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Mila's Turnwheel/Memory Prisms
Amid the Flames
Celica: Ngh... *cough cough* Please... Is anyone there?! Somebody, please... Please help me!
Mycen: Princess Anthiese!
Celica: Ah! Ah! Who...are you?
Mycen: I am Sir Mycen, Your Highness. I served your father as a knight. I'm here to take you to safety. Come with me!
Celica: ...... Ah... Waaaaaah!
Mycen: You were very brave to hang on all by yourself, Your Highness.
Celica: It was terrible... I woke up and smoke was everywhere... It was hot, and it hurt, and... And no one came to help even when I yelled as loud as I could!
Mycen: Well, I am here now, and I won't let anything bad happen to you. Now take my hand. Quickly!
Young Woman: (off-screen) Gyaaaaaaah!
Celica: Wh-what's happening...?
Mycen: Damn you, Desaix... He aims to leave no witnesses alive. I'm afraid things may get a little bumpy, Your Highness. Whatever you do, don't leave my side.
Celica: I won't. ...Oh, but wait! Where's my brother?! Where's Conrad?! Sir Mycen, you have to save my brother! Please!
Mycen: Your Highness, I... I checked every room on my way to you. There are none left alive. It pains me to say this, but I fear Conrad is no longer with us.
Celica: No... NO! Conrad!
(glass breaks, Slayde enters)
Slayde: Where's the princess?! Desaix's orders are to bring back her head, so somebody find her now!
Mycen: The time for grief will come, Princess. For now, you must survive. Come! We must be off!
Celica: ...A-all right. I'm coming.
An Oath at Dawn
Clive: Fernand! You came!
Fernand: Of course I did. I am honored to finally be able to call myself a knight of Zofia.
Clive: Alas... I fear I am going to incur your family's wrath anew for this. They blame me for every reckless thing you've ever done.
Fernand: What choice did I have? Am I to while away the time frolicking with my sister? Unfortunately, she's never been one for climbing trees or playing at the river. She's nothing like your Clair.
Clive: I fear my mother has given up on my dear sister. She worries she'll never marry off to a proper family. If Clair hears you've joined the knights, she's liable to try and follow. She does abhor being left behind...
Fernand: Ha ha ha! I've no doubt Clair will come to her senses. She's at the age where girls learn to embroider and be demure. She'll soon realize it best to leave the kingdom to us men.
Clive: Embroidery needles are just weapons to her. But we've other matters to discuss.
Fernand: Tell me, old friend.
Clive: Perhaps this is not a matter I should speak of, especially not while I serve His Majesty himself... but Desaix's swift rise at court... troubles me. For all intents and purposes, he now rules the kingdom.
Fernand: Aye, he's a cunning one. He has been putting pressure on my father as well, much to his chagrin.
Clive: No wonder—your father is a good and kind man. He doubtless has no desire to put his own people through such hardship. But he would be wise not to incur Desaix's displeasure. Not these days. I hope he knows how to play his cards.
Fernand: As do I. We all know what happened to Sir Mycen, after all.
Clive: It's a damned unfortunate business, all of it. I'm certain Sir Mycen would have led His Majesty down a wiser path. But now that he's been driven off, there is no point lamenting it.
Fernand: If only that were the worst of it. Now that the king's scions are no more, what becomes of the royal bloodline? The Knights of Zofia need a true king to protect, not a laughingstock.
Clive: Mind your words, Fernand. The king is yet young—he can produce more heirs. And while we cannot choose our king, we can still serve our people. The nobles of Zofia have a duty to her smallfolk.
Fernand: On that, we agree. King or no, it's the kingdom itself that is most worth protecting! Now, are you going to tell me how things are done around here or not?
Clive: Ha ha ha! Let me get you settled!
May I Have This Dance?
Berkut: You there. What are you doing?
Rinea: Lord Berkut! Pray, forgive me, my lord. I did not mean to give offense.
Berkut: Not at all. I approached you. It seems a terrible waste that you would come to a ball just to be alone.
Rinea: Perhaps. But mine is a lesser house, and I do not seem to find much favor here. In the end, I tired of all the eyes on me and retreated.
Berkut: You are mistaken, my lady. You were invited here—you have the right to carry yourself as anyone else.
Rinea: As you say, my lord.
Berkut: Do you not like dancing?
