Sandrone

Alain Guillotin would call her Marionette. Behind this name was the story of a loved one he could not forget and whose memories he had naively tried to revive by creating her. But the moment she opened her eyes and tentatively spoke his name, he resolved never to call her that again. It was wrong, he realized, to make this exquisite little creation bear the weight of his sister's life, and of his own mistake. This little creation deserved a life of her very own, just like anyone else born into this world. But from time to time, he still addressed her by that name, if only in his thoughts. He did so because, just as the name "Marionette" suggested, she was pure of heart, kind, and always full of joy. The people of Snezhnaya knew her as "the Lady" or "Lady Marionette." While most spoke of her with the fear that a Harbinger typically inspires, there was also often a distinct note of respect in their voices, a sentiment made clear by descriptions such as "the decisive Lady Marionette" and "the ever-reliable Lady Marionette." But to her friends and colleagues, she was known as Sandrone. While it was originally just a code name, over time the name became a cheerful way for her closest and dearest to address her. They began to associate it with the scents of desserts and afternoon tea, with the elegant turning of book pages and the steady ticking of a mainspring.... And of course, at times, it also evoked the grumbles and even furious outbursts of a lady who had lost all patience, proper etiquette be damned. Once, a friend put this question to her: "What do you want us to call you?" "It doesn't matter, and I don't really care," she replied nonchalantly. "I've always thought names to be something that existed mainly for the convenience of others. What other people choose to call me is, to a very large extent, determined by which part of me they choose to accept." The expression on her friend's face was one that clearly suggested that they were woefully unprepared for her answer. "Anyhow, what I mean to say is: No matter what people choose to call me, I am still myself. I will not change because they have chosen to call me by a different name, and since I do not care for what people call me, why not just let them use the name they're most comfortable with? But as to whether I would respond to the name in question, that is another matter altogether, heh."

She remembers very clearly the day she was born. First, it was dark. She opened her eyes, and began to scan everything around her. She realized that she was sitting on a chair, and that right before her was a man who looked rather old. He told her his name was Alain Guillotin. She repeated the name, then asked what her name was. The old man did not reply for a while, as if he had just been confronted with something he had never considered before. But in the end, he spoke with some hesitation, a look she had yet to understand crossing his face. "Marionette..." "Marionette." She repeated the name. The old man's face became even more contorted by some kind of emotion. That is strange, she thought. Why is it that I can identify just about everything I see in my field of vision, but can't quite name what he is feeling? I should put this in my list of questions to be answered. And that list was a rather long one. For example, why was she here? How did she come to be, and what is the purpose of it? How do you dice a potato so that the pieces are perfectly uniform and so presentable enough for dinner? And what do you have to do so that the plant on the windowsill would yield the most gorgeous blooms...? The answers to certain things, she learned, were easily found. In most cases, these simply required her to invest some time and engage in some straightforward learning. But other questions were far more profound, so profound that even the old man who made her were unable to answer. She spent most of her time with the old man, Alain Guillotin. At some point, she discovered that she did not like him very much at all. He moved too slowly, and was thoroughly disorganized. He would often misplace his papers and tools, and from time to time, he would even hand her a notebook that served no practical purpose. "Your life is a total mess," she said to him point-blank. "Your things are never where they belong, and your papers are scattered everywhere. You write a single equation across two sheets, only for them to somehow end up at opposite ends of the room." In the face of her unfiltered complaints, an odd smile appeared on the old man's face, as if he had just been praised for something. "Haha... That was exactly what Mary-Ann used to say about me, too." That man was simply impossible to understand. But over time, she also came to discover the parts of the old man she liked better. She grew fond of the way he was so utterly focused while deep in his work, and the sound of his pen against paper. She cherished the way he would explain various principles of engineering to her, and the way he discussed complex math problems with her at the workbench. She found comfort in the stories he would tell her about the past while sitting by the fire, about the Fontaine of old, about Nymph's Croix... And she held a quiet appreciation for the gentle smile on his face in those moments. She discovered that although this old man was rather careless and disorganized, he was also kind, righteous, and full of wisdom. As time passed, the parts she liked about the old man came to vastly outnumber the parts she did not. This led her to embark on a review of her previous actions. Alain was stunned when he found her writing in her notebook. She could tell that he really, really wanted to ask her what she was doing, but for fear of making her change her mind, he forced himself to swallow his curiosity. She decided to take the initiative. "I think I dislike you," she said. She could tell that he was rather hurt by that opener. "But I also discovered that I was wrong. That was a judgment made at a time when my base emotional logic and objectivity were not yet fully in place." She continued: "But now, I feel that you are a very good 'father.'" Alain was astonished for a moment. Then, a smile appeared on his face. It was a smile of genuine happiness mixed with some other emotion. Is he... going to cry? She was still slowly learning to read human emotions, though she still couldn't understand the reason behind them. But that question could wait. She picked up her notebook and started writing again.

