“Now listen ‘ere. You can call me stupid or you can call me a coward, but I got three fears, no more an’ no less! Mushrooms growin’ in ma’ home, some of them elves crossin’ the sea, and ma’ wife angry at me.”
-Bertie Fitzgerald, Elchrode Village’s ‘Wise Man’
“Just wait here for a moment, your wounds might be closed but your body is still fragile; best to not move unless it’s necessary.” The vampiress thumbed out the window, gesturing towards the group waiting outside: “Everyone should know about you and the situation but I’m still going to talk things over in person. Should get you into a more comfortable spot and get you healed soon though; it’ll just be a bit longer, sorry.”
Dahlia nodded, though didn’t know what to say. She simply found herself watching as the Archduchess and her secretary made their way towards the gathering outside. The girl tried to strain her ears, curious enough to try and eavesdrop on what was being said but all she got was the tone. Nagging, joking, apologies, and then more jokes. They were… not blood related, no, but a family all-the-same; that much was obvious just from a passing glance. It felt odd to intrude on that and experience it as an outsider looking in. Odder and more uncomfortable still when it was far too easy to contrast their familiarity against her own personal experiences. It was easier to just… avoid it altogether.
The thought twisted Dahlia’s gut even as she came to accept it. Valentina seemed lovely —there was no point lying to herself about that— but seeing her so quickly return to those close to her, no matter the intent or rationale, still hurt in a way the girl hadn’t expected. But what was she even expecting? To be swept away or never have the Archduchess leave her side? It was childish and petty and—
“Hey.”
Dahlia’s eyes jumped to the voice, embarrassingly eager for more of Valentina’s attention even as she registered half a wick after that the voice wasn’t hers. Instead, she was met with the woman from outside who had stood apart from the rest: the flesh artist. Seeing her closer now, it was enough for Dahlia’s poor sight to finally make out what was in front of her and she struggled not to stare. The woman was big, and though pale patterns and strips remained, most of her skin had been flensed away revealing crimson muscle in its place. Knots of fibers twisted in ways that Dahlia knew no normal musculature should, yet still the woman moved almost naturally. That is, except, for her mouth that —though open in a relaxed smile— did not move as she spoke.
“Yeah you little thing, I’m talking to you. Don’t go staring at me like that though, I might blush.”
The smile grew wider, the muscles in her face shifting and twitching with the movement and Dahlia found herself meeting her eyes just to avoid getting distracted by it all which proved only moderately helpful. Quite literally glowing under her hood, those eyes met Dahlia’s own and the girl couldn’t help but feel like she was being made fun of.
“Do you— can you maybe back up a moment? Sorry, I’m just a b-bit overwhelmed and you came in out of nowhere.”
The woman snorted, but backed up all the same. “Yeah yeah, no worries. I’ve gotten worse reactions, I get it. Can’t blame me for having a bit of fun though — you looked like you could use a distraction.”
Again, Dahlia looked at her —properly looked at her, past all the differences and unfamiliarity— and saw how the woman regarded her. There was no hostility, nor judgement; just a dash of concern accompanied by a healthy dose of playful curiosity. The smile continued to grow as Dahlia took her in however —pulled unnaturally wide— and she continued without losing a beat.
“So anyway, it’s nice to meet you, I’ll be your lovely healer today. My name’s Mylène by-the-by, no honorifics or any of that bullshit needed.”
There was a vivacity to her, Dahlia found, that seemed to drain Dahlia of her own energy just through proximity, but that didn’t stop it from also being contagious. Add on that Mylène likely had a point about needing a distraction and, after a moment looking over to see the Archduchess still trapped in conversation, Dahlia decided to take the woman up on the offer. She tried to smile, felt half her mouth twitch, and gave up.
“Uh, hi? I guess? Sorry, I’m still not all there, but I’ll do my best. I’m Dahlia though, it’s a p-pleasure to meet you.”