Rinea: My lord? Er, that is to say, I love to dance. In...most circumstances. There is a little grove behind my manor. Inside is a flower garden where small birds gather—it is a place dear to me. On days of fine weather, I go there alone and dance until my feet... Ah! Forgive me. You must find this all so terrifically dull.
Berkut: On the contrary. Tell me your name.
Rinea: It's...Rinea, my lord.
Berkut: Rinea. A lovely name. Rinea, may I have the next dance?
Rinea: Wh-what? You mean...with...me? Oh, I couldn't possibly! I mean, what would people think?
Berkut: Then we can dance here, away from prying eyes and wagging tongues. That is, if you do not mind the absence of your garden and birds?
Rinea: *giggle* Lord Berkut... You are too sweet.
Berkut: I pray that is a yes? I AM the emperor's nephew, after all. To refuse me would be most uncouth.
Rinea: I would love to dance with you, my lord. Shall we?
Berkut: My lady.
The Lasting Promise
Mycen: Rudolf? Are you here? It’s me, Mycen. I’ve come here as promised.
Rudolf: Ah, Mycen… It has been too long. Thank you for answering my call.
Mycen: There you are, my friend! I must say, I never thought I would set foot on Rigelian soil again. Now, pray tell what was so urgent that you summoned me here. I know it cannot be simply to reminisce on days gone by.
Rudolf: Alas, I fear not... Mycen, in all my years, I have never known a truer friend than you. You are the only man I can trust with this. Here.
Mycen: ...An infant? Rudolf, is this your—
Rudolf: My son, yes. He was only just born. His name is Alm. I want you to take him to Zofia and raise him as your own.
Mycen: Are you mad?! What father would hand off his newborn child?! I love you most dear, but I must know the reason for this request.
Rudolf: Yes. The reason... Alm here is destined to one day champion Valentia.
Mycen: How can you know this?
Rudolf: Look at his left hand.
Mycen: ...The Brand!
Rudolf: Indeed. Two children with such a mark are prophesied to save Valentia from ruin. And now my son has been born with it. I also hear tale of a newborn Zofian princess who has this selfsame mark.
Mycen: Two children... Then Valentia’s end is drawing near? Is Duma’s madness to blame?
Rudolf: Yes. His time is running short.
Mycen: I see...
Rudolf: Mycen, I have to draw first blood. I must awaken the people to their potential—their own strength— and stop them from leaning so hard on the blessings and precepts of gods. I know the people will rise up against me for what I do. But as a father... nothing would make me prouder than for Alm to lead them.
Rudolf: Promise me, my friend. Promise you will shape my boy into a true champion before that day comes. If he stays in Rigel, the Duma Faithful will doubtless attempt to take his life. I want none to know of him so he has a chance to grow up hale and happy. This is the only thing I can do for him as his father.
Mycen: ...Very well, my friend. I promise to take care of him. I’ll do what it takes to make him the finest champion Valentia could ask for.
Rudolf: Thank you, Mycen. Good-bye, Alm. May you never forget how to be kind. When next we meet, my son...it will be on the fields of war.
Memories of the Villa
Celica: Conrad? Cooonraaad! Where in the world did he go?
Conrad: (off-screen) Wait, is that...? Anthiese? Anthiese, is that you?
Celica: Conrad?! I can hear you, but I don't... Where ARE you?
Conrad: Um...good morning?
Celica: Morning? It's past noon! What were you doing under the bed?
Conrad: I was hiding so the ghost wouldn't take me away.
Celica: Er, what ghost?
Conrad: Mother told me all about it! She said that if I'm bad, a ghost will come for me in the night. It'll come down from Fear Mountain in Rigel and take me away!
Celica: Aw, you're so lucky! Your mother's Rigelian, so she has all sorts of fun stories.
Conrad: ...Fun? So you're not scared of the ghost?
Celica: No, why would I be? I haven't done anything bad.
Celica: Have YOU done something bad?
Conrad: Urkkk... Um, well, I kinda accidentally... broke the vase in the great hall. Then I cleaned up all the pieces and buried them in the garden.
Celica: That was you?! The servants were looking everywhere for that vase. We have to go tell them.
Conrad: B-but I'll get in trouble!
Celica: It'll be fine, Conrad. I'll go with you. We'll apologize, and they'll forgive us. I promise. Besides, if you don't, that ghost is sure to come and get you tonight!
Conrad: Nooooooo! If it took me away, I wouldn't be able to play with you anymore.
