Cinder X Bella ~ Twelve!

As per usual, winter passed ever so slowly, doing its very best to dig its claws in, only to eventually be dragged away by the heat of spring coming into full bloom. Just as winter refused to give in, so too did Bella find herself navigating the complexities of life with far more cunning, strategy, and more than a dash of mischief. 

“The birds should be returning soon.” She kneaded and pounded her fists into bread dough while offhandedly commenting to her loyal mice troops, who had yet to uncover anything of significance in the house. 

On that note, Bella was becoming slightly frustrated at not achieving a new skill level with Minor Creature Control, though she was certain she had done exceptionally well at imparting long-term commands into the vermin of the house. Whatever benchmark of success the skill relied on remained hidden away, and she could only push herself to maintain long-standing commands, while training other animals in more complex variations in an attempt to push through to level nine. 

Nevertheless, there were many small successes. For instance, though they hadn't yet found a cursed artifact, they had unearthed small treasures from Bella's past. Hidden in the walls where only mice could go to retrieve them, the Beast Singer had stored her mother's previously-thought-lost wedding ring, a silly drawing she’d made for her father back when she was six, a finger-long carving Mia's husband had once made for her, and many other small scraps of her former life. 

She only let these trinkets come into the open area on days when she needed a boost, as she was certain Matringa would find some way to take them away or otherwise damage them.

Each day now began with the same monotonous routine, serving breakfast to her ‘family’. As always, she delivered Matringa’s breakfast at first light, never once failing to find her stepmother immersed in paperwork and barely acknowledging her presence. Bella would always set the tray down silently, never meeting the other woman's eyes, and being careful to never draw attention before swiftly moving on to serve Malvagio and lastly Cattiva. 

The elder sister seemed to take offense to how Bella now seemed unstoppably cheerful, always demanding some item on the tray be redone, no matter if it were eggs, toast, or the rare sausage. Even so, after later collecting the trays, the redone item was almost always untouched on the plate. 

For her part, Cattiva slept in as late as her mother would allow, and Bella had long since learned to be as stealthy as possible. The only time she had accidentally woken her slightly younger stepsister, Cattiva had screamed at Bella and hurled the plate of hot food at her. 

After months of careful planning and interacting with the animals, Bella's understanding of her surroundings had given her an acute knowledge of what happened in the manor… which manifested as subtle acts of defiance. As she grew more comfortable with her command over her rodents, she began using the mice for more than scouting or chores. They quickly started to become accomplices in small pranks, which served to not only amuse her, but to subtly unsettle her stepfamily.

One of Mert’s offspring, named Mert Junior in honor of his now-late patriarch, took to the pranks with extreme dedication. When Bella put together the breakfast trays, she always did so to the best of her ability, ensuring there was no cause for her to be reprimanded. After delivering the food, Mert Junior would patiently wait until after Matringa had sampled her food and drink, then he would sprinkle salt from his position on the bookshelf into her tea. It was never enough to cause a stir, just enough to pucker her lips and cause the woman some discomfort. In the best case, ruining her morning. 

Malvagio was particularly fond of bread, and Suzy the mouse figured out—all on her own—how to gather juice from onions and sprinkle droplets on the morning toast. This went on so long, and caused so many issues, that Matringa and Malvagio eventually both appeared in the kitchen, watched Bella make the toast, both cut their own slices and took them back to their rooms. 

On her way out, Malvagio drew a finger across her throat and pointed at Bella, “No more getting away with this. Mother’s going to punish you for tampering with my breakfast the last few weeks, just you wait.”

Not ten minutes later, the elder stepsister stormed back into the kitchen, shouting at Bella, only to be forced to leave the room by her mother—who found nothing wrong with the toast at all. Bella's stepsister had been nearly in tears and refused bread in the morning for the next few weeks.

These and dozens of other tiny, petty revenges were carried out under the guise of standard, routine service. Each day, Bella wrote the family's reactions in her notebook, which ranged from puzzled frowns and shrugs of indifference to abject fury when a tiny annoyance remained consistent. As she knew better than to witness their frustration on her own, Bella had to puzzle out the meaning of the mice’s charades—which quickly turned into a happy game of its own. 

When she eventually got it right, the tiny creatures were as excited as she was. 

As the seasons changed, and Bella became more adept at understanding and manipulating her environment, her confidence soared. House Vigatori, which had felt like nothing more than a prison over the last few years, slowly shifted until it began to feel more like a chessboard. Each move was calculated, every player unknowingly put in their place by the ever-humming, smiling servant girl who was never once around to be blamed for their grievances.

Beyond breakfast, after Bella had gone to her father about the dark voice whispering to Matringa, she hadn't been allowed to work on the floor holding the bedrooms, nor the study. The three magically silenced maids took care of the duties in those areas, leaving Bella somewhat unsure of how her stepfamily spent the majority of their time—until one day, after Malvagio insisted on a particularly time-intensive breakfast being remade.

