish. Rainbow hamster wheels spin in place of her eyes and terrifying toddler insanity in her laugh.

"Lilyanne, get a hold of yourself! Lilyanne, are you hurt anywhere? Your head, did you hit your head?! You're already so stupid, we can't afford to rattle that up anymore?! Lilyanne! No! Nooooooo!" I curse the heavens and fates, holding my sister's fat head limp in my arms.

I lose her. Once again, I lose her...to the hamster wheel.

"Wheeeee! Again! Again!" she waddles back to it dizzily.

"Lilyanne no, you mustn't. Your head?!"

"Spinnies so fun!"

I am left with no choice but to knock her down with a pillow. Then sit on her for good measure. Oh how difficult, it is to do things by hand. I miss having the secret guards under my control.

"How could you? To your own daughter?!" I press all my weight on a silently muffled Lilyanne, all to calm her, before turning to address the villain responsible for this mess.

Only to find him already behind his desk working on the freshly placed neverending pile of papers and scrolls. Completely ignoring me, again.

Grrr, just how in the world did any woman agree to marry a man as frustrating and as insensitive as that!?

"Daaaaarrrrling, where did you go~ Daaaaaaarling, how could you leave me like that?~ Daaarrrling. *sniff sniff* Darling? "

....Speak of the devil.

My own mother sleepily crawls through the courtyard. Looking all at once, drunk, hungover, and very pathetic. With her eyes closed, and her winter chemise already slipping over her shoulders.

Oooookay, time to hide. Under the pillows, I go! Quiet now Lily.

Lilyanne?

How did she fall asleep like that? I just sat on her a little bit? Surely, I'm not that heavy?! Lilyanne? Are you even breathing?

Noooooo Lilyanne! Your brain!!! Your already oxygen-deprived developing brain!

Oh but there's no time to seek medical aid. I must hide!

Like a bloodhound, Mother sniffs the air around the garden courtyard. She changes directions to climb up and over the open window way. Her feet scandalously bare in her climb. Ankles. Toes.

Oh, the shame and mortification of someone's noble wife and mother revealing herself like this?! What if someone, anyone, sees!?

Luckily, she trips. Hiding her shame from the world outside. Only showing her not so graceful form rolling to smack the bottom of the desk.

"Owie." she cries weakly.

Mother...just why are you like this?

"Frrreeeeeeeed?" she rolls over, curly hair a voluminous mess and eyes still sleepily closed.

Without even getting up, her hand clumsily reaches up to tap about the top of the desk. Then, reaching into her own chemise to pull out....confetti. Confetti of ribbons and flower petals apparently.

Where did that come from?

"Tada!" mother giggles, successfully decorating father's desk of paperwork.

"Yes, how wonderful," he says, still scribbling away as soon as he finishes one small stack. Smoothly transitioning to the next. Even with the colorful confetti littering the way.

"So meeeeean, love me moooore you fool." mother pouts, swaying on the floor to cling on to his leg. Where she dozes off a bit, resting her cheek with just a hint of a snore.

How convincing.

When his free hand reaches down to pat her head, she gives an awful sigh and squeal. Rubbing her sleep messy face back and forth. A 'kyaa kyaa' sound muffled only by her own sleepy rubbing. Little pink bubbles and floating hearts seemingly appear out of nowhere.

Nevermind my previous statement. Both my parents are equally awful people. They obviously deserve each other.

I don't think anyone else would be able to survive.

Mother hasn't even noticed the playpen cage taking up the room. Nor her own daughters in it! Instead, she's too busy slowly crawling up Father's leg.

How rude. Scandalous, but nonetheless rude.

Ahem, still...A young and healthy married couple is bound to have their moments. Certain...needs. Even without her hair done, any makeup or proper lady's manner of dress and jewels, Mother easily crawls up like the most depraved of house courtesans. The boldness of my mother is unmatched!

Rather than seductive though, she more resembles a sorry big white worm.

Winter chemises aren't very sexy or revealing, thank the gods for that small mercy. Instead, mother flaps her oversized sleeves uselessly. Like an oversized chicken trying to fly.

Please note that as magical as this world is, chickens still can't fly.

Pigs perhaps, a certain species of them, but not a chicken.

Without a word, Father still continues working despite the very obvious distraction. He does however scoot his chair back to give mother access room to climb and cuddle happily into his lap. As she settles, seemingly ready to doze back asleep once comfortable, father dips and tips her whole head back.

I gasp into a pillow, hiding a shriek of impropriety. But thankfully, for my eyes were still unwillingly peeking, it was nothing inappropriate. Nothing like, dare I say it, ....affection.