Celica: And I don't want you to go away either. So then! Shall we go?
Conrad: All right...
Celica: Let's hurry and put this all behind us.
Conrad: Ah, wait! ...I'm kinda scared. Can I hold your hand?
Celica: Conrad, you... Oh, all right.
The Flirt and the Faithful
Brigand: Gyar har har! You ain’t gettin’ away from me, girlie! I’ll truss you up all pretty and tight and add ya to Grieth’s collection.
Silque: Mila, hear my prayer... Aid your humble servant in her hour of need!
Jesse: Hooo- ee! That was a close one. You good there, beautiful?
Jesse: Wha—?! Hey, hold on! WAIT! I’m not one of those jerks! I came to HELP you!
Silque: ...Did you, now? My apologies, then. I thought you were another of those unwashed rogues…
Jesse: Wow, that’s...harsh. But enough about my feelings— I’m just glad you’re okay.
Silque: I am. Though alas, I fear I’ve made a poor job of showing my gratitude. My name is Silque. And you are...?
Jesse: Jesse. Just another mercenary of the unwashed-rogue variety. I saw some undesirables follow you out of Zofia Harbor. So I followed THEM, and here we are. Guess I was right to check it out.
Silque: I didn’t notice I was being followed, let alone by two different parties. I had thought myself a more canny traveler than that. The fault was mine for letting my guard down so poorly.
Jesse: Meh, it happens to the best of us. ...So where is it you’re headed to?
Silque: Ah, yes, of course. I’m headed for Ram Village. I have something I must deliver there.
Jesse: You mean that village way down south? Yeah, I think you took a wrong turn.
Silque: Oh? I didn’t realize. I’m ashamed to admit I got a bit turned around as I was fleeing those bandits.
Jesse: Well, let me see you back as far as Zofia Harbor. Least I could do.
Silque: Oh? Your help would be most welcome. Er, if you truly don’t mind, that is. Though may I ask why you offer such kindness to a stranger?
Jesse: I need a reason? Well, I don’t think it’s anything TOO complicated. I mean, every guy wants to play the hero in front of a pretty lady, no?
Jesse: So don’t sweat being an imposition! My motives are purely selfish. You get safe passage, and I get to show off what a charming guy I am.
Silque: You’re candid, if naught else. ...But very well. I accept your offer.
Jesse: That’s what I was hoping to hear!
Silque: I would hate to disappoint. May Mila’s blessing shine extra bright upon Jesse’s path. He sorely needs it…
Jesse: Hmm? What’d you say?
Silque: Oh, nothing. Nothing at all.
Drifter from a Distant Land
Tatiana: Ahhh! Another day of fine weather. I love stretching my legs in the morning. Perhaps I’ll gather some shells! ...Huh?
Tatiana: Eek! Who’s there?! Hmm... He appears badly wounded. Is he dead?
Tatiana: *gasp* He’s alive! Are you all right? Stay with me!
Tatiana: Huh? Is that someone’s name? Agh, what am I doing? I need to go get help before he keels over! I’ll be right back—you just hold on!
Zeke: ...... ...Where am I?
Tatiana: You’re awake! Thank goodness. I thought you were dead for sure. I found you collapsed by the shore earlier. You were gravely injured.
Zeke: Who are you?
Tatiana: My name is Tatiana. I work here at the church. What’s your name?
Zeke: I... My name is...
Zeke: I cannot remember. Who am I? From whence did I come? These things are a mystery to me.
Tatiana: Oh. ...Goodness. You’re one of those types.
Zeke: I apologize for the trouble.
Tatiana: It’s all right. It seems as if everyone’s losing their memory in these times. Still, how are we going to inform your family that you’re safe? They must be worried sick.
Tatiana: Ah. Yes, I... That is to say... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to give you something else to fret over. I’m sure we’ll get it all worked out. You should rest in the meantime.
Zeke: Yes... Rest...
Tatiana: You’ll be all right. I know you will! I’m taking care of you now, after all.
Zeke: You would...do that?
Tatiana: It would be my honor. You can stay here as long as you like, even after you get better. Of course, once you’re on your feet, there’s cleaning to do, wood to chop... But your only job right now is to heal.
Zeke: Why are you being so kind to me? What am I to you but a stranger? Another gaping maw to feed?
