Chapter 1: Dollhouse

"Hey girl, open the walls

play with your dolls

We'll be the perfect family."

-Melanie Martinez, "Dollhouse"

Death. It's weird, right? One word, five letters, that's powerful enough to evoke fear, turn heads, cause happiness and sadness; a paradox made up prettily just to be buried six feet.

D.E.A.T.H.

God. Death is weird. People trivialize it, decorate it, worship it, but you can equalize that all in one, last breath.

Did I die, I often think to myself? No, I would answer, and it would be a scoff, dismissing this notion entirely.

Did I leave them behind?

(Did I make a choice to do just that, willingly?)

Yes. But did I die? Technically, no. Technically, I was reborn, just… without the whole clean slate thing. To come into being with a mind intact, to feel nothing and then, suddenly, everything? That was an experience. A wholly unwelcomed one, but an experience, as life itself is.

But did I die, did I experience death?

No. I just left.

But isn't death just another way of leaving?

(Curiosity killed the cat, they say. But what the fuck did the cat do, if not just be a victim of their own instinct to investigate? We're taught curiosity from a primitive age, and it never leaves as we mature; curiosity is the bastard who killed the cat, but they blame the cat for its own death, mourning only long enough for grass to grow over its grave. But where was satisfaction in the sea of black umbrellas? Where was satisfaction when they were filling the grave? Where was satisfaction when the mourners left, leaving only they ones who felt regret?)

(Where is my satisfaction now?)

"Mama?"

The woman hummed, lightly.

"Why did you name me after yourself?"

".. your father chose your name, Princess."

"I don't like it."

A chuckle, nearly a twinkling of light laughter from the woman:

"My, my, what a bold child you are."

"… is it because you're not going to around for much longer. Mama?"

"… and such an intelligent child too. You're going to grow into a beautiful force of nature one day, do you know that, Princess? You're truly our little prodigy."

(A lie, and we both knew it)

They had named me after my mother, a fact that I wholly disagreed with.

"Don't call me that," I said, a delicate whine in my voice as I glanced over the pages of my book at my brother. Dino Cavallone laughed, like the bright boy he was, shining (always).

"Why not? It's your name, isn't it?" He said with a smile – no, I realized, it was far more like a grin. Dino was happy, and when he wasn't happy? Generally, I was too. Despite his clumsiness, his awkwardness, even at this age, he exuded harmony. And it was breathtaking, to be in his presence even, to feel this compassion.

I, on the other hand, was a much more reserved child. Content to watch, and often seen lazing around the estate. While Dino was busy with tutors and being prepared to be the next boss of the grand Cavallone Family, I was busy avoiding my tutors. Since the library was much too obvious of a hiding place for me, I roamed the gardens, stacks of books in small arms as I shuffled from place to place. Either I was outside, avoiding, or spending time with my – our mother. But recently, in the three year since I had been born, her health had been…deteriorating. And my visits with her were becoming shorter and less often.

"– then how about a nickname?"

"Hm?" His expression deadpanned as I look over at him, taking my eyes away from where I had been watching the sky.

"Were you even listening?" He sighed, but there still an endearing smile to his expression.

"I'm barely listening now."

Another sigh, and he managed to move on, ignoring my small quip (but not without a small twitch of his eye).

"I said that we should think of a nickname for you, since you don't want me to use your real name."

I hummed in thought, eyes scanning the page of my book while considering the proposal.

"Actually," I said, causing my brother's face to brighten, "that's not a bad idea. What do you think I should be called?"

He laid back again with a thoughtful hum, and I too put my book down and leaned back on the grass; we laid and stared at the sky, bashfully peeking through the long branches and boisterous leaves of the tree we were resting under, with the wind trilling softly to harmonize with us.

(It was moments like these, the serene ones, where I was grateful for picking him as my brother)

I allowed myself to relax, listening gently as Dino rhythmically repeated the beginning consonants of my name (of our dying mother's name).

"Cloud?" It was such a sudden sound, after such a peaceful moment and gentle rhythm. I opened my eyes and angled my head towards my brother.

"What?"

"Cloud," he said again, pointing upwards. My eyes followed and once again I allowed myself to be entranced by the movement of the sky above us.