Holding her far back but steady, he pulls out a small glass vial from seemingly nowhere. As if he had already had it in his hand. It gets a direct one way trip to Mother's mouth, unfortunately much like a bottle to a baby. When he pinches her nose, it goes down with a messy and displeased gurgle on her part. More chicken flapping with her flailing sleeves. A green tinge to her puffed up cheeks, indicating utter disgust.

Ah, anti-hangover potions. Bleck.

The stronger and more effective, all the more bitter the liquid.

I think Mother is dying in grossness. Her taste buds, and thus soul, is dying.

"Marvelous. Now wash it down, my love." father hands her limp choking form, an already prepared glass of water.

At least I think it's water. His cruel hand finally releasing her nostrils. Allowing her to breathe once it's all down.

"What are you doing?! ...What was I doing?" mother blearily looks back and forth.

"Have a sweet, my sweet. There that's right. You were so well behaved in taking your medicine and was just about to sleep a bit more before breakfast comes to you. " he pets at her hair, stuffing a dried apricot into her mouth.

How rude. Father had snacks this whole time, and he didn't even leave any in the cage? Where is my breakfast?! Where is....is that bowl of fruits and nuts over there? A nut tart? Ooooh.

Don't mind or notice me, gross couple, I'm just...shuffling...over.

"Mmmpf oh. Oh nappy...mmmm darling.... Oh, a desk? Oh, I love desks!" Mother was just about to fall asleep, but like a drunk easily distractible puppy dog, starts messing things up by smacking the wooden thing.

"Hmmm...it will take you a bit longer to sober up, yes. " Father muses, hanging on to the madwoman he calls wife.

"I haven't had a desk in soooooooo long! Daaaaarling, why? Daaaarling~"

What does Mother mean? She has plenty of desks! Though they are very tiny delicate ladies' desks. Oh but it's clear she's been drinking the night before. Actually, it's more likely she kept drinking past the morning hours if her bubbly state is anything to be believed.

You can never believe drunk or hangover people.

"I miss desk. " Mother sways despite Father's grip on her waist. It appears she is attempting to climb it, and Father quickly moves any fragile stack of papers out the way.

"Perhaps not today, my love. How about a quick nap?" he weans her off the idea.

"Is it because I'm getting FAT??!" Mother responds ridiculously.

"...I assure you, my love, the answer is: No. " Father comforts to the best of his abilities.

But of course, that falls short.

"Oh boohoo! The ladies at tea warned me about all men losing interest with age. I've long peaked! I'm not a fresh spring chicken anymore! I'm old! Old and undesirable!" she flaps about. Upsetting the balance Father tries so hard to maintain.

I would like to beg to differ. She very much resembles a sort of chicken. I'm just not sure what kind.

Also excuse you! I was about that age! How dare you call me old, 26 is not old!

"Calm down, Maria. My love, those petty gossips you shall forget about soon enough. As well as....this" father pats her on the back soothingly, holding her down with a tad more force.

"FAT! I didn't mean for them to grow anymore! But after the girls were born, they just.....oh boohoo hoo!!! I'm so fat and old!!!" she rambles off, clutching herself in the chest inappropriately all while she sobs.

Ah, that's where Lilyanne's water fountain comes from.

Father sighs, comforting her with physical attention and tired promises of no, that is not the case. Even as mother flails about, even smothering him.

"You don't want me anymore! I know it! Well, good luck returning me. And by that I mean you never will! I burned the marriage papers!!!" she cries almost drunkenly.

Or just plain drunkenly.

"...Maria...you....have done what exactly?" Father finally gives her the satisfaction of his utter confusion.

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. No records and no receipts. Now we're stuck forever and ever and evers, my rosen darling, AND YOU CAN'T GET RID OF ME!!! Oh ho ho~ and.... Ooooooo I do like hazelnuts in tarts. Are those tarts? With... Wait. No. I'M FAT!!!"

"...Perhaps you need another dose, here now Maria. Drink this for me won't you, my love?"

Down the hatch goes another sobering potion. Though not easily. But when father promises a kiss, mother obliges with a close eyed fishy face. Giving him ample time, and the opportunity to pour down another hidden bottle from the drawers.

You know, perhaps this cage isn't so bad. If it keeps me away from that. That and there are tarts in here!

From the disgustingness, Mother plops over on the desk with a thud.

"So...mean...darling. " her scrunched up face sobs.

I agree. Why haven't we as a civilization made better tasting high-quality potions?! Hangover and healing potions are disgusting! An absolute torture I would say.

"Rosalia's right darling, it tastes so bad. Oh boo hoo hoo.....oh, " Mother cries.

See even Mother agrees with me...oh.

Apparently, that is also the same time my mother wide-eyed notices my existence in this very room. Much to Father's facepalm.

"A cage, darling? A cage?! How could you be so cruel?!" she flaps and smacks at him with her sleeves.