She remembers Alain's passing very, very clearly. Alain was bedbound for some time before his death, and during this time, he relied entirely on her to care for his day-to-day needs. In the beginning, he was still able to respond to her and to converse with her, listening as she recounted the fresh news and gossip she had gathered while out on her errands. But as time wore on, all he wanted to do was to lie quietly in his bed. As she sat by his bedside and read to him, she would hear a long, labored rasp from his throat from time to time. It sounded as though Alain were being suffocated by his own breath, or as if he were being held by the throat by the air itself. When Alain created her, he had given her the sense of touch, the sense of taste, and even breath, which served as a cooling system to regulate her body temperature. But now, in the final chapter of his life, all these things were being taken from Alain one by one. First went his sense of taste, then his sense of touch, and finally, his breath. There were several moments where she thought he would simply falter and fade. This is his final breath, she would think to herself. But he would pull through, again and again, every single time. One of these times, when she glanced over at the bed, she noticed that Alain had opened his eyes and was looking at her. "I thought I was done this time," he said. "Done? Done what?" "I thought I'd finally gone to another place," he chuckled. "I've been practicing how to die." He wished to pass on in his sleep, he explained. Better yet, he wished to pass on in the middle of a beautiful dream, a dream where he would be lying on a grassy lawn looking up at the blue, blue skies of Fontaine, together with his friends and his sister. "Am I in that dream too?" she asked. "Oh, no, no," he replied. "You do not belong to the world I am heading to, my child. You have a very long road ahead of you here on this side." "Do you wish to go to that world?" Alain let out a long sigh. "It's no longer a matter of whether I wish to at this point." He turned his head to look at the ceiling, as if he could look through it to another world beyond. "No one truly knows the taste of death, for it is a fruit that one can only savor once in a lifetime." "It sounds to me like it tastes pretty awful." "Haha... Maybe." Alain chuckled again, though she did not know what was funny about her words. "But it is rarely the dead who suffer," He went on. "The true pain is borne by the ones left behind." This seemed to be some sort of prediction as well as personal reflection on Alain's part. And whatever this was, he was right. She continued to go out to the shops after Alain's death, even though there was no one home to use whatever she bought any more. She still tended to the garden and maintained Pulonia, although she had no idea why she did so. Maybe she hadn't had enough time to accept the truth. Or maybe, she simply did not know what else she could do. She pondered this, and the thought left her deeply unsettled. "Go. Do what you want to do, and seek out your own desires, my child." For some unknown reason, she had started thinking about Alain's final words to her. But there's nothing I want to do, and I desire nothing, she told herself. But I should go look for it, she thought. "Alright, Alain," she spoke to the vacancy of the empty bed. "Looks like it's my turn now." "It's my turn to practice living."