"They're kind of like you, aren't they?" my eleven-year-old brother explained, "I mean, they're free and do what they want, they're unpredictable and adaptable, they're there, but they don't really do much –

"Watch it."

"– But they give support to the sky when they need it, you know? I mean, I'd like to think that'd you support me, when I'm boss. Right?"

I hate that he phrased it as a question. I hate the bit of insecurity, the bit of fear that crept into his voice, and the small shiver of his hand, once pointing strongly before it fell weakly at his side. I hate when he thinks about becoming boss, and I hate seeing how scared he is,

(I hate our father, for doing this to him)

"Dino," I said with confidence, "I'll always be there for you, okay? So, don't worry about it. Please."

And he turned his head as well, his brown eyes meeting my green. And he grinned.

"You're pretty smart for a three-year-old, you know that, Cloud?"

And I barely smiled back before returning to my book, giving the same excuse (the cover, the lie), I always did:

"Prodigy."

I had my mother's eyes, and her nose, and her mouth. I was more blonde than red headed, a trait from my father, but where did the red come from? The tint in my hair, far more vibrant when the sun hit it especially, certainly was not from him. My mother had brown hair, or at least, that's what it looked like.

She looked worried, often, when looking at my features. But she would hide it well (she hides many things with such talent).

"You're staying in the sun too long," she told me, weakly leaning from her wheel chair to brush my cheeks, her smile growing softer seeing a light sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of my nose, extending like stars to my cheeks, "your beautiful skin is going to burn, my princess."

"I tan, I don't burn, Mama," I told her, gentle taking her hands away from my face, but holding them still. My eyes went from her face, her eyes a reflection of my mine (but, I guess that, technically, it was me who was the reflection?), and then moved, seeing that the attendant had left us in the garden alone. I took a breath, and released it:

"Mama, why is my hair red?"

I watched carefully as my mother's eyes widened ever so slightly and her mouth made a small gasp before she quickly composed herself in one blink.

"Why do you want to know, Princess?" She asked quietly, and she opened her arms. I climbed into her lap, my body small, but still looking to be burden. She let out a breath, and I situated myself. We looked at the flowers.

"Papa's hair is blonde," I started, "and your hair is brown. Dino takes after Papa, so who do I take after? Why do I have red hair?"

"With how often you are in the sun," she said softly, twirling a strand in between her fingers before releasing it to fall on my shoulders once more, "it is far more blonde and like your father's now."

(But I did not want to be like that man)

"Mama," I sighed, knowing what she was doing. She laughed quietly, but that soon turned into violent coughs. I winced and looked away as she composed herself, then felt frail hands pull at my waist. She pulled me closer, and I allowed her to.

"My princess" she started softly, "You have red hair because you take after your Mama," she explained. I scrunched my nose in confusion.

"But you have brown hair," I reminded her.

"I told your father you took after my sister," she explained, ignoring my statement, "and in many ways," she continued, giving me a side glance, "…you do." I was surprised, to say the least.

There was never talk about my mother's family. Taboo, I had deemed it, after coming to dead ends in my attempt to find more information. Mother did not talk about it, and I certainly wasn't going to ask father. She was Russian, and I knew that only because of my name (her name; our name).

She cupped my face and gently turned it towards her:

"Don't tell your father about this."

"Yes, Mama."

"Now," she gave me a small smile, and positioned her me again so that I was facing the bed of flowers we had planted together just year ago (when she wasn't dying). She pointed to a patch of flowers in particular, "what is the meaning of a snapdragon?" I blinked, reviewing its shape and pale pink color, shifting through all the plant and herb information Mother had taught me.

"Graciousness," I replied.

"And deception," my mother responded (coldly?), "Don't ever forget that, my little princess."

I woke up in the bottom of a canyon, and immediately groaned loudly. I rolled over to my side, and allowed myself a breath; I pushed myself up and set to work.

I attempted to climb the wall, knowingly making my way to ledge where I had originally fallen. Even with my slightly more agile and fit new body, being lighter and smaller, it was an endless, impossible climb, the ledge always the same distance no matter how far I ascended. My hands shuddered and bled, and I fell. I rose.

I walked the canyon and trailed the dry river, only to end in the same place. My place marker?

A strange, otherworldly door placed at the bottom of the canyon.