Yes! Yes get back at the fiend for the insult that is my imprisonment. Teach him a lesson about-

"I love soft cages!!! How could you darling, oh boo hooo hooo. Is it because I'm too OLD AND FAT NOW?!" Mother sobs, doing a terrible job of beating anyone up with merely her oversized sleeves. For my father sits there taking it with a blank face, scooting and locking away any done files.

With one press of the button though, a small part of the cage...opens?

How does that even work?! Hey hey nerd, explain to me the stupid mechanisms on this thing?!

It's an incredibly small square. Perhaps just enough for Lilyanne and I to get through at the same time.

*zoom*

Oh my, what a breeze? In here? So strong too? It blew all these cushions in my face.

The cage door slides close with the sound of multiple locks. By the time I can even wrangle myself out of the blankets and cushions to see again, it's too late. The netting is once again sealed, seemingly flawless against the wall. Father sighs with relief, patting the bars before settling to make order once again.

On the ground, my own mother still drunkenly rolls around, in perfect bliss. Going "kyaa kyaa wheeeeee a cage! Smells like darling! Oh there are tarts in here?!".

I think I need to be adopted into a new family. As of 3 or so years ago. Someone, help. Get me out of here!

"Oh and babies! I love cute babies! Sure would like to make one someday... " Mother attacks me with exactly one hug, one snuggle, and then falling down like an elephant finally hit with enough tranquilizer guns.

In her arms, I repeat out loud.

"Get. Me. Out of here!!!" I scream.

"waaah Mama and Rosa!" Lilyanne blearily awakens and cuddles into the trap.

"Ah, finally. As things should be. " Father beams from his desk.

Everything was perfectly cleaned up and aligned for work once again. How efficient.

"Father! Let me out!!!" I fight and fail to even remove myself from the impossible grip that consists of my mother's oddly iron hard grip.

Like those of a seat belt handle, fastening me to the fluffiest of cushioned back seats. I suppose then, I should be grateful for not facing the wrong way into Mother's unfashionably bountiful chest. Otherwise, it's another oxygen-deprived forced nap.

Is Mother concerned about her weight? In this society?!

Well, I suppose unrealistic beauty standards will always be a thing.

While her childbearing hips are ideal, her too full bosom is less so. Unlike what I'm used to, it's not a glamorous hourglass and certainly not a supermodel thin that's the most desirable figure. Instead, it's more of a full bottom pear shape? While small on top and at the waist? If that's the standard then my mother's is a few centuries too ahead of the trend.

It's always a head-scratching formula for the ideal body shape? Fashion is a strange thing in any world or time period. It also changes so easily too!

Pray, tell me, how is a woman supposed to keep up with it all! We can't!

Still, it wasn't too unreasonable to simply wear the right clothes. Out in fashionable society, Mother can easily bind her own chest in the proper undergarments or whatever dress is in fashion. A modest covering to accentuate all of a woman's wealth and charms.

One stupid little girl messed it up in the not too far off future.

Lilyanne.

Those monsters. When she walked. Ran. Oh, don't even get me started about how bad it was when she went down any set of stairs!

How? How did such a frail sickly girl grow like that? Was it all the goat milk? DNA? That's no excuse when our own mother could wear her clothes properly!

Underwear. Smocks. Frock. Petticoats. Even pretty shawls and coverings. How hard is it to wear proper clothes?!

But noooooooo. Lilyanne the scandalous little heroine would cause fashion disaster after disaster in her 'comfortable' little one or two-layered thin house dresses. Since she's 'not used' to wearing so many tedious layers or undergarments. That mother blessed figure of hers going around bouncing in two globs of FAT and SCANDAL.

The boing...oh the boing boing. Like pudding buckets gone wild. Two steamed buns stuffed down a shirt. The potential for disaster, not only made known once, nor twice, but too many times. So many that the hormonal young bachelors that made up the fanboys went wild to defend my sister's every improper appearance and action.

What dangerous things. Forever starting the change of fashion in high society. Cuts of dresses with cleavage, push-ups, too few layers even in the middle of winter! Oh, the shame.

I can feel my blood pressure rise with just the thought.

"Rosa?" my sister confusedly rubs her cheeks at me.

The confusion squishes and condenses as I pat her fat but flat baby torso in a horrified reassurance she is still a child. A good and proper cute child.

There's nothing wrong with improving fashion, preferable really. But not that, anything but the hell raised by my dumb and beautiful little sister in her natural state.

So...much....work to do.

Maybe this pet cage of Father's is a good thing!

Yes, I can see it being incredibly useful for the future! Where the hell was this in the past life? I want one installed in every other room that Lilyanne frequents. With extra locks. It can even come with the stupid exercise wheel.

Not bad thinking, Father.

Now just let me out of here. Right after I somehow get Mother to stop using me as a teddy bear. Release me, I say.