She never expected to stay so long in Snezhnaya. And neither did she expect that a land could get so cold, she literally had to warm up the thoughts inside her head in order to think! From her point of view, life of a member of the Fatui was relaxed, even easy. She did not have to go out to the shops or take care of someone else's every need. Instead, she enjoyed all the conveniences a Harbinger was entitled to. And the tasks Tsaritsa assigned her? Complete child's play for a genius like her. Then one day, as she was noting down the date in her diary, she realized with a surprise that she had already been in Snezhnaya longer than all the time she had spent with Alain in Fontaine. It's as if this has become my second home, she thought. And that led to another question: Just which is her true home, Fontaine or Snezhnaya? And what is "home," exactly? Is it the place where one is needed? Certainly, her job in the Fatui is irreplaceable. Or rather, it would be hard to replace her, and Her Majesty clearly has need of her. Or is it the place where one feels most at ease? Undoubtedly, life in Snezhnaya had been a pretty comfortable one so far, and there, she had access to all the research equipment she could ever need. And if she ever felt bored, there were always the opera performances. Or maybe, "home" is where "family" is? But family... She had no one else but Pulonia now. So, home was where Pulonia was, then? In that case, did that mean that if she and Pulonia were to travel elsewhere, for example Mondstadt, that "elsewhere" would become "home" for them? Then, she came to realize, the fundamental problem was that she had no idea what she wanted or wished to do... All she had been doing was falling back into her old habit of "being needed," that's all. It was a realization that made her heartsick. Just how pathetic was that? Yet at the same time, she had no idea how she could, or would, change things. How annoying! If someone had pointed a musket at her head and demanded she name something she disliked about Snezhnaya, she would probably end up naming a few of the people she would rather not have to work with. At first, she examined her feelings through a highly guarded lens. She worried that, much like how she had detested Alain at the very beginning, she might eventually discover qualities in her colleagues that she actually liked. But that did not work. If later events taught her anything, it was that some individuals would simply remain detestable to her, no matter how much time had passed or how many objective observations she made about them. Unlike with Alain, the parts of them she did not like would continue to vastly outnumber the parts she did like. Or rather, she did not like any part of them at all. Once again, this was something she did not know how to change. She had no intention of changing other people, let alone herself. How annoying! Maybe it was because she still in the midst of learning herself. Maybe it was because she was still learning how to live. Or maybe it was because she had yet to gather enough references and data points. Alain had often said that knowledge was the very foundation of the world, and this was something she kept telling herself too. But she was in no hurry to answer these questions. Hopefully, as she continued to lay the stones of her life, she would be able to eventually grasp these answers. But for the present time... She heard that the Tsaritsa had appointed a new Harbinger who has been singing in the garden all day long...? Hmm. That was a curiosity worth checking out...