Tatiana: I wasn’t aware kindness needed a explanation beyond itself. When someone is in trouble, you help them. That’s common decency. And from the moment I saw you... I knew I couldn’t leave you.
Tatiana: W-well, I could see you were hurting... And, um...not just on the surface.
Tatiana: Oops, gah! I REALLY need to stop laying on the misery! Sorry again. But I AM here to help you. I mean it. So lean on me and let me be your crutch for as long as it takes.
Zeke: Thank you...Tatiana.
Leaving the Past Behind
Forsyth: Do you think you might be able to pick up the pace, Python?
Python: I could consider it—if we hadn’t been marching nonstop since yesterday.
Forsyth: I’m sorry, are you whining? Was that a whine? In case it slipped your mind, the fate of all Zofia is at stake. We must join the Deliverance and do our part. Now show a little backbone!
Python: This is gonna SNAP my backbone! Are you really so keen on joinin’ up?
Forsyth: I am. Why? Are you getting cold feet?
Python: ‘Course not. But joining the Deliverance ain’t exactly a whopper of an idea, if you ask me. I hear they’re a buncha mamby-pamby knights and stuck-up young nobles. Which means you’n me are walking halfway across Zofia just to be snubbed.
Forsyth: They would never do that! ...Er, probably. At least, I hope not.
Python: See? The only future you got there is as a peon among peons.
Forsyth: I admit you...could be right. But I also hear their leader, Sir Clive, is a just and reasonable man. I wager he’ll judge us based on what we can do and not the station of our birth. Or perhaps you’d rather turn around and continue working for Lord Dunderhead?
Python: Ha! Not bloody likely. So is leaving the soldier game for good completely off the table at this point?
Forsyth: You’re welcome to return home and be a carpenter like your father.
Python: Eh? Ugh... The only thing I hate more than swords is hammers...
Forsyth: There you go, then. You’re a gifted archer, so use the gifts you have. You won’t catch me running home to be some bookworm like my sire. I’ve made a name for myself as a warrior. May as well take that to its logical conclusion and do some more warring.
Python: *sigh* Everything has to be a step forward for you.
Forsyth: In truth, I’m too scared to begin questioning myself now.
Python: You? Scared? Well, slap my butt and call me a rented mule.
Forsyth: I try to keep it to a minimum. Now walk, mule! Walk! The Deliverance hideout is just beyond these woods. We should attempt to reach it before the sun abandons us.
Python: Yes, m’lord... Right away, m’lord...
Slayde: Ch-Chancellor Desaix? ...Chancellor? It’s me, Lord Chancellor. Sir Slayde. You, er, asked for me, m’lord?
Desaix: You’ve arrived. Good.
Slayde: M’lord? May I ask why you wanted to meet me here?
Desaix: The castle has far too many ears, and what I say is meant for yours alone. I have a mission for you. One that must be carried out in secret. Prince Conrad and Princess Anthiese... You are to go to the villa where they reside and put them to the sword.
Slayde: M’lord, that’s... You want me to assassinate the king’s own children?
Desaix: Do it, and when this sorry business is over, you shall be my right-hand man. Lands... Titles... The world has great things in store for you, Slayde.
Slayde: Of...of course, m’lord. May I presume to—uh, presume— that you were behind the... Um... The untimely demise of the king’s other scions?
Desaix: Heh heh heh... Presume what you will. I do the world a service by purging it of Lima’s incompetent bloodline. Only one man is fit to rule Zofia, and you stand in his presence. ...Or do you disagree?
Slayde: N-no, m’lord! Agreed on all fronts! Was about to say as much myself, so I was! Er, but doesn’t the king’s bloodline descend from Mila herself? Incompetent though Lima may be, the Mother won’t take kindly to his death.
Desaix: Do not speak to me of mothers! I never suckled at that monster’s teat. Why should I fear a goddess too busy sleeping to leave her temple? The age of worrying about what the gods think of us has come to a end. The kingdom of Zofia needs a strong will to set it back on course—MY will.
Slayde: Well said, m’lord! Hear hear! I would be honored to aid you in all of your noble ambitions.
Desaix: Then see it done on the day after next. That’s when Lima and his guard go to the temple for rites. Oh, and Slayde? Kill everyone at the villa. I want not a single life spared. There can be no witnesses.
Slayde: Understood, m’lord!
A Land of Gods and Men
Mila: Oh, Duma... Why can you not understand? All living things are deserving of happiness. We can build that paradise for them here in Valentia—a world free of misery!