I sat, dust pilfering around me as I did, clinging to my bloodied and cracked feet. And I waited, knowing that if I did nothing, another version of me (her, the me I was then), would come and repeat the mistake that has thrown me into this world. And she did, and I did not follow her through the door, knowing what was behind it. I fell back, not wincing as I hit the harsh ground.

She would find a control room, with a large screen and a small screen. She would see the line of the deceased (something I had never accepted then, but was obvious to me now), and would ignore it, going to the large screen instead. She would look up her own name when prompted by the onscreen question ("search souls"), and playfully, treating this like a game, she would then alter her own profile, until seeing the option of rebirth, where she would choose to be reborn as a sibling of one of her favorite manga characters.

Now, looking back, it had seen so childish, so stupid, and it was no surprise that that version of myself had treated it like a game, that is, until she felt herself fading from existence the moment she chose to be reborn.

And there, I laughed, thinking of this. It was strange, now that I was looking back, that I was separating myself from her. But I made that choice. I made my decision to leave my old family, for what? For nothing?

I lay there, looking up at the sky, my vision bordered by the top of the canyon. I wondered about my brother, who had saw me fall, and had yelled down at me, saying that he was going to get help. We had never gotten along, and he pushed me back in the first place, but he didn't mean it, right? I would like to think so, I would like to hope, and although I love the brother I have now… still, still.

(I should have stayed put)

I thought about my mom, who was always doting and touchy, perhaps too much for my taste, but whose touch I now missed, and whose touch could never be replaced by another's no matter how much I loved her too.

(I could only hope that they assumed I was dead, and had stopped looking. Did they look for me? Did she cry over me?)

I thought about my father, and compared him to the one I had now.

(I wish, sometimes, that I actually died)

I closed my eyes, refusing to watch this nightmare (memory) endlessly play out in front of me, a constant reminder of my mistake.

(I wish I was a clean slate)

Mother was getting worse. Which meant more time with father, which also meant more time with Dino, who was becoming more swept up in failing lessons to prepare him to become the boss. That part was nice, spending time with my brother. Dealing with our father was numbing, as always.

"I have decided," our father stated, clasping his hands together, "that you two are going to learn piano!" I blinked up blankly at his strained smile as Dino fidgeted slightly beside me.

"Why piano?" I asked after a moment, not bothering to sickle my voice to pass as polite. I no longer cared about those things around him.

"Because the piano is the instrument of elegance and grace, my dear princess," Papa recited, a bit dramatically. "Think of the compliments you'll both receive from the family when you play such elegant music for them. The piano is the perfect instrument for you two to learn… and it's the only instrument left that can't be easily broken by Dino," he added quietly.

"Why are we both learning it?" I questioned, slightly distracted as I replayed the numerous musical disasters Dino has caused throughout the process of him learning (or failing to learn) how to play at least one musical instrument.

"Two birds, one stone," Papa replied simply, "And because you have had no ambition to play any instrument we want you to try to learn. For such a prodigy, you are extremely lazy, my princess," he complained with a heavy sigh, showing annoyance for a second. Then, he continued:

"Now, here is your teacher," he stepped away and gestured to the man behind him. "This is Constantin Babineaux, one of the best pianists in France." He began walking out of the room, but stopped to ruffle my hair (something I winced away from, a reaction not going unnoticed by him) and to give us both a stern look. "Be nice. Don't break anything." And with that, he exited.

Constantin looked between Dino and me with a judgmental expression.

"All right, children," he said, French accent thick and heard through the Italian. "Let us begin the lesson."

"This is unbelievable."

"I know, under half an hour; that should break a record or something right?" My sarcastic smile dropped as Papa gave me a stern look from behind his desk, where he sat with his hands rubbing his temples, almost glaring at us. I sighed and gave up my ever-fleeting, cheerful act, and returned to my usual blank expression as I glanced around the room, chewing the inside of my cheek. A disheveled Dino shuffled beside me, also looking around the room, or rather, looking anywhere but our father's direction. Constantin stood behind us, looking quite disheveled himself.

"I will start with the girl," one of the greatest pianists in France began, with much irritation, "You say she is a prodigy? Ha! This girl just sat at the piano without lifting a finger, mocked the art of piano playing, and would have fell asleep if she had not fallen off the bench!" Dino covered his mouth, attempting to hide his chuckles. My father gave me a disapproving, yet unsurprised glance. I simply shrugged.

