WARNING!!!: my name is Nai and I can't app anyone who isn't a walking spoiler, sorry.






Cats with green eyes, and goats with gaping mouths. In the end, you can't help but think that they're two forms of the same thing. They're both Bernkastel's tools for destroying the game board, after all.

First in the mansion, and now here, in the Golden Land, you have no choice but to stand at the back and watch. In the midst of the flashy fighting, your eyes are consistently drawn to two figures:

The first is Will, blue coat hanging heavy with rain, sword flashing with red truth and the laws of mystery. Sometimes you can barely see him but for the piles of goats that surround him, but he always comes clear again quickly. The goats, after all, are content to eat anything - even their own dead.

(There is something there, perhaps, about how new theories can gain strength from the wreckage of the old. If you think about it, you'll just get a headache.)

The other is Beatrice. She stays just out of range of the goats, flinging magical gunfire and golden sparks of butterflies through the pouring rain of tragedy. Her broad skirts are no barrier to her movements; she might be dancing in a ballroom instead of a battlefield. Her laughter echoes, and you are glad that she can at least find some pleasure in this.

For a time, she disappears, but after the cannonfire begins, you can see her in the distance, standing as a challenger to Erika, one hand armed with a golden blade. When the land quakes, ready to break apart under the assault, you find yourself with a shoulder once more tucked against Will's chest, your hand closing over the fingers still curled over his sword.

Even if it was only that tiny thing, convincing Lambadelta to stay long enough to Ange to return was something only I could do, wasn't it?

Around you, the members of your family grab for each other. In the corner of your eye, you see your mother drop a gun to yank Jessica away from a collapsing edge. You don't think either of them has so much as glanced at you.

They are your family, but you are not theirs. It's a painful truth, but you face it and maintain your hope anyway. It's all you can do. Watch, and hope.

It feels very much like doing nothing at all. In the end, you're probably doing only one part of two-and-a-half-million of the work. The thought makes you smile faintly.

Your eyes are on Beatrice, but it is to another lonely witch that you send your thoughts, your hopes, the concentrated resolve of two million worlds. Please, Ange -

You don't get to finish the thought.