Absolutely. Ridiculous! Just what sort of person was she dealing with!? What sort of person would follow her around all day long, knock on her door in the middle of the night to sing, and even barge in on her pleasant solo tea time like that!? Aggravatingly, this person had shown absolutely no regret or remorse, even after various stern warnings and the retaliatory burden of a heavy mainspring forced upon her! To make matters worse, not only had these actions failed to create distance between them, but her subject was now hovering closer than ever. Did she not understand basic social etiquette and a person's need for personal space? Apparently — Sandrone was told — that annoying person really had ended up walking around with that heavy mainspring on her back for an entire week. What was that, a declaration of war? Some kind of demonstration to the world of her bully's cruelty? Damn it, the next time she came around and disrupted afternoon tea again, she was going to get the nastiest drink ever! However, Sandrone's stance softened as she watched Columbina unquestioningly take said beverage, only to let out a soft whimper. What in the? So now I'm really the bully, huh? Just how naive is she??? Does she really have no idea when someone has it in for her!? Does she even stop to think for a moment??? And so, a half-apologetic, half-guilty Sandrone brought out a portion of her precious tea snacks for her. But when she saw the smile reappear on Columbina's face, she could not help but feel vexed again. Ugh! How annoying! This sense of vexation only grew when, later on, Columbina began taking afternoon naps in her room like it was the most natural thing to do in the world. "Don't you have your own room!?" she charged. "I do. But I feel very much at ease here," Columbina responded matter-of-factly. If anything, it felt like Sandrone was the odd one here for even asking the question. Just you wait, Sandrone thought to herself. Just you wait. Next time, I am kicking you out of my room! And I'll throw you out along with the bed if I have to! A bed-less room would be a small price to pay for some personal space and real peace and quiet! But when she saw Columbina lying in her bed the next time, Sandrone wavered yet again. Because this time, it looked like Columbina was crying in her sleep... What now? She certainly picked a convenient time to put on that pitiful act! What an utterly artless, naive creature she is. It's as if she truly believes everyone around her is good and kind, and that the world is a beautiful place. It's as if she's... ...just like how I used to be, a little voice in her said. Sandrone immediately tried to shake the thought off. The two of us are nothing alike, she quickly told herself. At the very least, I'm definitely smarter than her! When Columbina woke up from her nap and found a blanket draped over her, she smiled at Sandrone. "It wasn't me," Sandrone lied. "Pulonia was the one who put that blanket on you." But why did she have to lie? She did not know the answer to this question. All she knew was that she did not wish to admit to doing that. Absolutely. Not. "In that case, thank you so much, Pulonia." She said in all earnestness. But curiosity is a beast that always demands to be fed. "Did you have a dream?" Sandrone asked. "What did you dream of?" It was a moment before Columbina began to tell her story. Matter-of-factly, without a shred of guile, simply because Sandrone had asked. And after listening to Columbina's story, Sandrone was more convinced than ever that the two of them were nothing alike. The world has already taken so much away from Sandrone. And that made her different from Columbina, for Columbina never truly had anything to begin with. "Is that why you're always looking up at the moon out in the yard?" Columbina nodded. "...If you like, Pulonia can keep you company in the garden today." Really? Columbina asked. Sandrone did not reply. "Thank you, Sandrone." "Ha. You should thank Pulonia instead," she responded a little crustily. "And now, it's time for you to get out of my room. Go with Pulonia." That day was the first time since Alain's death that Pulonia had left Sandrone's side. Yet, for some reason, Sandrone slept better than she had in a while. It was as if by having Pulonia soothe the heart of that annoying creature, Sandrone's own heart was also somehow soothed in return. This was simply something she felt she had to do, even if she could not quite explain why. But the very next day, when Pulonia showed up at a Fatui meeting with a flower crown on his head and flowers all over his chassis, Sandrone once again swore to herself that she would never, ever go soft on that ill-mannered creature again! "CO. LUM. BI. NA!!!" That very day, Columbina was made to stand just outside Sandrone's room while the latter busied herself with stripping every single odious flower from Pulonia. A sign hanging around her neck read: "I am a naughty child who messes with things that don't belong to me." But for some reason, she did not seem unhappy about it at all.

With the "inheritance" she received from Alain, Sandrone was able to welcome her second birth. She had always believed she was smart, or at least smarter than most. It was only at this juncture that she realized she was actually far more foolish than she had thought. She told herself she should have gotten there a long time ago. She should have listened to her heart to understand what words like "loss" and "to endure" really meant. She should have expressed her gratitude to her friends more and made more friends. She should have returned to Fontaine long ago, to Alain's graveside... where she would tell him all about what's happened to her since she left while tidying up his grave. But it was never too late to start, Columbina told her. Columbina herself had learned this from someone else. She let out a little snort. Never did she imagine that she would be receiving life lessons from Columbina one day. But she accepted it anyway. There was no denying it: Columbina was right. When news of Sandrone's resurrection reached Snezhnograd, words of sympathy and concern quickly followed, alongside a generous offer of "post-mortem leave" from her position. However, when Sandrone expressed her desire to remain with the Fatui instead, the Tsaritsa naturally agreed without further comment. She knew this news would cause unhappiness in certain quarters, for it meant the power and interests carved up upon her death had suddenly vanished from their grasp. But she did not care what the others would think. She had just been given a second life, and she was going to live it exactly the way she liked. She was going to live entirely on her own terms now, and she certainly wasn't going to hold her tongue when she got mad! Ha! Did that certain someone really think he was going to take control of the Adventurers' Guild, of Katheryne and the rest of them, from now on? Fat chance! But of course, that did not mean she was entirely free from the shackles of life. Every time she received word of yet another Fatui meeting, she would roll her eyes and grumble as always. "Pfft. Meetings, and more meetings! All day, every day! Annoying!"

