This room is awesome.

Where was this place all my life and why did no one ever tell me, the young head mistress Ventralla, about it? It's literally in my own backyard, underneath it to be more exact. It's a treasure pit of nerdom, father's studio. That's what I'm calling it now.

Though for some odd reason it gives me some strange speakeasy bar vibes. Though that could be the dark cherry wood bar area and various cabinets of alcohol. That corner wall of wooden wine and spirits barrels help a lot.

For some odd reason, I also get the feeling Grampa is down here a fair amount.

Now it could be that great variety of alcohol, not too dissimilar to some of the barrelled contents I passed by in Gabe's brewery once upon a night. Or it could be those creepy life sized carved bears, teeth and all, acting as decorative pillars? Perhaps it could be the coincidence that the second most common drafting papers and parchments pinned on the corkboards are designs of weapons or something else that's believably 'modern' such as plumbing systems or flight dynamics. There's even perfect hot air balloons! I think he uses those occasionally for intelligence or scouting? All with grampa's signature blocky chicken scratches for handwriting.

Unlike my father's beautifully flowing cursive I have to squint struggle to decipher what I'm guessing are grampa's notes. Nope, still can't read them. Must be that bad of handwriting, or it's written in code.

God damn it, it's another code, isn't it?

I can't read a thing, the past Rosalia only managed to crack and fluently learn one of grampa's codes, maybe two. The ones used in the territory management documents or with politics. The only reason she managed to crack them was because of Alfonso.

Blessed be Alfonso. My seemingly perfect not at all questionable butler. I wonder what became of him when I died? Did he move on to solely serve Lilyanne as he did with me after father? Or could that old man finally retire? I doubt it...

Oh would you look at that one! Father what are you working on? I see grampa's notes too.

I am liking that 8 tiered watermills sketched out, much likey. Pictures are universal, no need to crack a code there. Is it using the force of a rushing downstream river? Isn't that practically a conveniently sloped waterfall? How naturally effective. Where is that? If the mirror draft is not a well-placed copy then that would make it a twin mill with 16 structures total with at least 8 stories! That's some powerful stuff, if it's not being used as a general mill then it would make a decent generator.

Oh but the knowledge of electric power hasn't been discovered in this world. We're too far technology-wise, that's like asking to fly before we even learn to crawl. How terribly inconvenient this world is.

Anyways where is this ideal spot and when is it being built?

Ahem, getting distracted. I fear I may do that a lot in here?

It's a very fun space especially since I've been locked up in a near-empty quarantine lately. If it weren't for the natural distractions from the boys I may have jumped the balcony out of boredom. I got a chalkboard installed in the sick bar after my slate broke from a very heated game of Pictionary. Lukas sucks at playing according to rules and even without any proof, I'm pretty sure Amar cheats. Cursed brats!

But what can I do? Entertainment is lacking here.

Our library isn't exactly small but this world's standards are something else. The types of books and contents aren't much to talk about. When combined with my last life, I've read essentially everything in there. It's more formal documents than an actual library with things people would want read. It's room to work, study and store references, not to entertain. How dull.

I also suspect the few adventure epics in there are not so subtle fanfiction-y odes to my grampa? How disgusting.

The office in father's wing of our home is much more interesting of a place to explore. Perhaps because it's a good touch more personal, with all of my father's needed files and paperwork. There's a smaller attached office on the side that I assume belongs to Alfonso. Out of respect, impenetrable nonmagical locks, and a warning sense of fear, I have never snuck in there. Still, father's office is the most entertaining place to amuse myself outside of the kitchens and my soap rooms.

I have now revised that list. The creepy underground studio is the most amusing. Just look at how much stuff is here!

Now if only I can get out of my father's lap and actually explore around and get closer looks at everything.

You know when I said I wanted to nap I was thinking more say set on the couch, maybe even a corner of cushions. I wasn't expecting the hug per say but it's not too out the ordinary for father to take me into his arms. This, however?