"I regret nothing," I admitted, then ever-so-gracefully plopped down in one of Papa's office chairs. Constantin gave our father an incredulous look. He shrugged tiredly and gestured to Dino.

"This is normal for her," Papa explained dully, "What did he do?" The Pianist glared down at Dino as he recalled the events.

"I send her," he gestured to me, "out in the hallway to focus on this one," he roughly jabbed a finger towards Dino, "believing that he would be better than his sister. As you can see," he gestured at himself and my brother, "I was drastically wrong." Clearly confused, Papa raised an eyebrow and looked at Dino, who rubbed the back of his head and looked away.

"Yeah…. We need a new piano," Dino muttered quietly.

"Papa," I inputted, politely, for Dino's sake, "You don't want to know what happened." Our father's eye twitched.

"Sadly, this is normal for him too," Papa admitted with an exasperated sigh. Constantin looked between us with a confused expression.

"Normal? This is normal? A lazy prodigy and a clumsy heir?" We all nodded, for once, in unison. I sighed, slumping further and not even bothering to look at the pianist, dryly addressing him:

"Welcome to our family."

(You forgot the distant, overbearing father, I almost said)

(You forgot the dying mother)

Why did I hate my father in this life?

For one, he was a traditionalist. Which, in this world I was born into (mafia), it meant two things: in his eyes, I was a spare, and lower because of my gender. He was the discrete type of sexist, where it wasn't obvious but he would rather me not learn some things that Dino did. Naturally, I rebelled against it, and learned what I wanted, outing myself as a 'prodigy' as he haughtily labeled me; but I knew he would only use me as a talking point, a trophy to flaunt. That was my use for him, the spare prodigal heir that perhaps one day would be married off to an influential family. And although that rubbed me wrong as soon as I realized this, that wasn't the root of my dislike towards our father;

It was his treatment of Dino. While our father did his best to nearly distance me, Dino, on the other hand, was smothered with lessons and duties, all in hopes of forcing him to be a great boss. But force didn't work with Dino. At least, not the kind that out father was using. He was getting desperate, and although Dino was too young and naive to see that our family was falling apart due to financial issues, I noticed. And our father knew that.

(He never liked my eyes, he never really liked meeting them)

(Was it because I knew of his glaring faults, or was it because I had the eyes of his dying wife?)

But he loved his wife, and that I can tell. Although waning with her death, he was genuine about this love.

I was very close to my mother in this life, but that was due to relation. We both had something to hide, after all. She knew I was different. She didn't just simply pass me off as a grand prodigy like Father, or even Dino. But she didn't pry. Maybe it was because she knew she didn't have the time left to pry.

I didn't pry either, but it might as well have been for the same reason. I saw glimpses of her past she was so careful to hide from others, yet let slip through her usual exterior with me. Maybe she was tired. I knew I was, and I hadn't even been in this new, yet familiar world, for barely four years.

I saw a picture once. It was the only material hint I had seen from my mother's past. When I entered the room, it was hidden, but when she saw it was just me, my mother relaxed and pulled the picture out. I had asked her what it was, thinking I wouldn't get an answer.

"Memories, my little princess," She replied pulling me into the wheelchair with her. She traced her fingers over the faces of the three young women in the picture. All of them happy, smiling. Her fingers lingered on the middle woman, who had wild, deep red hair and green eyes like Mama's. I only noticed the young woman on the right had the exact same eyes as Mama and the exact same smile, before the picture was hidden by my mother.

"Don't tell your father about this," she whispered as she pulled me into a hug.

"Yes, Mama."

Our little secret to keep from Papa. The secret we were keeping? I have no ambition to find out. Not now, not when I can still spend time with her.

And lately, that time had been running out.

(she was dying, and this entire time, I knew she would; there had never been any mention of Dino's mother in the original story, but now?)

(That was my dying mother too)

"Cloud, will you put carnations by my bed?"

(She was dying, more so today than ever)

"Yes, Mama."

(My feet hurt from standing by her bed for so long. My eyes were heavy, and so were hers, usual newly minted green now so clouded)

"And Dino, where is he, where is my sweet boy?"