The first time Sandrone met the behemoth, it immediately extended its hand to her. That's just his humanoid programming, Alain told her. Pulonia, short for the "Prospective Undulation Localized Observing and Investigating Automaton," was built for measurements and calculations. Nevertheless, he hoped these human-like additions would allow the world to see Pulonia as more than just a machine, because just like her, Pulonia was also one of a kind. She was delighted by the new family member in her life. She took Pulonia on walks, where she would teach it to identify the various flowers and birds they came across. But Pulonia was a slow learner, far slower than she was. According to Alain, this was because Pulonia's core processing power was dedicated to predicting the future via simulation. But why do that, she asked. Alain then said something she would understand only much later. At the time, she only thought Pulonia was impressive, and she even envied Pulonia a little. Why couldn't she do something so amazing herself? But like Alain, this amazing giant needed looking after, too. He would frequently get stuck halfway through their walks, or somehow get wet from the water meant for the flowers. She had no choice but to learn the ins and outs of Pulonia's workings to tune him when needed, as if she was looking after her baby brother. And this continued even after Alain passed away. The day Sandrone returned from Alain's funeral service, she was like a wind-up toy with a jammed spring. All she could do was stand silently in her room with her raincoat on, unable to even move or even close the main door. Then, she noticed Pulonia lumbering towards her, and like the very first time they met, he extended his huge hand to her. She stared at that hand. It was so massive, capable of holding up the future of the entire world — and from this day forward, it would also have to anchor her past. This was a loss utterly unbearable for her, the void it left behind nearly enough to crush her. Every bit of that burden now fell upon Pulonia, and he would bear the weight without a single whisper of complaint. Although Pulonia did, eventually, hold up the future of the entire world... He could no longer support his own weight. Sandrone has not given up on fixing Pulonia ever since. But she knows that with her current knowledge and skillset, she is far from able to fully restore Pulonia's core. More importantly, she refuses to settle for a compromised restoration, bringing back a "Pulonia" that would no longer recognize her, for that would be a complete insult to the great Pulonia, and to the family he was to her. And so, she arranged for Pulonia to be returned to a secret location, that home they used to share, and she would visit Pulonia every now and then. One day, she hopes, her devotion will reward her with the familiar, clattering sound of Pulonia starting up anew, as he extends that giant hand to her just like he used to.

Sandrone has not relied very much on the Stellar Linchpin ever since it came into her possession. Certainly, she is aware that it was this little rock that activated her "inheritance" from Alain and gave her the second life, a fact for which she is grateful. But she remains troubled by a simple problem: She can't quite see how this little thing is supposed to be of any real help in her daily life. Is it supposed to help her with her research? But that's what her brains are for... It's not like the Stellar Linchpin can solve equations for her. Or is it meant to help her channel elemental energy? But even before she ever had it, she rarely relied on elemental energy to fight. Or maybe, it provides some kind of energy support? But no matter how she looks at it, it does not appear to be compatible with her body structure. After all, thanks to the great Alain Guillotin, Lord-Artificer, she already runs on a core power supply system that is pretty much perfect... Eventually, she settles on using the Cryo in the Stellar Linchpin as a cooling well for herself and Fagio during heavy-duty computing tasks. Additionally, to ensure combat and energy efficiency, she has also temporarily adapted Fagio's attack logic to work with the Stellar Linchpin. And if anyone asked Sandrone what her wish was, she would only say that the word "wish" is both too hazy and too complicated. All she wants is to deconstruct the universal principles of all things and continuously lay the bedrock of knowledge — but does that count as a wish? Certainly. But is that all she wishes for? Of course not. Right now, she is doing what she wants to do, and what she thinks is right. This alone makes her happy, and perhaps that is more than enough. Who is to say that the call of a wish such as this just isn't compelling enough? And who is to say that choosing to lead the life one wants isn't right? One wish shouldn't be considered nobler than another. To her mind, everyone has their own life to live, and if anyone has a problem with that, they had better be prepared for a verbal shelling from Sandrone. And if they still have a problem after that, she'd probably just scoff and point a cheeky finger up at the sky... Saying, "Well, then you'd better take it up with the one who came up with this!"