“Mhmm mhmm, I’m sure it is a pleasure!” she nodded along happily, “Most people tend to enjoy meeting the people that are going to heal them and I am particularly magnificent, if I do say so myself.”
“Uh huh… And I’m sure that’s an entirely unbiased opinion,” she deadpanned, though Mylène just kept grinning, happily taking it in stride.
“Oh, of course. I only espouse the opinions of the most brilliant, myself included! The fact that I exclude people with shit opinions isn’t bias: it’s quality control.” She nodded to herself, as if what was dispensed was some great wisdom, but moved on quickly as she waved towards Dahlia. “Speaking of the objectively best healer, you’re bloody lucky that I’m here; you look like something the dog dragged in.”
“It’s not—” The girl grimaced, her entire body still aching with every tiny movement, “You say that, but I was a lot worse. Her Grace fixed me up a lot better than I thought she’d be able to. I was kind of surprised; everything I heard about the Amareis was that they were fighters, not healers, but… she might have saved me. Probably did, honestly, I don’t know; I haven’t had the chance to t-talk to her about it yet.”
Mylène watched and listened intently as she spoke, her earlier energy simmered down with the shift of topic. Even her perpetual smile lessened some as she answered.
“Valentina’s always been a bit of an oddball. She’s a good kid, at least in my opinion, but she was never one to listen to her parents. Probably for the best, honestly. Either way, yeah, she’s got healing and curses and such, which is great, we love a bit of diversity, but looking at you… yeah, she’s kinda shit at it. Glad you’re alive though kiddo, so I guess she’s good for something.”
Without waiting for Dahlia’s response, the woman leaned away from the door and yelled over to where the others were talking: “Hey! I wanna steal the kid and start healing her! Any of you got a problem with that?” There was a pause, a couple of yelled dismissive responses, though none from the Archduchess herself. “Oi, don’t you fuckin’ give me that look! Maybe if you did a better job then I wouldn’t need to rush as much. Don’t get all weird about it now that I already travelled here!”
There was another beat, and then Dahlia could hear a muffled yell from Valentina and, a moment later, the vampiress had returned to the carriage, telling the healer to go and grab a stretcher while she herself remained behind. All it took was a wick before Dahlia found herself feeling more relaxed just from seeing the woman up close again, and she cursed herself for how pathetic that was. Valentina was stunning, yes, but she also barely knew the woman, and yet…
“Hey, how’s Mylène treating you?” Her voice was soft and smokey and Dahlia unconsciously found herself leaning into it.
“Oh, she’s been… fine.”
The vampiress smirked, “She’s a lot, right?”
“Yeah… seems nice enough, but yeah. I think I’m already worn down.”
She could swear she could see the woman twitch at that, but Valentina continued as if it were nothing.
“She’ll do that to just about anyone, but I can’t imagine your condition helps at all. Still, she’s a good person. She means well and has a long history of helping out me and mine; you’re in good hands.”
“You know her w-well?”
The Archduchess smiled, and there was something almost wistful to it: “Yeah, well, she’s one of the only adults that took me seriously growing up. She’s the cousin of my… er, friend? I guess? Mylène’s from a branch of the Serapis family; her younger cousin is the countess who I grew up alongside so she ended up dealing with me a bunch as a kid. I mean it when I say she’s about as good as you’ll get when it comes to older nobility — not that she’s much of a noble anymore.”
Dahlia cocked an eyebrow at that and the Archduchess shrugged: “Being an Artist of Flesh doesn’t legally prevent her from being a noble, but the Empire disincentivizes it like crazy. Not to mention how I think Mylène would go insane if she was forced to wade through aristocracy’s bureaucratic quagmire.”
They watched as the woman got herself organised, collecting a small tote and organizing its contents, all while she ordered a pair of helpers around and prepared a small gurney.