It, of course, does not work. I am forced to spend the rest of my lazy and unproductive morning locked down in this cell. Trapped by multiple traps and barriers, including the most vicious of a guard dog. Aka my own sleeping mother.

An immeasurable amount of time passed, as things tend to be on lazy days.

Father scribbles and measures away, comfortable in our locked up presence. The slight sound of his pen tip across paper is oddly soothing.

Meanwhile, Mother sleeps like a fairytale, her body recovering in all the ways necessary. I would complain about what's wrong with her, an already married woman and mother, to drink so much she ends up in this state by morning. Shouldn't she be looking out more for her health or appearance?! But alas I am one of the last people to complain.

Drinking is just so good. Especially with snacks.

I suppose it's already a good thing that Mother's health is far better than the last time. That she may enjoy a few more glasses of wine. Such behavior and consequences would be unthinkable if it was the frail Mother of before.

A healthy Mother to keep control of the estate, as the lady of a house should. A lovely and healthy wife to keep her whipped husband rooted, running even, homebound at any and all times. Someone to personally take care of....Lilyanne.

In the life this body had led before, I wonder what sort of bond that mother and daughter pair had. Both were so often taken ill. They must have spent a lot of time together.

No. Of course, they did.

Seemingly attached at each other's bedsides. The parlor rooms shut up to keep out the chill. The greenhouse flowers framing their perfect little world. Two delicate beauties, mother and daughter, waving gracefully from their balcony view. Something I only knew the bottom of. Standing outside viewing in.

I wonder then, what they talked about all that time. What they did.

Admitting my curiosity is no fault of my own. Especially as I am now. I can do it without the guilt, the inexplicable burden, that Rosalia carried.

Was it time well spent? Were they happy in ways I could not have imagined?

I was too busy. Always too busy. If not from my own schedule then my own self imposed training and study. Anything and everything to be better. To be acknowledged.

It was all for naught though.

I remember the first inklings of that realization.

Evidence that it should have been hopeless. A stupid little girl. Blind in hope and innocence. Even a villainess must once be a stupid little girl.

"That's to be expected." Father's smooth voice cut.

Like the slice of the bloody juicy steak on the porcelain plate. Fine cutlery clinking. Too many forks. Not enough knives to tear away this memory for good.

What was being said? Where was I even sitting? Across? Yes...that's right.

The ends of the table feel very far from the perspective of a little girl. It might have stretched out across the room. A cold wind further expands that empty space between us.

Sugar strained my throat. The sweet juice burned as I swallowed down thickly.

"It's....very dull anyways. Boring. "

I speak the words I can't control. A memory already played out, changeless. A stitch that has already been sewn and embroidered in the tapestry of time.

I have no control here, I never did.

"Mama! Papa! Lily wants to try that too." the little girl by the side of the table fussed. So much so her cutlery rattled and the napkin fell from her lap.

Improper.

If I were to ever act in such a way, my etiquette lessons would be tripled immediately. Worse yet, that imposing overlooking gaze of my father's would turn into something of...disappointment. I couldn't. I would never.

"No, you don't." I say curtly. Drowning out any background noise in my own head, not wanting to hear it. Not wanting to hear any comforts for her.

Not Mother's fussing or Father's reassurance. I wanted none of it.

If I couldn't have it, then at the very least, I didn't want to see it. It didn't want to know any more. That space in between.

"Look here Lilyanne, aren't big sister's hands very ugly?" I pull off a glove with a forced head bow and a too-wide smile to my face.

Riding. Taming. Training. Lessons. Hours of writing, scribing, and copying. Chemical experiments and accidents. Twists of reigns. Falls and scrapes. The grip of a sword or a bow in my hands. Worked leather and laces. Hidden blades.

A true lady must be ready for anything.

"Lily wants to ride big fat birdos and all sorts of things with Grampapa too!" she still complains, even in the face of my bruises.

"It's not just riding. It's very annoying work. Lilyanne, in fact, I'm jealous of you. Your hands are...so pretty. How nice it must be not to be pulled outside with Grandfather or anything of the messy sort. You can stay warm and cozy with Mother and all your pretty things? Isn't that grand?" I coax, making the mistake of revealing too much.

I overstepped. I dared to take time and space where I was not invited. Welcomed. My mistake. My bad.

"Horrid. How absolutely horrid." Mother drops her knife and fork, weak appetite already lost.

"Rosalia. " Father reprimands immediately, acting at the slightest hint of Mother's displeasure.

I freeze a moment too long, and Father gets it in the low threat of Mother's quiet call.

"Darling?"

"I have been discourteous during a meal. I beg pardon. Please. Father. Mother. May I have permission to excuse myself and reflect on my wrong? " I immediately put back on my glove. The decorated fawnskin, soft and comforting, hiding my flaws.

"You may go. " Father allows. <-->>

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