How do I fit into this jacket? How? Is there a built-in baby sling in here? I am a fully grown three year old, far too big to be slung around like this. Yes, it is comfortable, I admit, but it is too shameful to be treated like this.

I'm not actually a baby you know?

Father is so engrossed on his work that he doesn't notice my wake up squirming. I can see it in his focused face and glazed golden eyes, and ahhh it's too bright to look out. I understand there's no sunlight down here but it's just too bright. Back to the paperwork.

To be fair the intricacies of designing a multi-tiered mammoth of a watermill is very distracting. 8 stories of mills!

"Those stairs should be bigger." I pipe out, making myself known.

"Hmmm but does it truly need to be? That would mean expansion on this area here." the nerd taps with his feathered pen, not reacting properly to a toddler in his top at all.

"It's a mountain, just clear some rocks and make space." I point back.

"That's essentially what honored father suggested. It's so simple it might just work. I'm afraid that means more work on the platform leading uphill to ensure enough space and stabilization. The transport road has to be relocated further to the sides." he draws, scratching out on a charcoal map.

With enough grabby motions, he hands me the wrapped charcoal and releases me with a pop of two buttons. I'm free! Ah I lost the toasty warmth though, eh no matter, fair trade.

"Cut into the rock, open staircase plan each floor and build platforms from the natural terrain. But if the stairs and working space aren't wide enough, that's too much of a safety risk. Mills get crowded. Instead of just stairs, you can build ramps with tractioned floors inside for transport. I agree with moving the outer roads though."

"Hmm a tad inconvenient for people to get to the top deck. The pullies only feasibly operate to the back for workers inside. "

"Only two is too inconvenient, what if one breaks down? At least make it four, the building is big enough for that. Four elevator- er I mean pulleys and the stairs on both sides."

"I see, the workers would converge there. I was planning a pulley system to the side of the mills to make up for that number. What you're suggesting is at least 8 then."

"Why not both? Everyone needs more eleva- pullies. Also, it's not a tower? It doesn't need to be spiraled! Make the stairs safer by making it squared, give them breaks."

"...."

Father tries stopping my busy hand the moment I start drawing square stairs but I swat him away. I see your spirals and circle preference but no, spiral staircases are for tight spaces and looking cool, not building safety. Oh but a few little ones couldn't hurt for convenience, they do look cool. Oh, can there be fireman poles?

I have a feeling that I've gotten distracted again from some much more important things. My sister, my fiancee, ensuring my future survival as the cursed Rosalia Therese Ventrella, make some more money etc, etc.

But the construction standards of stairs are important!

"Chip dear I believe I see your point..."

"No no no you don't. Spirals are great for defending a structure from intruders but this is for work. Efficiency is much more effective in wide space and blocks when building. Ah, of course, the wheels are most important but in building tall structures? Too inefficient in a mill. More pullies systems, the troops' pulley elevators are always packed in the main buildings. Blocks."

".....I see....Rosa darling, would you like something to drink? It's past the morning meal time."

"No I need to finish this, oops I drew that wrong, grrr, *scribble scribble*"

"When did you learn to draw in dimensions? Have you always just seen the world in dimensions? DO all small children? Fascinating. Those blasted stairs are hideous- no I mean ...it looks quite fine. Fine. Now how about we put down papa's charcoal. Have some morning refreshments?"

"No, I gotta finish this. I'll eat later*cough* So I recommend 12 steps per section with 24 steps to a floor. Tractions on the edges, like this see. It can be built with lines scratched in or attached. Also, can you talk to grampa about fixing the pullies in the troops? Everyone always complains but that's because they crowed them too much. The stairs suck so get grampa on that too. Oh hard rails, oh I messed that up tooo grrrrr! Cursed chubby hands! So.."

"I see... this is how Maria views me..."

"What was that? Did you say something about mother!?"

It's just instinct at this point to quickly look around, careful for any signs of the big boss. Thankfully the scariest thing here is still just her painting overlooking us. Ah, how unnerving. Does it have to be so big and imposing?

I don't think even Lilyanne got a painting that large?