I hate self-introductions. If you're supposed to know me, you'll get to know me naturally, and if you're not... why waste the time and energy? But, very well — for the sake of etiquette, I'll humor you just this once... Behold, before you stands Marionette, Seventh of the Fatui Harbingers!

It's about time we threw another tea party, don't you think? I wonder who else is free...

I like music. In fact, I've taught myself to play many different instruments. You don't believe me? Hah, find me a piano, and I'll show you a thing or two.

Called back to the Zapolyarny Palace, again? Ugh... Seriously, what's the point in all these endless meetings!?

...Well, this is inconvenient.

My flowers adore this kind of weather.

Defensive systems... Mmhmm, operating normally.

Ugh, time for more "snow damselettes"...

The perfect weather for cake, strong coffee, and getting lost in a good book.

Ugh... This skirt really wasn't made for weather like this... How in the blazes did Rosalyne use to cope?

Good morning. Would you like a cup of coffee? It really raises the spirits. Hmm? Why would someone like me need coffee? Hah, can't a lady appreciate the taste!?

Is it that time already? I'd better prepare some refreshments...

Back for dinner? This isn't a canteen, you know... Ugh, forget it, you're here now, I'll have Fagio whip something up.

You should get some sleep. I prefer to do my research at night — it's quieter, and there's no one around to bother me. ...What do you mean!? My sleep schedule is fine as it is, thank you very much!

What's wrong with calling me Sandrone? Huh...? My original name? Hah... So, you really want to know? Alright, alright... I can still remember when I first opened my eyes. Alain had just finished creating me. He called me "Marionette." I tried to repeat it, to say it out loud myself, but I noticed something... complicated in his expression. Only later did I come to understand what it was — a mixture of regret and guilt. He never called me that again. Anyway, after telling me the story of the Narzissenkreuz Ordo and his sister, Alain concluded by insisting that I was free to choose my own path in life. An important part of that, he said, was deciding on my own name. For my part, I told him I was perfectly fine with the one he'd given me. "Marionette Guillotin"... Pretty unique as names go, wouldn't you say? And yet, no doubt for different reasons, the Tsaritsa ended up making "Marionette" my title as a Harbinger. Heh... Perhaps that was simply another so-called "act of fate."

When I was first created, it seemed like too much work to find a place to lie down, so I usually just "slept" in a chair. It was only after I arrived in Snezhnaya that I grew accustomed to sleeping in beds. I have to say, after an exhausting day of dealing with my "colleagues," wearing something comfortable and hiding beneath the covers is wonderfully cozy. There's a sense of security created by my sensory system and emotional circuitry. I now know why people like to sleep in. However, beds come with their own issues — my clockwork key prevents me from sleeping on my back, and it's difficult to balance when lying on my side. The only option is to sleep face down.

You've read my diary, so don't you think it's about time you shared some of your own secrets to even things out? Huh? Your Adventurer Handbook? Why would I want that? If I wanted to know what you do every day, I'd just get Katheryne to tell me.

We may know each other better now, but once we arrive in Snezhnaya, we still have to follow the rules. After all, you've been fighting the Fatui since you arrived... Who knows what kind of a stir you'll cause over there. Naturally, I'll try my best not to make your life difficult. I'd appreciate it if you could do the same for me. Helping each other out based on mutual understanding — that's what companions do, right?

It's a good fit for me — Cryo is useful. For instance, I no longer need to worry about overheating after lengthy calculations.

