Jester
Stella has been confined to a chamber within the Imperial Palace since the Foundation Festival.
The furnishings are lavish, and the view is splendid.
Though she lacks for nothing in this space, the prohibition against leaving it stirs within her a growing frustration.
She cannot contact her family, and her fiancé, the prince, has not once come to visit.
The indignity is so great that even her sense of feminine dignity feels trampled, and her irritation deepens.
The maid assigned to her pays no heed to her voice. When she commands, “Let me out,” the maid does not stir. “I cannot,” she replies mechanically in writing. “It is forbidden to remove you from this room.”
Stella grows furious at the way events refuse to bend to her will. She hurls objects nearby, but the maid merely frowns slightly, silent.
No one comes to visit, and there is no one to speak with. It is terribly dull.
A noble lady might have spent her time reading poetry from a volume on the shelf or stitching embroidery, had she been of noble birth.
The educational texts delivered remained untouched, stacked untouched upon the desk.
To such a room, several days after the evening gathering, a visitor arrived.
“Long time no see, Spica.”
“Stop it! Don’t call me that, Father Jill.”
“Ah, so now it’s Stella, was it?”
Yes, he was the priest of the church that had sheltered Stella.
He pretended not to hear her complaints, sipping his tea as if nothing had been said.
“Now, then, the matter at hand—return the item I entrusted to you.”
The priest extended his right hand toward Stella.
“No way! That’s already mine! Besides, you can’t use it anyway—so what’s the harm?”
Stella shook her head stubbornly, clutching something beneath her clothes as if to keep it from being taken.
Stella’s efforts were in vain. As the priest recited his incantation, a silver necklace with a small gem set in a cross appeared upon his outstretched palm.
The cross Stella had said was the last keepsake from her foster mother, something she could not bear to part with when taken in.
It was unpolished, plain—worth nothing in the eyes of a noble. Thus overlooked, it was unfit for a peasant, even a farmer’s wife.
“You should not be so stubborn. This is a relic from the divine age—something of great sacred value. It is not to be given away.”
Stella glared fiercely, but the priest remained unmoved, placing the object gently into its case.
“Now, do you understand? You have gone too far. I have told you repeatedly that sending Spica to the church was enough.”
And yet, despite all the favors I’ve done for you, the accommodations I’ve made—
?... I did everything properly! If I cry to Father this time, he’ll finally be sent to the church! My fiancé is mine—yes, he was disowned, but he has nowhere else to return to but that house!
You are truly a foolish girl. Having such power at your disposal…
The priest shook his head, sighing.
What? Didn’t you yourself say you were my mage?
You said you’d help me, that you’d aid me in finding happiness! You fake priest!
Stella rose from her chair and stamped her foot.
"Truly, where is the imposter... I am, after all, a priest duly affiliated with the church. And in due time, I shall be your superior. You would do well to learn proper manners."
Stella furrows her brow, perplexed.
“What? What are you saying? Are you all right in the head? I’m going to be the consort of the prince—
how could you possibly be my superior?!”
The priest, as if struck by sudden realization, continues.
“You did not know, then. You are dead.”
Stella’s confusion deepens.
“What? You’re definitely mad! I’m alive! Don’t you see me right here?!”
She truly does not understand.
“Truly, it is because you have remained so ignorant within noble society that this has come to pass.
If you had used your influence with more grace, if you had sought noble status…
Ah, the way you have wielded your power toward the prince is futile. Better to stop now, though it is too late… The imperial family are descendants of the divine. Thus, direct heirs bear strong divine favor.”
With that, the priest now takes a bite of tea cake.
“Hah…! I don’t understand a thing! I’ve been doing my best, haven’t I? Why couldn’t you tell me about the prince?! You wasted your power for nothing! That’s not acceptable!”
“That is your recklessness. I never imagined someone of noble blood would wield such power…”
“And you used it even against the Emperor and Empress, did you not? A grave offense, indeed. Even if not for that, it would still be a crime…
And now I’ve been scolded by Her Majesty the Empress Dowager, all because of you…”
She pours herself another cup of tea, settling in with ease.
“You will die of illness before you marry the prince. The Emmental family will become a sorrowful house, losing two daughters in one lifetime… A fitting retribution, considering what they did to Lady Spica.”
And you will leave this land without farewell from the family you have so carefully reclaimed. You will change even your face, your name, your very lineage—let us call you, for now, Falshita. Do you not think that name suits you perfectly?”
“Don’t jest! Why must I flee abroad with you! I am to be a princess! I will live in peace in this nation, free of burdensome obstacles!”
Stella’s anger flares, yet the priest remains unmoved.
“That is impossible. With Spica’s power, the nation’s warding has been rewritten. Your power has been declared anathema to this land. My eyes speak it plainly.
Truly, only one worthy of my choosing could endure such grace!”
The priest’s face glows with rapture.
“You, who claimed to be the sister of that one—know your proper moment to depart, Falshita. And this room is too fine a place for a corpse. The jester has long since left the stage.”
At the same moment the priest spoke, Stella’s consciousness was severed.
After that, no one saw Stella’s form within the Imperial Palace.
Stella's death was announced half a year after the Foundation Festival.
It was around two months after the event known as the Tragedy of the Emmental family.
The name of Stella von Emmental would not appear upon the main stage of history thereafter.
Her name was not inscribed on any of the Emmental family tombstones.
This would later torment generations as a great mystery of history…