(She coughed, and there was blood when her hand fell to her side again. My own hand gripped her covers, tight and painful)

"At school, Mama."

(He wouldn't be here to say goodbye; he'll cry when he hears the news. Father was in a meeting, conveniently absent. There was a chair set up for him, empty, at her side)

"Aha, making friends, I hope? He's always been an awkward, but happy boy. I want to send you to school too, you know. You should make friends, my princess, I'm sure the other children would love you..."

(I didn't want to leave her side; I didn't want her to leave)

"I like learning on my own, Mama."

(I like staying here with you)

"Yes, our little prodigy… you're going to be a beautiful force…. One day…"

(Her hand was almost cold as it touched my cheek. There was blood on it)

"Mama?"

(I reached up to close her eyes, open and staring above)

"….."

(I left the blood smeared on my cheek. I was alone in the room)

"Goodnight, Mama."

Dino cried at her funeral.

Papa stared straight ahead.

I was numb to everything.

That night, I had the same dream again, and found myself back in the canyon. I climbed until my hands were bleeding, and I walked, preparing to do so until my feet were in the same condition. But soon, bare feet met carpet and I walked into a familiar room. I stared, blankly, refusing recognition at the corpse that lay on the bed. The girl who stood next to it –

Because this figure, this girl, she was no longer me, because I was different now, wasn't I?

– She stared at me, indifferently, dare I say, cruelly. And she smiled.

"This is your fault too you know. This is a choice you made."

I woke up, tears streaming from my eyes, with a gurgled yell in my throat. A single sob, and I folded in on myself, allowing my small body to rivet with moans as I wrapped my blankets around me and soiled them with my snot and tears.

I allowed myself loss,

(of her, of them)

and this time, I did not let myself repress it.

Dino Cavallone, his own eyes still red due to the day's event (his own mother's funeral), stared blearily down, eyes on the small, sniffling child who had knocked on his door in the middle of the night. Blonde hair (tinted with red) disheveled, and her green eyes vibrant against irritated pink, she almost winced as she looked up at her brother.

"I just thought…" she murmured, before turning and trying to leave, "Never mind, it's stupid –

"Hey," Dino called softly, stepping out to gently catch her arm, "it's fine. If you need to... you can sleep here tonight, okay?"

And for the first time, with her looking back at him, Dino saw his sister as vulnerable; something that he needed to protect. Never, since she was born, had Cloud appeared the age she was supposed to be around Dino. His sister had always been calm and confident (bored even) and Dino had always envied that, along with her close relationship to their mother. But seeing her like this? Sniveling and a mess, like a child who truly missed their recently deceased mother?

Truly, he felt like the older sibling, and welcomed this role with strong arms and resolution. Cloud sobbed once, and he pulled her close to him, allowing his little sister to cry into his chest, and in that moment?

Dino swore to protect her.

(But who would protect him? Was he not a child too?)

At the price of our mother's death, Dino and I became closer. But of course, that's a rather harsh way to phrase it (but it doesn't denote the truth of the statement). Throughout the next year, Dino and I had been doing more things together, aiding each other more, whether it was me helping him with his contentiously growing amount of work from both school and our father, or Dino helping me escape my stifling tutors that helped me in no way in the first place, we were bonding more. It was making my father uneasy, but these days, I figured my presence in general did that.

(But wouldn't you feel haunted too, having an image of your dead wife still following you?)

I met Squalo about a year later as well, and it would be proper to say that we didn't get off to best start. Not to say I recognized him immediately; he was younger, and hadn't grown out his hair yet, of course, but his voice was still rather distinctive and grating. Which led to me to a dry quip asking why he was in our library in the first place, which led him to snarking back, and in the end, Dino entered, finding a rather irritated but amused Squalo holding me by my collar, swearing at the teen in the six different languages I knew.

"Voi, pipsqueak!" The future sword emperor greeted as my brother walked in and immediately paled upon seeing my position and the excited yet dooming sneer on Squalo's face, "The fuck you didn't tell me you had a kid sister, huh?!"

My and Squalo's meeting was the start of a blossoming acquaintanceship (and the great extension of my already colorful vocabulary). Unfortunately for Dino, it was already the start of more migraines.

(And life goes on)

"This is the fourth tutor." My eyes angrily moved away from my father's as he looked down at me disapprovingly. He sighed sadly and put his head in his hands, and after a moment he looked at me again. "You can't keep this up, Princess."