With Pulonia gone, life suddenly felt a lot more difficult to navigate. That's why I created Fagio — my "Facilitatrice Automatisee Generaliste Interactive et Omnitache." She can deal with a lot of trivial tasks that I'd rather not waste my time with — and she can fight. Huh? You think her full name's too long and... hard to understand? Is that not how all working machines get their names? Alain came up with Pulonia, which stands for "Prospective Undulation Localized Observing and Investigating Automaton." I thought everyone named things that way. So, you think it's hereditary...?

Outside of my research, I sometimes like to ponder metaphysical questions. Just as people from every nation have their own beliefs about death. I often hear people talking about the "afterlife," "where souls go to rest," things like that... But from the time my core was damaged fighting Il Dottore, to the time the "Stellar Linchpin" activated Alain's legacy and reactivated me, my memory is blank — completely empty. Where do mechanical constructs, "puppets," go when they die? How are our "souls" defined? Do we even have souls? There are no answers, so I always turn back to my research. But knowledge is the cornerstone of the world. I believe that as these stones continue to stack, one day their height alone will allow me to reach the answers to my doubts.

That great shaman seems nice. Is she really very old? Still seems like she's got plenty of energy to me — though she does get a little too worked up sometimes. What do I mean? Oh, well, recently, I was talking to her about you and me going underwater to look for something... and before that, I told her you were in Nod-Krai helping Columbina get her name back... She got so animated, her face turned bright red. I wonder if it has something to do with her age...

I don't know how she does it! That cat-girl always seems to find the weakest spot in every machine and then... beh, broken. I wish her brother would have a word with her. *sigh* Nevermind... I guess it's a talent, really. Maybe I should have her help me stress test my future creations. If my machines can't survive her curiosity, what chance do they have in battle?

After Alain died, I put up a tombstone for him. When he was alive, he said he wanted me to write his epitaph. So I did. It wasn't difficult — list out his deeds, then pick a quote that captures the way he thought. I went with, "Regrettably, there's nothing more to say." It was something he often said. You think it sounds fatalistic? Hah, maybe to those who didn't know him. But he always said it with a smile. It wasn't resignation — he wasn't giving up. Ironically, it was almost like an expression of contentment. Like solving a mathematical problem. Death is just a silent equals sign, and he's moved to the other side of the equation.

Even I still get bothered by the errors in my heart, but Her Majesty the Tsaritsa... How did she manage to freeze her emotions so completely?

Always issuing orders... Somehow, the world reflected in his eyes seems farther away than it does with anyone else. The first time I saw him, I knew this world had taken too much from him.

Everyone knows Il Capitano doesn't like to remove his mask, but it doesn't stop him from finishing his tea whenever we get together.

You might want to cover your ears. I'm afraid I won't be able to control my emotions.

Columbina used to drive me up the wall — to be honest, she still does. I thought life would be quieter without her around. Who knew I'd find myself getting more annoyed once she wasn't here! Ugh, it's infuriating!

She's living such a happy life right now. Her family and friends are by her side, and she gets to go traveling whenever she's free... Why can't I have that kind of fortune? Oh, forget it, I'm not jealous. We all know she deserves to be happy.

Arlecchino is a woman of her word. She acts decisively, and you can trust her to get things done. Purely from a professional standpoint, it would be nice if all my colleagues could try to emulate her.

He's the chairman of the Snezhnograd Veche, though he often feels more like... its overseer. Every vote cast in the Evaluation Council affects the interests of countless factions. Reconciling so many competing concerns can only be achieved by the shrewdest of operators. Once you understand this, you start to realize just how terrifying he really is.

You would think his relationship and dealings with Dottore would have been properly investigated from the start, right? Why did it take ten times longer for my research funds to be granted than that lunatic Dottore's? It's clear there was something shady going on! I even asked Pantalone about it to his face! He looked right at me with that stupid smile and said, "Oh my, has our Lady Sandrone finally developed an interest in finances? I can recommend a few books if you'd like — maybe you should start with '100 Phrases to Teach You Manners.'"