“I mean, she seems competent right now when she’s working, but are you certain she’s not insane?” When met with a rather judgemental stare from the vampiress, Dahlia backtracked quickly, “I-I’m not talking about her faith, I’m just talking about her in general. She seems… a bit manic?”
“Oh, that? Yeah, she might be missing a stave, but that’s always true for the best of us so who cares? If you’re worried about her as a healer though, don’t be. She might not be a Phoenakis, but Mylène’s damn good at what she does. Actually…” The vampiress trailed off, chewing on her words before starting again more cautiously. “I might need to ask for forgiveness here, but I ended up reading through a lot of the notes you had back at the barony —I took them with us as well by the way— they’re already being unloaded but I’ll be sure to get them back to you. The reason I bring it up though is that you’d probably be interested in Mylène’s casting; she might not act like it, but she’s fucking clever. Made her own schema and everything too so I figured…”
“Hey! Y’all talking about me? Only good things I hope.”
Already the flesh artist had returned, smile wide though she looked at the vampiress with… it wasn’t exactly judgement, but it wasn’t far off either. Dahlia tried to place it but the look was gone before she had the chance.
“I’ll take your girl from here Valentina. You’re a busy lady after all — can’t spare time for something serious like this, right?” The Archduchess grimaced, but Mylène pushed on without waiting, “I’m gonna take her off your hands so you can get some work done; leave it to me. And if you must see her later, I’ll be leaving her in the same room Bessie was in, ‘kay?”
In that moment Valentina looked physically pained, but she nodded.
“Alright, that’s… that’s fair. I’ll leave her to you.” Facing Dahlia again, she seemed to force a smile, though she looked far more tired than she was a moment ago. “I’ll see you on the other side of things; hopefully with far fewer scabs and a lot more actual flesh on you, yeah? Take care Dahlia.”
And again, the vampiress was gone, though only after seeming to linger and consider something before leaving without another word. The moment she was gone though, Dahlia turned her attention to the woman who remained.
“Care to explain what that was about? I thought you two l-liked each other: that atmosphere you had was awful.”
Shrugging, Mylène dragged the gurney closer to the carriage door and waved Dahlia forward: “On you get, and take it easy. Valentina probably pumped you full of painkillers but I don’t have magic like that; not in a way you’d want me to use at least. Your body is still far too mangled for you to actually be moving about much.”
As Dahlia half shuffled - half wiggled onto the cot, she leveled a look at the woman and Mylène seemed to slump a bit.
“You know, you don’t need to pry into every little thing you notice. But yeah, sure, fuck it. It’s not that we hate eachother —shes a good kid and I’m just the fucking best so there’s only so much judgement to go around— but calling in a favour like this is… awkward. I doubt she chose for me to be here, she’s too self aware for that, but now that I am I feel it’s only fair I give her a bit of a ribbing.”
“Keeping it vague, huh?”
“God yes. Listen, you seem nice enough and Valentina trusts you for some mind-boggling reason, but that doesn’t mean you get to learn every secret, alright? Just… maybe drop it. Thinking about it is starting to get on my nerves a smidge.”
The girl gave a grunt but let it go, slowly finding her body begin to ache more and more as Mylène pushed her along. Now that there was more distance between her and the Archduchess, she was met with the gradual realisation that her aches and pains were beginning to grow in intensity the farther they grew apart. That in and of itself was enough to leave Dahlia feeling conflicted but, honestly, she’d rather avoid thinking about the implications altogether if she could help it. Instead she let anything and everything distract her.
They had entered the castle proper now, though she lacked the manoeuvrability or eyesight to properly see it. Still, as she lay on her back, pale arched ceilings passed by, each with their own tapestries that lent some warmth to the otherwise all-too-cold halls. Even with the fabric hanging, the sound of footsteps and the rattling of the gurney echoed as they made their way through. It was after half a grain of that uncomfortable silence going from hall to hall that the girl finally spoke again, wincing at how much more sore her face had become in that short time.