My idol of a sister got a lot of them, a lot of things in general made in her honor. Some....better than other? Eh, alright fine, some guys just sucked, period. Should not paint, should never have even picked up the charcoal or pen or whatever they used. Being the sensitive and artistically inclined soul that she was, Lilyanne gathered a certain crowd of admirers more fervently than the general public of adorers.

Hiiiiiiipsters, err I mean cultivated and refined gentlemen. The sons of noble houses who could appreciate the genteel arts. While my sister was leagues ahead of the vast majority of them in terms of skill and talent that did not stop them from trying to impress her. Or just generally making fools of themselves. I must say, either the majority of noblemen's sons are delusionally arrogant about their own skills or they're just blind.

Nevermind, that's an insult to the visually disabled.

I used to think those fanboys were perhaps mad enough for the nuthouse. Perhaps the true psycho is the man that married mother?

My god look at that detailing! The layers and dedication on that thing. Then the frame? That delicately scarved frame? How many weeks or years did it take?

Ah, I heard myself speak out loud again. Father looks up in thought, analyzing his own 'dabbling' craft projects.

"The frame was worked on in pauses over time. Quite relaxing. The painting? Honestly, I can't recall, but I was pleased with its progress for 2 weeks and unhappy with it for a good 3 months before your mother confiscated my tools. Something about wasting all my time on an inanimate copy when the original was standing right there."

"Oh. Yes I can see that. Father you do have the habit of losing yourself and all sense of time in work."

"Yes....I have since noticed."

"Have you now? Really? It's not all that bad if you know what you're doing and where you're placing your priorities but make time for mother ok? She gets lonely easily and pouts a lot, even more than me. And I'm three."

"Hmmm I yes I certainly see now."

"Do you?"

I can see it through, an irritated mother tapping her foot and fussing around behind an overworking father. Actually no need to imagine it, for I recall that happening a lot in the last lifetime.

Sometimes she would even snap from the worry.

Usually, her code of conduct is quite proper for a lady of the house. She maintains the home and estate, creating a comfortable and clean space for her lord husband to return to. But when father got increasingly busy, when he became the official prime minister of the republic and started working intimately with other nations, particularly my fiancee's country- then there were more times he wouldn't return at all.

Which in turn would cause her mood to sink and tank. I would know, for the little girl thirsty for her mother's love was always watching. Always waiting. For what now, I'm not sure? A chance to slip in? To make herself useful, known? But that would be selfish, and mother was always so tired at the end of the day. It was enough to just get a glimpse of mother, even if for a moment more. Afterall being tired was simply normal for their lives, right?

What a pathetic little girl.

It was a rather poignantly tragic scene though, to watch a beautiful flower shrivel up like it had died. Over and over again each day. Bloom and die.

That's what watching mother was like. When she was waiting tenderly at the window for father's fastest return. For when she sat and sobbed over Lilyanne's bedside or lingered by the balcony at night. No matter what she did the night before, the next day would come and Maria Ventrella would gracefully descend the main stairs and start the day anew. Dressed to the tens and gorgeous as ever, if on the frail and delicate side. But that was good right? Attractive in the way women in romantic poems were admired to be, withered like a leaf ready to blow away.

How stupid.

People who overly romanticize sadness or tragedy have it too good. They get bored in their cushy lives and have nothing better to do or think about. What so good about a sickly sad woman? No one wants to get sick in the first place.

Stupid girl, it wasn't beautiful.

Suffering silently won't get you anything worthwhile. Putting on a brave face of make up the next day may be a necessity yes but it isn't the solution. Never was. Silly Rosalia learned the wrong indirect lessons from her mother dearest.

Mastered all the wrong lessons with the skills and determination worthy of her prided name.

"Father? If you had to choose between work and mama, what would you choose?" I absently scrawl, my hand scribbling nonsense.

I get a little lost in the oddly frustrating doodle, given the time father takes the answer. His breath short, as if he gasped it all out and needed time to refill his lungs. Shadows on paper streaking and forming from shapeless blobs.