Duma: Nonsense. A world without misery is not the same as a happy one. Misery shapes men throughout their lives. Hardship makes them strong. Smother them with blessings, and they will never learn what happiness is.
Mila: So you would temper them with misfortune instead? Mankind faces trials enough without us burdening them yet more. I wish to be their salvation—the hands that dispel their grief and pain. It is our duty as gods to save them.
Duma: Poor, foolish Mila... Your love would only make them soft and lead them to depravity and ruin. Men are weak. Our duty as gods is to make them strong. Our hands must be firm.
Mila: Duma, my dear brother... I'd hoped we could unite and make Valentia the utopia it was meant to be. But I see now that our argument will only continue in circles.
Duma: So it seems. I cannot even remember how long it has been, my sister. How long since we left our old world behind and came here to build anew. Regardless, it is clear the utopia you desire is not the same as mine. We must part ways. Let me rule the north, and you shall have the south. Let us vow to each seek our own ideals, and never trample upon the other's. We shall let time judge which of us has done right by mankind. Do we have an accord?
Mila: I tire of our fighting, my brother. An accord it shall be. Farewell, Duma. May your people find as much happiness as mine.
A Suitable Suitor
Clair: Greetings, Fernand! It's been far too long.
Fernand: Ah, Clair. You know, it still confounds me that you decided to enlist with the Knights. Your father is too lenient with you. Always has been.
Clair: And why shouldn't I be a knight?! I wield a lance and ride a horse as well as the best of you. Perhaps even better. Why else would they allow me to join? Heavens, you and my brother were the ones who TAUGHT me to fight and ride.
Fernand: Because you harangued us without end. You always were keen on following Clive. Honestly, we assumed it was a phase you would grow out of. You should be looking for a husband, not brandishing a weapon. Unless you expect to meet your soulmate on the battlefield?
Clair: I have no fondness for barbaric men. But pursuing a warrior's path does not doom me to a life of spinsterhood. Now that I'm a Knight of Zofia, I can stay here at the castle, where I can go to royal balls and meet fine gentlemen. What say you to THAT?
Fernand: I say that you should have listened to your vows more carefully. Knighthood affords little time to twirl about in circles and socialize. Day and night, we train and ride out on expeditions and other missions.
Clair: What?! Goodness, I don't remember pledging to do all that... Perhaps I will have to seek my beloved on the field of battle after all. Still, it's not all bad—the Knights are full of handsome noble scions, after all. ...I know! Fernand, why don't YOU introduce me to someone? Surely you must know many suitable suitors in suits of armor?
Fernand: Um... Well, I suppose it depends on what manner of man you fancy.
Clair: Hmm... Let me think... He'd have to come from a house at least as respectable as my own... He should be as tall as Clive and fair of face... Well-lettered, and gifted in the arts of war and defense... And of course he must be well-versed in poetry and music and... Hmmm... Oh! He should own four villas, one for each of the seasons! Does that narrow it down?
Fernand: *sigh* It certainly does. You just described your brother.
Clair: That is not true!
Fernand: And you don't even realize it... Clearly you are still a child. You won't find a husband if you keep clinging to your brother in such a way.
Clair: Oh, really? And what about you? You've been clinging to my brother since before I was born, Fernand. Is there anything YOU should be telling me, hmmmmm? After all, you aren't exactly scrambling to find a pretty maid of your own.
Fernand: We are not talking about me!
Clair: Ha! Look at you, so easily shaken! I was merely teasing. Besides, Clive already told me what your true weakness is. He claims you prefer your ladies like your oranges—full and ripe. Now which of the Knights' eligible ladies is juicy enough for you? Hmm...
Fernand: I am going to find your brother and bury him in a very deep hole... Touché, Clair. I'm glad you had your fun. Now farewell!
Clair: What? Wait, come back here! You can't run from your destiny!
Mathilda: Ho, Clive. Have the other Knights been making you feel at home?
Clive: Ah, Lady Mathilda! Yes, everyone has been very kind to me thus far. But the first three months have been naught but training. I long for a fight.
Mathilda: Well, you'll get one. The training is to make certain you're ready for it.
Clive: I just want a chance to prove myself— to be one step closer to you.
Mathilda: Why me?