“Her Grace mentioned your casting. Said I should ask you about y-your schema. That it’d be interesting.”
Mylène glanced down, seeming to weigh whether she wanted to indulge her in this topic before breaking into a relaxed grin.
“Sure, why not. Where to start though… You know much about flesh artists?” Seeing Dahlia attempt a shrug, she nodded and continued, “I mean, we’re not some secret faction, but we’re not particularly common either, especially in the Empire. The part that’s worth understanding though is that Anghenfil'hyfryd doesn’t have an organised faith — barring the Theocracy I guess, but I hardly count them. Even overseas where there’s something of a safe haven of Her worshippers, the faith isn’t structured in the way you see for other gods. What that means though, is that Artists of Flesh rarely approach the craft the same. Means we gotta be creative, you know?
“Now, we’re still worshipers. We still use divine casting and that helps fill in the gaps, but unless you’re a paladin or warpriest or somesuch, divine casting only gets you so far. So for me…” She paused, smile widening as she glanced down at the girl below her, “Actually, you seem like a total shut in. Tell me, what do you think my bloodline is?”
Dahlia blinked, caught off guard by the question and hating that she had already been coined as a shut-in. Still she tried to think but… nothing. It wasn’t that she hadn’t heard of Serapis County before, but she could never bring herself to memorise everything about noble lineages. There were twenty four counties in the Armare Grand Duchy alone. She’d be damned before she memorised each and every noble house in the Empire. The brain fog she was still experiencing certainly didn’t help matters either, and so she grunted a guess: “Devils?”
“Cute, but no. Some people would have had a conniption if they heard you say that though which is hilarious. No, the Serapis’ have a demonic bloodline: morax demon specifically. Self harm and suicide is our bread and butter and that… interacts in fun ways with flesh crafting. Anghenfil'hyfryd’s divinity grants growth, mutation, and adaptation quite eagerly, meanwhile my bloodline provides plenty of ways to excise and conduct more surgical techniques. Neat, huh?”
Dahlia hummed, looking closer at her and trying to piece together the missing parts that had been left unspoken.
“So your appearance… is that bloodline or flesh artist? Sorry, I’m so used to people looking, well… human I guess. I mean, I saw a couple people who’s bloodlines made them stand out at the debutante, but even then people seemed mostly human. Just small differences here and there. In comparison, you’re—”
“Stunning?”
“I was g-going to say ‘a lot more overt’, but sure, we can go with that.”
The grin widened and Dahlia watched then, growing only more curious as the woman spoke. Her mouth hardly changed at all, but her throat seemed to constantly flex with each sound.
“People are pussies: that’s the main reason you don’t see more diversity. Even as they purify their bloodlines, they’re so attached to normalcy that they dedicate some of their schemas to suppressing their less human aspects. Humanity is the most mundane degenerative bloodline out there and we’ve got fae, and devils, and even a fucking dragon in the Empire yet they all cling to their human trappings. ‘S a fucking waste is what it is.
“I’ll tell you one thing about myself though, the only thing I have in common with morax demons is the more bloody aesthetic; that’s about where it ends. Being part of a branch family limits bloodline purity quite a bit and the opportunities to purify it are slim to none. All I had were tiny horns back in the day and the goat eyes — none of the more distinctive features, and that was before I sawed off my own horns. Nah, what you see here is one hundred percent self made.”
The enthusiasm and pride in her work was contagious, though Dahlia couldn’t help herself as she pointed up at the woman’s eyes. Just like she’d mentioned, at the center of the glowing green iris, oblong goat-like pupils watched Dahlia. “Not entirely, you still got those don’t you?”
To her surprise, the flesh artist’s grin only grew wider, now almost splitting her face.
“You think you’re clever, huh? Eyes fucking suck to grow and modify, especially with my style of casting. So you’re right I kept the base eye, but everything else is modified. The glow? That's a parasitic fungus right there and I’m fucking proud of that one.” She paused, seeming to wait for a reaction that didn’t come. “Not squeamish about the shrooms?”