"It's all for your mama, that I work so much. Everything is for her." he breathes, simple as that.

"That's not an answer." I scrub, blurring charcoal in the right spots as best I can.

It's not a lie but it's not an answer either, I'm getting some unfortunate practice with telling the difference. I don't think my father is conscious that he's doing it either. He sounds offended even. How silly, nerds are so easy to push sometimes.

"Father I know it's not fair to pick because they're very different. But sometimes you don't get the time or chance. If there was a fire, say a great fire has erupted and you only have but a minute to grab what you can and run. What do you do? What do you pick to take with you? What can't you live without?"

I abandon the charcoal lump not simply out of frustration but because I'm done with it. I'm not skilled enough to work magic out of one thing. I have to use other mediums, say father's ink pen.

"Maria. You. All of you. If a fire erupted right at this second I'd take you and run. Run all the way to your mother and sister and then some." Father gives me bluntly, unhesitating.

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"Is that so?" I messed up, dip and drip ink pens are hard to control. I have to hold and drag the tip oh so carefully.

"Yes. Of course. How could it be anything else? The world could burn to ash and I wouldn't care if it kept Maria and you girls safe. You're all that matters."

I maybe see why mother married this man. Just maybe.

Sometimes this blunt mouth hits right where it hurts the best. Who wouldn't want to hear words like that? But saying and doing are greatly different things. Just like how it takes a lot of work to turn these draft designs on paper into a feasible reality.

"You're going to be very busy soon father. Careful about what you pick." I keep scribbling a line of mess, not minding that there are long oversized arms tightly around me now.

Father is going to be elected prime minister soon and then he'll be busier than ever. Will he give up his building projects to make the time? Shame, I quite liked them. I wonder if I can talk to grampa about them? If that truly is his blocky handwriting that is. Funny how I never talk to him about building stuff, when he's technically the only one I can talk about such things to. I've been so distracted. What a strange and funny thing that this nerd has been here taking my attention. Hidden all this time without my knowledge. It's a little like this room.

"What is my little devil trying to say today hmmm?" father chuckles, voice a little low and raspy.

When he hugs me from behind, it stifles my movements further. I have to be even more careful in how I try to draw. I stick a tongue out in childish focus, ignoring the annoyance behind and around me. It's no professional work in any world but I feel oddly frustrated lately, so I have to finish it.

"Nothing much father, I don't know what I'm saying either. I'm only three."

"That's not what it sounds like to me my dear. You've always been very keen and strange, not just for your years. Always. The things I don't know about, things I do and have left buried, things you shouldn't and can't possibly know but do. It's a certain breed of peculiar that could so easily be lost and withered if left alone."

"Is that so? You should then stop me when I do it. I don't know where the limits are sometimes."

"I'm afraid I can't Chip my dear. "

"Well why not? That's rather irresponsible of you father."

"I'm afraid Chip, that they're all right and you veritably a chip off the block. Forgive me then, that I can't stop you when I don't know where the lines are myself. The game perhaps, how to act, how to behave can be rigorously pounded into your head. Into mine. Pins and nails that easily be undone. As it may you, one day. You're already learning how to play. But how to be? Truly? I can't teach you what I don't know. Try your mama'? She's better at that part."

"Did you know you're a very strange sort of father? I don't think you can be calling me strange."

"I can say so because I am myself. "

When I put down the pen with a huff, I can finally register the warmth covering the top of my head. Father's gross mouth and face softly nestled in my hair. I can't say for how long he must have stayed that way. It feels like he's comfortably napping away holding a stuffed animal.

That's me I suppose.

The clatter of the pen and my stretching of sore baby hands rouses father, getting his attention.

My charcoal smeared palms are captured and cleaned up with a warm moist towel that father fishes out from some overly expensive device with only one purpose. This one, to keep clean up towels wet and warm. Due to his own hands being even blacker than mine, I find the action both a bit laughable and a waste of time.