From past experience, Bella fully understood that the meal wasn't going to be eaten either way, though she couldn't not make and deliver it. Instead, she did several of her other chores, finally bringing the meal up barely an hour before lunch time. “She's definitely not going to eat this… hello, late breakfast for me.”

Quietly entering Malvagio’s room, she noticed her stepsister was already fully absorbed in the painting she was working on. Her brush was moving over the canvas smoothly, the easel placed perfectly to maximize the use of light pouring in through the window. Despite herself, Bella couldn't help but steal a glance at the painting itself. 

She was stunned into stillness, and her eyes devoured the stunning rendition of the view from the bedroom window—an almost perfect recreation of the landscape from the edge of the house to where the old barn stood, though in a state of disrepair. As much as it irked her, Malvagio’s artistic talent was undeniable: the colors were vivid, capturing the early morning light and shadows with a possibly literally magical quality. 

Bella shook herself out of her stupor as she thought over the potential that this truly was a magical painting of some sort. She didn't know the class or skills her stepfamily had, but there was no way they were pursuing their interests with such intense dedication without an underlying reason. 

As the young lady slipped out of her stepsister’s room, her brow was furrowed in thought. “Do her skills help her create art, or do they allow her to insert some kind of emotion into the paintings she makes? From how it hit me… I want to say it's likely closer to the latter, but it could honestly just be that good. Talent like that couldn't have been given to a worse person, though.”

Leaving her elder stepsister to her art, Bella passed by her former room, dark thoughts cut off by the sound of Matringa’s harsh voice echoing out, the words aimed at someone other than herself for once. “Cattiva, what good is your talent if you don't make full use of it? You've learned to focus on one thing at a time, now bring it all together correctly. Subtlety is the name of the game with a talent like this, and if you can't pull it together, it's all useless in the end. You don't want to be useless to me, do you?”

There was a soft murmuring she couldn't make out, then in the next moment, the gorgeous strains of a lute filled to the air—strings vibrating in a mesmerizing melody Bella hadn't thought Cattiva could possibly be capable of. Leaning into the music, Bella found herself pressed against the wall, inching closer to the door. Just as she was about to reach for the doorknob, practically in a trance from how enraptured she was, an unexpected intrusion broke the Beast Singer out of the odd trance.

“Daa~nnce dAnce, don’t yoU want to get up aannn~dd daaance!” The discrepancy between Cattiva’s ability to play her instrument and her horribly off-key singing was so atrocious that it was all Bella could do to keep from falling to her knees, clapping her hands to her ears, and begging for it to stop. Yet, it wouldn't have helped. For the first time, Bella understood what it felt like to be directly and clearly impacted by a skill an untrained person was using on them. 

Cattiva’s shrieking song echoed directly into Bella's head, and it was only then that she realized she was only hearing the melody of lute. Her younger stepsister wasn't singing. Even with how atrocious the singing was, Bella felt her feet shift, as Cattiva’s song compelled her to dance. Happily, she was able to rebel against the mental demand easily, thanks to the assault on her senses; it certainly wouldn't do her any good to be caught snooping outside the room.

“Stop at once.” Matringa’s voice mercifully ended the compulsion, as well as the strumming of the lute. “You are doing the equivalent of screaming your words into my brain. How is it that you are so adept at the main portion of your talents, yet abyssally awful in the secondary? The thoughts and concepts you’re meant to be pushing should be subliminal, not cymbals and fireworks going off in the mind of those who hear your music and alerting them to your influence.”

“I work on this every day, Mother!” Cattiva seemed on the verge of tears, but Bella couldn't find it in herself to care. “It's so draining to push like this. I need to train by working with people who don't know what I'm doing and who don't have such powerful resistances, like you do. How am I supposed to get better, if I'm never truly allowed to test-”

“You know why that can't be allowed.” Matringa’s words seemed patient, but they held a sharp undertone. “If you were found to be capable of mind magic, and they could prove it, an oath to the kingdom or a cell would be the only option for you. Until you can contain yourself, you will practice in secret.” 

Bella's eyes went wide, and she immediately and very, very carefully began walking away. As soon as she was safely on the main floor, she reflected on what she’d just heard. Already, Cattiva was a terrible pest, but in a few years of continuous practice with her skills, especially against someone who could clearly notice and resist them easily, it was likely she would be an extremely formidable person.

“Mind magic, huh? I wonder if father knows about that very unladylike, illegal aspect of her talent.” Bella felt a surge of excitement as the first piece of evidence against her stepfamily fell into place. Retreating to the servant’s area, she began humming softly and quickly gathered mice from every nook and cranny. “This could backfire badly, but… I think I need to ask all of you to chew Cattiva’s strings regularly.”

Bella's hands clenched into fists as she looked at the ceiling above her, in the direction of the practicing musical mindweaver. “I can't let her get good enough to influence me or my father. Not until I’ve escaped, at the absolute minimum. Matringa can't be allowed to create stronger tools to use against us.”