It was Dahlia’s turn to smile and she wasn’t even bothered by how it pulled on half her face. “Are you kidding? Mycology is amazing! I’m ticked off I never got to grow my own mushrooms; the servants would always destroy the bed the moment they caught on…”
Mylène looked at Dahlia then, long and with far more appreciation than she’d offered previously.
“I think I’m starting to see why Valentina likes you; you’re a little freak, huh?”
“Excuse me?”
“Nah, don’t worry about it. You’re fun though, so how ‘bout this: I’ll tell you the proper secret of my schema.” She thumbed towards herself, exposed muscles slithering and sliding across each other with the movement. “It’s a feedback loop. My Goddess just wants us to be ourselves; that’s all. They call Her the Mother of Monsters and all that, but really She’s just all about individuality. So the more I modify myself, the more I worship Her. The more I worship Her, the more potent my casting. Then —and this is the kicker— I dedicate my body to my schema. I’ve basically turned my body into a holy relic, cool huh?”
Dahlia stared, transfixed by the concept. She wasn’t a person of faith —she just didn’t have it in her— but she could still respect it. And seeing how Mylène approached it? How she made it hers in such a complete and personal and perfect way? The girl felt a yearning to understand it more. To be even closer to such a pure conceptual form. And gods did it make her crave having her own schema. Having the concept written down in her tome wasn’t enough: she needed it.
“It’s amazing.” She didn’t even notice how breathy she said it, though Mylène’s smile teased her regardless. “Can y-you teach me about it? Please, if you have time?” Seeing the raised brow in response, Dahlia barrelled through, embarrassed but not wanting to give up. “It’s related to my own study! I’m just— I’ve only approached body modification theory from a skin level but I f-feel like talking to you might help me understand the theory better.”
She trailed off, slowly losing the energy and courage that she started with, but Mylène just hummed to herself, beginning to work and moving tools around as Dahlia realised they had apparently arrived at their destination. The woman continued to work, not providing an answer until she picked Dahlia up and gently placed her on a new, far more stable surface. Finally though, the flesh artist nodded.
“I’m not around much, but I’m not adverse to it. I’m gonna ask you not to go around and share it without my permission, but… well, who am I to say no to someone who appreciates my craft? We can keep in touch once I’m done here; write back and forth maybe.” She had continued to prepare as she spoke, but then lay a hand on Dahlia’s chest before pausing. “Alright, we can talk things over more later but I’ll be starting now. This is going to be anywhere between mildly uncomfortable to severely painful, but I need you to stop resisting my mana first, yeah?”
“I’m not,” Dahlia frowned, only to grow more irritated when she saw the disbelieving look on Mylène’s face. “Don’t g-give me that, I’m not!”
The woman raised her other hand in mock-surrender, but that only left the girl more annoyed than before.
“Mylène, I haven’t even gotten my schema working yet; I can’t cast more than a couple gods-awful c-cantrips. I couldn’t properly resist you if I tried.”
The placating look left the flesh artist’s eyes in a moment, immediately replaced by something closer to a contemplative frown. “You’re being serious. The hell?”
The hand on Dahlia’s chest repositioned and, slowly, the girl could feel as a strange pressure began to suffuse through her skin, sinking deeper, changing to a tickle, and then a flesh-deep itch. Still, Mylène frowned and watched the girl as more of her mana began to saturate Dahlia’s body. Finally, she shook her head and scoffed.
“This is absurd. Actually, genuinely, absurd. I’ve never had a patient with mana that acted this viscous before.” She glanced up, meeting the girl’s eyes, “I’m being serious when I say that you’ve got loads of potential, kid. You’re fucking saturated in mana however: it’s gonna start hurting you if you don’t start casting more. Get your schema set up and start flushing the stagnant stuff out of your system as soon as you can; those are the doctor’s orders. You’ll lose some of that viscosity I’m talking about and it’ll make you healthier and let you cast easier as well.” Seeing Dahlia nod, she smiled and turned back to her work. “Good. You’ve got too much potential to have it go to waste. You got a schema planned kid?”