How about you focus on yourself a little more you strange nerd? Can't help anyone if you don't help yourself first. It's just common sense.

My own hands get dirty again cleaning my rather useless father up, who is now suddenly limp and nonfunctional Hey, a little more effort on your part? You were just doing it earlier? Did you fall asleep? Don't make me do all of the work, I'm tiny. Everything is a lot more effort for me.

In the end, I'm stuck with stubbornly gray hands until my father cleans us both up, blowing away the dust and sediments left on what's not yet dry.

"What do you have there Rosa my dear?" he asks for show, already picking up the wasted drafting paper that I chose to scribble on.

I answer fairly, with nothing to hide. "Nothing."

It's a scribble. A child's fidgety drawing. Nothing more.

"I quite like it."

"You like a lot of things father. From wheels and vegetables to butter churners and dabbling fearsome portraits. You keep liking too many odd things. I don't think that counts for much??"

"I suppose then, by your definition, it doesn't. But I queerly happen to fancy it all none the less. May I keep it?"

"Hmm it's better off in the trash? But I can't stop you so I'll allow it."

"I am indebted to your favor my Chip dear."

Right now father looks like those awkwardly doting parents that just have to keep their child's kindergarten macaroni projects. Even years later then the grown kid begs them to throw the embarrassing mess away. It won't get to that point but I somehow get the feeling I should regret this more.

Eh whatever, I got better things to do or think about.

Also, I suddenly feel oddly chilled again? For no reason? The fireplace is going just fine?

"Ohohohoho Frederick dear! Are you down there?~ Oh my looooove~ Where did you run off today hmmm? Don't think I don't know what you did~ "

The jump scare of hearing that laugh is more than enough to send me crashing into a more typical mindset. Say panicking. How is mother's voice in hearing distance?! We're underground!?

"Father....am I supposed to be here?" I shake.

"Well, where else?" he questions smoothly perfectly confident and comfortable.

Right...there's no way father would disobey mother? I haven't been taken off like stolen loot in the middle of the night. He dotes on her too much. I'm safe right? She won't come hunting for me right?

"There there, you're perfectly safe from those beasts." father smiles, his voice soothing where as his words are a tad confusing.

Did you mean to say beast? Because that was most certainly her voice and I have no idea where it came from. Oh but that is such a rude to address mother. Seriously though where did the source of that sound come from?

How blood-curling!

"Chip my demiurgic little scamp, are you feeling discomfort? Are you able to breathe alright there?" father pets and pats at me while I pray to him for some form of assurance.

"Will....will mother find us?"

"Oh absolutely yes. "

"...."

I sigh with a nervous resignation. I swear mother wasn't ever so scary in the last life. What's gotten into her? Or me?

I can't see her yet I most definitely heard her, so it is inevitable. I take to climbing back into the burrow jacket to hide, no complaints here. Let the horror movie begin! Bring it on!

*Screeekch*

It's a good thing I already hid myself under the father blanket because a scary movie jump scare really does appear where I least expect it.

"Oh there you are! I thought it was fishy to wake up this morning without even a warning! Oh darling how could you be so cold?!"

The barrels! Some of the barrels beside the bar has opened up a secret door! We have a secret door in the secret room!? A secret underground passageway? This really is a speakeasy! Is that what the gun rack is for?

What else do I not know about my own house? My life? Rosalia the original, some answers here? Oh, but of course that girl wouldn't know let alone answer me. She's too busy making me feel weird things.

Right now the shock, fear and shame are all my own.

Not only from the secret door and the sudden entrance of mother but...

...What. Is. She. Wearing?!?!?!!!

"Oh Frederick! The other noble matrons warned me this would happen one day. The day you sneak off in the middle of the night to prance around with a younger girl, oh boohoo. I never thought that day would come so soon."

I don't understand and I won't want to understand!!! Father why aren't we running for our lives? Oh no he's useless! Just useless!