I almost winced at the pet-name, something that had once had an endearing feeling behind it, but now felt hollow (but it wasn't like he was going to use my nickname, now widely used and adored by the family; and he certainly wasn't going to use her name, even though they named me that in hopes of him loving me more after her passing).

(Mothers didn't always know best)

"You and I both know that you're making your tutors angry on purpose in order to scare them off. Why are you doing this? You have so much potential and promise, yet you won't let these people help you, teach you! They are trying to sculpt you into something great. Why won't you let them?"

"Maybe I don't want to be sculpted. I don't understand why I need tutors," I argued bitterly. "I can learn just as much on my own."

"Princess-" This time I did I winced at the name, and he stopped. "… is this about your mother?" I bit my bottom lip. He looked at me with sad sunken eyes. "I know you two were close," he continued slowly, pained, "but you can't just give up all your potential just because she's gone and you're sad." I clenched my fists. I didn't want to look at my father.

He was different, ever since she died. He was more tired than ever before. He barely acknowledged me (ignored blatantly), and he only talked to Dino when it was family related. I knew those talks were only making Dino more nervous about becoming boss. I knew about the financial problems the family was having. I noticed more lines and gray hairs and I noticed how he gave up easily when dealing with me now. I noticed him wince a little bit every time he looked me in the eyes. I noticed these things, but I still acted out. I knew I shouldn't. But I'm a child. I'm a child who wants her father's love. I'm a child who wants her father's love for being myself and not just a sculpted, hollow trophy of a perfect princess. A child who wanted her father's love, even when well aware of the fact that she was never going to get it. I want my father to look at me without being hurt just because I have the eyes of his dead wife.

(but I don't want him to say my name, because the sad hollow echo to it will hurt us both)

(this, this is the lie I told myself when dealing with him)

"I don't want to be confined," I started slowly. "I feel caged. They expect so much out of me. They don't see me as a kid, Papa. I don't like that." The words felt childish as I said them. 'I don't like that'. Yet, even if it sounded childish, this reached a much deeper level for me. In my old life, I was normal. I was an average student. I was never above ordinary, or a 'prodigy' like I am now. At first, when Mother was alive, I liked being this prodigy. I thrived on it at some points. But, maybe that was only because I had Mama there to pull be back. She knew my secret, without even being told the details of it. She saw through my illusion, and kept me grounded. But with her gone, I'm looked upon with high-regarding eyes. And I don't like that.

I feel pressured. I feel like if I make one mistake, miss one little thing that is expected of me, then I lose. And if I lose that, it's the only thing I have left in my father's eyes.

"I don't like that," I repeated numbly. "I'm not a trophy."

"Princess, you're acting childish-"

"I am a child," I snapped at him. "I'm just a kid, and these tutors don't see that! I don't need those kinds of tutors, Papa. You think you're pushing me to be my best, but it's just making me feel more confined. And while we're on it, you're putting too much pressure on Dino, and it's getting to-"

"That's enough!" I shut my mouth, and slunk back in my chair, well aware I had gone too far. "If your mother saw the way you're acting now she wo-"

"Don't you dare say that!" I shot up out of my chair. "Don't bring her into this!" I balled my fist and looked down, eyes stinging. I took a few breaths to calm down, before turning towards the door.

"Do you think you even knew her, Papa?" I asked him quietly with my back turned.

"…. No, I don't think I did, princess."

(Do you think she ever loved you?)

"The Sword Emperor?" Squalo nodded.

"I'm going to take him down," he said gruffly, looking up from his school work. "One day. I've already defeated plenty of sword masters."

"You think you can do it?" I questioned. He scoffed.

"You doubting me brat?"

"What made you think that?" I shot back at him. "I was just asking if you thought you can do it. Do you believe in yourself?"

"Of course I do, brat!" He bonked me on the head. I stuck my tongue out and rubbed the spot he hit me, but noticed that he held back.

"Good. 'Cause it's going to happen someday," I said firmly. He raised an eyebrow.

"How do you know?" I shrugged in response.

"Hunch." He scoffed at my response, and returned to his work just as Dino burst through the library doors, looking extremely stressed and tired.

"Voi! Where the hell have you been, pipsqueak?!"