She always lived for herself. She loved in her own way, and hated in her own way, too. No wonder she burned out so fast. Still, her flame shone with a unique hue until the moment it flickered into nothing.

Another pain in the... well, everything. He could happily just spend his days with his brothers and sisters — why insist on becoming a Harbinger at all? And when will he get it into his thick skull that not everyone is always looking for a fight?

Hmm? I'm not in the habit of casually sharing my life story with others. But if I'm going to open up, can we at least wait for pleasant weather and to do it over tea and cake?

My colleagues in the Fatui might not be the ones I'd choose, but there's no denying that it's an excellent place to conduct research. The Tsaritsa is generous with her resources and funding. I'd say the equation balances out in my favor.

It never bothered me that Alain created me to look like his sister Mary-Ann — or that he named me "Marionette." The way I see it, these are simply the consequences of my birth. Does it bother you to look like your parents, or to bear their family name?

I like mathematics. A world built on formulae and logic has a kind of elegance anchored in certainty. I also like music, which is similar in many ways. I used to think playing music should be approached like a mathematical problem, balancing the notes and the beat, no space for deviation. Later, I came to realize that some minor flaws — even mistakes — during a performance can actually make the music more beautiful. A slight pause here, a sudden improvisation there... Such tiny errors are where emotion is born. Reverberations of the performer's heart, you might say.

What the world gives, the world will take away. To live is to gain and to lose, to pick up what the world can't seize, to hold onto it amid loss and farewells, and to keep walking forward. If a person desires merely "to live," is that too insignificant a wish? Just like someone saving the world solely to "save themselves" — is such a reason too simple? To live, to feel, to witness. And then one day, perhaps those things the world cannot take away will grow numerous enough to shake it to its core.

Besides music, machines, and mathematics, I also enjoy horticulture... when conditions allow. I like to document the process as my plants grow and flourish. Most of them require little intervention — they're independent, resilient. I used to believe I was the same.

Every time I see a fluffy little animal, I just wanna pick it up and give it a big hug... but most animals don't like machines, so they always run away when they see me. Hey! Don't look at me like that! I don't want your pity. So what if I can't hug them? It's not... it's not that big of a deal...

Thanks to this body, I don't suffer from allergies or indigestion, so food is purely a matter of pleasure for me. But if I had to choose... Hmm, I think I like small, dainty pastries most of all. Just looking at their exquisite shape brings joy to my heart — it's a one-two punch for the eyes and soul.

I don't like greasy, spicy food. It's got nothing to do with taste — it's just hard to keep the smell from clinging to my clothes. It's very inelegant for a lady.

Hmm... Oh, I—I'll do you a favor and listen to how you prepared this. Perhaps I can give you a few pointers. It would be unladylike to let the opportunity go to waste.

Oh? That's not half bad. I'll have to return the favor next time we get together for tea.

Ugh... Fagio, I have something for you to clean up.

Hmph. Here, take this. I wouldn't normally give these out, but today's a special day — it marks the day you came into the world. I invited Arlecchino and Columbina, plus a few shared friends. I even baked a special cake for the occasion... so you'd best look forward to it.

Calculation underway.

Inputting variables...

Progress is smooth.

Deconstructing the very order of things. Bet you're impressed with me now? Hahaha...

Take a break.

C'mon, keep up.

How tiresome.

Hmph.

Hehe...

Pick up the pace.

Let's test my hypothesis.

A spot of teatime entertainment.

Hmph, what a joke.

Huh? All that work for this?

So, what's inside? N—Not that I care!

Certainly went out of your way for this, didn't you? It's all yours.

Fagio! Are you good to go on?

Victory is in the balance...

Every battle has its twists!

Hey! Are you still with us?

Be careful! I only know how to fix machines!

Were my calculations... unsound...?

This tea party... is over...

Regrettably... there's nothing more to say...

Hands off.

How rude.

You'll regret that...!

Got a death wish?

Time to verify my formulae.

Let me help you out.

Let's go, Fagio.