Like my own horror movie ghost mother stands there in all white. Nothing but a delicately fluffy nightgown and even thinner lacy shawl. All that does nothing to hide her voluptuous curves and lack of propriety. The ribbon string hangs loosely around bare creamy looking shoulders, flushed a bit in cold. The center of rumpled collars dipping and draping into the great soft valleys of death. An undone waterfall of gloriously commercial-worthy curly hair curtains for the barest sense of modesty over the admittedly pretty but flimsy gown.

How inappropriate! How scandalous! No lady should ever appear like this outside the privacy of her own dressing room let alone in the day time?! Does she truly sleep like that!? When?! That's not a safe sanctioned camisca or chemise or anything?

Oh the shame. But mortifying shame and scandal work horrifyingly well to root my dumb and whipped nerd of a father into his chair. I have no more hope for him or of escaping. I should have picked a better hiding spot.

As she moves, the flutter of her long nightgown gives mother the appearance of supernaturally floating across the floor. Her steps unnaturally slow, controlled like a predator to its prey. A weak man or thirsty woman may even call the sight alluring in the light, unholy seductive but I know the truth.

It's too scary! Mama please no. Take father, it's all his fault. Don't eat me!

...Wait don't eat father either?!?! No not until I escape! Nooooooo!

"I thought it was suspicious how early you had us retire last night." she pouts as if wronged, as if she doesn't hold the very tight leash to our lives. "Were you only so thoroughly sweet and lovely for this?"

Big brown deadly wolf eyes water in a charming puppy dog mockery, for her body posture, leans over the desk in perfect intimidation. Trapping us further behind what should be a shelter against her.

I was wrong. Mother isn't frail or delicate at all. My original memories are all wrong and I can't even blame anyone. I don't know exactly how I know this but I just do. Hakfldjaslkjwerf AAAAHHHHH someone get me out of here!

"Now Maria beloved, did you walk all the way here like that? It must have been freezing. My poor darling wife."

He's not deflecting. The whipped father is just that stupid in front of mother and her natural weapons. I'm not even looking at him to know where his line of sight is going.

AAAAAAAhhhhhh gotta go gotta go now. How do I get out of the baby burrow prison without making it obvious to be caught?!

"Oh darling, of course, I'm cold! I spent half the night ignorant and alone. The better part of the morning prowling for your lost pretty red head. "

"So you think it's pretty now?"

"I'm thinking about whether I should let you keep it my darling."

"Take it. It's already yours. How would you like it served my love?"

AHHHHHHHHH gotta go! But where do I go? This is punishment enough, please release me. I give, I volunteer to be grounded! Just get me away from this grossness!!!

Mother lets out a huff and a sigh, probably at the sight of my panicked squirming. I'm very big and stand out very much as the lump under father's jacket I'm sure.

"I would have liked it rumpled in my bed this morning. Really now Frederick? When I said the next day I did not mean for you to so swiftly break out Rosalia right after the stroke of midnight."

"It was not anywhere near midnight my love, I was still quite preoccupied at that time. Something you sat the sole witness to."

He smiles up at her, pleasanter than ever with poor little me in his grasp. I fear and suspect that father is using my squishy small body as a deterrent shield for there is no smacking. Fear her as I may, she has never once hit nor smacked me and that is a testimony to just how scary mother is. I fear her beyond the realm of the physical.

If I peek out the pocket, even for a split-seconds I can see a great staring contest with lots of scary smiling and unspoken tension in the air. If I turn my head even a little then I am met with the overwhelming bounty of cleavage, pushed up from the desk.

I shall now forcibly blind myself by hiding in darkness once again. Wake me up when it's all over.

But that is not what happens, for a sweet small lady's hand has grasped me out the safety pouch like a machine claw game to a dangling toy.

"My utmost divine love, that's not what I mean by 'take it'. Wrong head." weakly protests father.

"Oh my bad Frederick darling, I just can't tell with all this red."

I am it. How rude. Like the toy prize I am, mother has me snuggled and trapped into death valley without the interference of her daywear layers. This hasn't happened for many months now and never in a nightie this provocatively bare. I have very mixed feelings about everything -->>

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