"Sorry, Squalo," Dino laughed nervously. I tried not to react to the obviously forced laugh. "I was at the hospital. Family business, you know." Squalo's eyes narrowed, but he didn't ask.

(He was dying, I thought, and almost felt guilt at the satisfaction that brought)

"Whatever, Pipsqueak. Let's just get this project over with."

"You guys got put together again?" I asked.

"Why else would I be here, brat?" Squalo pointed out. I thought for a moment, then shrugged.

"I don't know. I didn't really think about why you were here," I admitted, sheepishly, "I just noticed that you were here, you know?" They stared at me with deadpan expressions.

"…. Don't you have something better to do than bother us?" Squalo asked, deciding to move on from my obliviousness. "Go play outside with your imaginary friends like a normal brat. Go play with your fucking doll! You're, what? Seven or something?"

"Five," I corrected.

"Doesn't matter," Squalo continued, with a slightly twitching eye, "You're so smart and everything, so shouldn't you have school or work or something?"

"Nah," I shook my head, "I have tutors and stuff, but the work is easy. I don't think Papa's planning on sending me to school either."

"Cloud's somewhat of a prodigy," Dino explained with a proud smile. I smiled brightly at the two. Squalo raised an eyebrow at my expression.

"A prodigy, huh?" His eyes narrowed and he leaned closer to me. My smile dropped and my expression became neutral. "Let's have a pop quiz then, brat. Nine times nine."

"81."

"First twelve decimal points in Pi?"

"One, four, one, five, nine, two, six, five, three, five, eight, and nine. "

"The answer to the sphinx's riddle?"

"Man."

"How are you today?" He asked me in English.

"Good, thank you for asking," I replied, then becoming annoyed, asked, "Are you done yet?" He scowled and looked around the room, trying to think of something else to quiz me on. He looked down at the paper he and Dino were supposed to be working on and slowly slid it closer to him so he could read it.

"What is the name of the treaty that ended the standoff between the Beccio and the Nuevo?"

"…. I'm not doing your work for you," I replied blankly.

"Oh? So you don't know the answer?" Squalo replied with a smug smirk. I scoffed.

"Of course I do," I easily bluffed.

"Then why don't you answer the question?"

"Because I'm not going to do your work…. Unless you pay me appropriately, that is." He raised an eyebrow.

"And what would that be, brat?"

I hummed thoughtfully.

"Actually money, maybe?" I replied rubbing my fingers together, intentionally being obnoxious, "I'm not going to just work for free, you know?" He snorted. Dino, who had been watching our exchange with wide eyes, sighed and plopped his head on the table.

"I'm not paying a little brat. That's ridiculous," Squalo said defiantly.

"Then I'm not doing your work for you."

"Then I guess you don't know the answer." Dino put his hand over my mouth to silence me before I could continue this endless argument.

"Please," he pleaded, looking between both of us, "Stop. This could easily go on forever. Let's just get this over with before you two go after each other's throats. Please." Squalo and I blinked, exchanged looks, then went back to what we were doing before; Squalo to his homework and me to my book. Dino sighed in relief once it was truly peaceful again, the tension from our endless loop completely gone.

"I swear, Squalo," Dino muttered quietly, "You have more sibling arguments with my sister than I do."

(But there was a smile behind his exasperation: he was happy to see me happy, to see me act like a kid. To be obnoxious and to laugh. That's what kids my age were supposed be like, weren't they? Annoying their older siblings and their friends? That's what normal kids did, right?)

(But when has his little sister ever been normal?)

"The fuck kind of name is 'Cloud' anyway," Superbi Squalo roughly stated, eyes darting back to the library they had just left. Dino laughed lightly, tripping slightly over a bump in the carpet, but regaining his balance before answering.

"Ah, well that's just a nick name," Dino explained with a lazy grin, eyes nostalgic and thinking back, "Cloud's not her real name. She just doesn't like people using her real name because…." And here, he trailed off with a frown. Squalo's eyes narrowed, and a spark of annoyance flickered.

"Because of what, huh?! Spit it out, Pipsqueak!" He snapped irritably.

"She's named after our mom, you know?" Dino said raising his hand to comb through his hair and then rub the back of his head, "and since she died, well… you know."