Clive: You do not know? The bards sing of Lady Mathilda as the finest of all the Knights of Zofia! Boys the kingdom 'round whisper your name before they go to sleep. I fear my friends and I were no exception. Let us just say you are the object of much adulation, my lady.
Mathilda: This comes as a surprise. I thought boys dreamed of fighting alongside heroes such as Sir Mycen.
Clive: Sir Mycen is indeed a man worthy of much respect. I can only hope to one day be half the legend that he is. But who do you think it is that lights the fires of a boy's heart? A stoic old man...or a beautiful woman?
Mathilda: Ha ha! The fires would sputter out if the lads actually saw me in combat.
Clive: Certainly not! You are never more beautiful than when riding across a battlefield. The dresses and dour looks you wear in court only obscure your radiance.
Mathilda: ...Dour?! Though it IS true that I abhor walking the castle like some pretty bauble. Speaking of which, how is your sister? The one you follows you like a puppy? Whenever I would try to talk to you, she would cut in.
Clive: Heh. She's a handful, that one. You should have seen her bawl when I said I was enlisting.
Mathilda: That just shows her love. You're lucky. But I must confess, I'm glad we can finally have a conversation alone. ...If you take my meaning.
Clive: I believe I do. It seems we'll have more chances to talk here amidst the dust of battle... than we ever will surrounded by the fancy tapestries of the castle.
Mathilda: Hee hee. So it seems. Who even knows when I'll next get to don a dress and a dour expression?
Clive: I was just thinking... The next time you DO wear a dress... might I ask for a dance?
Mathilda: Eh? But that might be weeks...or months!
Clive: I am a patient man. And the wait will be well worth it in the end.
Mathilda: ...Very well. A dance it is.
Clive: Truly? Thank you, milady! I shall look forward to that day.
Mathilda: Aaand...there he goes. By the gods... Is he SKIPPING? Ha ha ha! ...Wait. Why am I laughing? I don't remember how to dance. This is going to end with me crushing his toes into paste...
Mathilda: Ah, there he is. ...Fernand!
Fernand: Lady Mathilda. Did you need something?
Mathilda: I am looking for Clive.
Fernand: We're not attached at the hip, you know.
Mathilda: No, but you ARE like brothers. Perhaps I just think of you as a single entity. Ha ha. In any case, pray forgive me if I upset you.
Fernand: I'm not upset.
Mathilda: Are you certain? It seems every time I try to talk to you, you refuse to look me in the eye. If I did something wrong, tell me. I don't want you to hate me.
Fernand: Hate you? Of course not. But all you ever ask about is Clive.
Mathilda: Oh...right. I can see how that would be grating. It's just... Well, your stories about Clive are far more interesting than the ones he tells.
Fernand: For true? I can't imagine what I could tell you that he hasn't already.
Mathilda: Oh, if you only knew. I adore talking with him, but... Well, he doesn't know how to loosen up. He's very self-conscious. I want to hear about his misadventures, not just what he thinks I want to hear.
Fernand: Wait... So he never told you about sneaking into the mess hall before lunch? Or the story of licking the cream off the cake? Surely he's told you about trying to ride those sheep?! He scared them so much, they fled the pen and rampaged across the village.
Mathilda: Ha ha ha! I fear he neglected to mention any of those escapades.
Fernand: Well, he may look all gallant and composed, but let me tell you... Clive can be quite the ruffian when no one is looking. He makes me look like a saint. I suggest you be careful.
Mathilda: Your suggestion is noted. This is why I like talking to you, Fernand. ...But it's not the only reason.
Mathilda: Of course I enjoy hearing about Clive. But I also enjoy watching you as you tell the stories.
Fernand: ...Is that so?
Mathilda: Your eyes light up when you talk about him. I can tell how happy it was for the two of you to grow up together. It's a type of affection that he and I will never have.
Fernand: Oh, I wouldn't say that...
Mathilda: All I know is that I'd like to see the site of Clive's sheep rampage, or visit the kitchen where you defrocked that poor cake.
Fernand: Well, I'd be happy to take you. And I'm not just saying that. We can all go together: you, me, and Clive.
Mathilda: Thank you, Fernand. I would love that.
Fernand: Of course, you'll need to get Clair's permission first. She guards her brother like a lion, so be warned.
Mathilda: Oh, I am well aware. Maybe you can tell me what she likes so I don't have to face her empty-handed.
Fernand: Ha ha ha... Leave it to me.