Her medium of magic.

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"W-what is this?"

"The medium is being created," the king says. "It is taking form with your mana, the seed enveloped in your palm absorbed the magic coursing through your veins."

Faustina gulped, staring intently. The seed grew in a form of a bent, horizontal line. Its patterns were intricate and was laced with emblems and marks Faustina cannot recognize. Glowing, cyan dots resonated across the whole staff, as it grew its hilt. From the opposite side grew a deformity, and on its top, the seed glinted.

Faustina saw how it glowed so brightly—a cyan-colored glow. A cold, encompa.s.sing light.

And then it appeared.

A glowing jewel resting on the top of the staff.

"This is..." the king exclaims, clearly in astonishment.

A broken jewel, a translucent fragment of gem.

**

Faustina slowly felt the woman parting away from the embrace, her eyes slightly teary.

"M-mother..." She says. Her lips trembled, and then memories that were seemingly familiar yet foreign flashed on her mind as her chocolate-brown eyes met that of the d.u.c.h.ess.

Memories of the d.u.c.h.ess being with her when she was a child. Memories of "her" being in the Feuerlon household. She parted her lips, as she remembered these things. She bit her lips and tried to remember a name, a name that she knew all her life—

"Faustina, Honey, are you alright?"

Faustina found herself lost in the d.u.c.h.ess' eyes again.

What is this feeling she's getting?

"Mother..." She says, and then her gaze found the duke's as well. Memories of his cold and stoic face, his emerald eyes looking at her with... parental love?

'Fulfill your duty, Faustina.'

"Mother," Faustina says. "I have to go. I want to study—I can't be in the manor forever."

Her voice sounded foreign to her.

Was she like this before?

"Oh, Faustina," the d.u.c.h.ess says, and then wrapped her arms around her again. Their gray hair matching like that of twins—no—like mother and daughter.

"I'll miss you so much,"

**

"I can't trick her." The duke says. "If you want it to be believable, do it to me as well."

"Me too." Bethrion exclaims. "I can't stand to trick Mother. If she will be a sacrificial lamb, then we shall be too. We do not want to be a part of the scheme. I cannot bear it!"

"That cannot be possible." Sheila answers. "Although it is good to have you all bear false memories, we still need information. This is why Duke Feuerlon must not have fake memories."

"Hold on." Lucas Feuerlon says. "You only need information, correct?"

"Yes," Sheila says.

"Then I will provide you the information you need." He says. "Exclude me from the memories."

"Well," Sheila smiles. "Although it is a good proposal, I believe that the Duke fills the role very much better—HE is the duke, afterall."

"But—"

"Fine." The duke says. "Exclude me, priestess."

"Father!" Lucas argues. "Can you trick mother?"

"Oh, he already did, young Feuerlon." Sheila murmurs.

"Watch your words, Priestess." Bethrion says coldly. "We cannot stand too much insolence. Know your place."

"Yes, I apologize," Sheila says, bowing gracefully.

"Father, have you thought this through?" Bethrion asks.

"I know you two cannot trick your mother," he says. "And I cannot do it too."

"Father..."

"But..." His emerald eyes gleamed, his gaze straightforward and firm. "I cannot stand to see you two suffering as well."

"Well," Sheila says. "Are you all decided?"

The d.u.c.h.ess smiled, staring at her husband. She has never seen him being so dedicated—she never saw him be like this with things involving her. She knew she could never measure up to how he loved Rose, but seeing him like this now—it made her heart flutter in a temporary happiness.

A happiness so momentary, that it disappeared in a second.

"Bethrion, Lucas." She says. "Come here."

They did so. The two young men walked towards their mother, their emerald eyes laced with anxiety and worry.

"Hush, my children," she says, and then she held their hand. "It's going to be alright."

"I will now perform the spell." Sheila says. "We will all be the conspirators. These... will be the king's..."

Sheila's golden, blind eyes met that of the d.u.c.h.ess.

"precious, sacrificial lambs."