Dahlia could tell how —after the initial surprise wore off— Mylène was still talking just to distract her. The sensation of the flesh artist’s magic operating on her was… unpleasant. She could feel her abdomen healing in real time, as muscle grew and sinew wove back together and pulled tight. She could feel all of her bones healing, ossifying into something more rigid than the temporary work Valentina had done previously. It was as though her own body was creaking and growing inside of itself, writhing internally as it reshaped into something altogether more whole, and, as fascinating as it was academically, Dahlia was more than eager to latch onto Mylène’s proffered distraction.
“B-body embedded geometric w-witchcraft.” She grit her teeth after the stutter, letting out a tight breath as she tried to focus through the pain. She had already been struggling to think smoothly before and now could hardly even focus on the other woman. Still she saw Mylène nodding and smiling, encouraging her to keep talking. “Tattoo’s and stuff. You know.”
The flesh artist’s smile grew, “Oh, that’s what I like to hear kid! Haven’t heard of that specific schema but a handful of other Artist of Flesh use tattooed schemas as well. Think the Dìyan Empress uses something like that too; is that what you’re basing it off of?”
Dahlia smiled, shrugged, and immediately regretted the motion: “No. Well, yes, a bit, but mostly no. Made it myself. The Empress inspired me a bit but what I made is better.”
“That’s my girl!” Mylène’s grin grew larger —more manic— and Dahlia could feel the magic’s pace increase along with the woman’s excitement. The changes under her skin grew faster, the discomfort more intense, but the way the flesh artist looked at her then didn’t feel hostile in the least. “Tell you what kiddo, this operation is only going to get worse but I’ll give you something to look forward to. That schema of yours? I’m gonna help out. Valentina’s got connections and a giant treasury —probably’s got some tattooing relics stashed away somewhere too— but me? I’m a motherfucking flesh artist. I’ll get you the best tattooing relic out there, kid. You just gotta put up with this for a few hours; sound good?”
Dahlia couldn’t stop herself from grimacing, but still found herself nodding, forcing a smile through the pain. Seeing something in the girl’s expression, Mylène tilted her head, watching closely and innocuously asked: “You know… I’m just here to fix you up today. Get you back to normal and heal up what you’d be normally stuck with. Now, your eyes… I’m not sure how much I can do to help, but I’ll try my best. And while normal vitalistic healers wouldn't be able to help your brain injuries, I should be able to get you back to normal. Vitalists can’t heal scars either, everyone knows that, but me… You get the idea.”
Glowing eyes skimmed over the girl's body and the countless scars she’d collected over the course of her life. New ones were still starkly pale and keloidal while those older had grown less overt over the years. There were hundreds of them and —although Dahlia still wore clothes— Mylène seemed to look at each and every one, exposed or not.
“Most people would want me to remove all of these. Wouldn’t be any more difficult to add to what I’m already doing.”
The unspoken question was obvious. ‘Do you want to remove your scars? Do you want to return to looking more normal? Do you want to erase what happened to you?’ There wasn’t any judgement in her tone. Dahlia knew that she could agree and Mylène wouldn’t think any less of her for it. And yet… She thought of the woman treating her — of her otherness and how she embraced it. She thought back to Valentina who stood proudly in a crowd that balked around her. And she thought of what her father would have wanted: for her to hide and erase the scars and to make herself something she was not, just to be more desirable and easy to consume by the masses.
And so Dahlia took a shaky breath, feeling a rush of satisfaction even through the treatment’s pain, and matched Mylène’s endless grin: “No. Heal me as b-best as you can but leave them. Please.”
And although she didn’t remember when she fell unconscious, Dahlia knew that she was still smiling.