And Superbi Squalo's eyes barely grew softer; he did know. His mouth formed in a hard line, and he quickened his pace, leaving his host behind before they could reach the main doors.

The next day, he returned with a gift in hand.

"A doll?" Cloud repeated, holding it in her hands (but gently, he noticed, and Dino too, seeing the kind glow in his sister's eyes).

"The fuck, you don't like it?" Squalo said, leaning forward with his hand out, "You're a little girl, aren't you? What else am I supposed to get you, huh? If you don't fucking like it then I'll take it back, you li –

"No!" And she blinked, realizing that the word had come out rather aggressively. She released her arms, where they had instinctively hugged the doll to her. "I mean," she said, her body suddenly growing stiff and proper as she politely bowed, "Thank you for the gift."

Then, growing informal once more (acting much more like herself), she moved forward, grabbing Squalo's arm and bringing his face to her level, where she lightly pecked him on the cheek.

"It was really sweet," she admitted, repressing giggles as Squalo's face heated. She quickly retreated however, and wisely so, leaving Dino's to Squalo's outburst.

"WHAT THE FUCK, YOU BRAT, YOU CAN'T JUST FUCKING DO THAT TO PEOPLE!"

("Cloud, how can you just abandon me, you know these floors are slippery!")

The young girl giggled as she ran, holding her new beloved gift to her with care.

Dear Mama,

Just how do you start a letter to the dead? I put dear, because you're dear to me, but will it always be that way? Will you will be dear to me as you are now, in ten years? Will I forget the endearment we felt towards each other, and the relationship we shared, when no one else could share it with us? It wasn't a perfect fit of course. No secret is ever the same, but we still related on the point that we had secrets and we had to keep them. I don't know what your secret was and I'm happy with that. Your secret was your shadow, but mine is a whole world.

I miss you. Papa isn't the same since you died. In fact, he's dying himself; completely giving up on life. Of course, I won't blame him for that, since you did the exact same thing. Is that what dying is? Giving up on everything? If that's true, then I don't want that. I refuse to give up on others, on my family. I refuse to give up on Dino. Papa told me yesterday that I had to take care of him, that I have to protect Dino. It was one of those rare moments when there was light in his eyes again. But, that light faded all too quickly.

I miss you. Dino does too, but he pushes it back. He's focusing on the family right now. He's trying to get ready to fix the mess Papa made. He's scared, Mama, and I am too because I have to protect him. I hope that when Reborn comes, everything will be fixed. Of course, that's the same as saying, I hope when Papa dies everything will be fixed. It's almost like he's dead already.

(I wish he was dead already)

There's a certain numbness I feel when thinking about Papa. I know he feels that same because that same, hollowness is in his eyes when he looks at me. I remind him too much of you. He said that to me once, a few weeks after you died and he had been drinking. He drinks a lot now. I remembered that, but I don't think he did. I'll be sad when he dies, but just that (barely that). He could never reach the degree of closeness we had between us and our secrets. You were my comforter. And now, without you, I have no one to confide in, to share my secret with. I'm not sure how I feel about that yet. Maybe I was not meant to share this secret with anyone. I don't like that, Mama. I miss you. I miss them to. I miss and regret that I left them so much.

Writing letters to the dead is useless, because the only response is silence. I'm burning this as soon as I'm done. I need to push past this, or at least push it back enough where it doesn't affect me. I can't let these deaths and losses affect me. Maybe, I'll write to you again someday, when I feel like I need the comfort, but for now, your silent response is enough. I'm still a child. I have to remember that.

Love,

(indistinguishable scribbling)

Cloud

He was dying of a broken heart and emptiness; but that was something they had both come to terms with long ago. Dino, however? It was as if there was a block, as if truth was not getting through. He didn't want to take over the family. He never did, and he certainly wasn't prepared for it now. Ah, but death was petty and unyielding (but they already knew this).

What a perfect little actress I made, and I was sure my dead father would agree. Did I feel guilty for feeling nothing at his death? No; the only thing he had given to us in the past few years was immense pressure and anxiety to his son, pushing him to become a perfect boss and fix the unfixable, expecting his heir to clean the mess that Father himself had made, and to do so perfectly. Dino could smile all he wanted for my sake, but I was sure he knew I could easily see though it? And yet?

Dino cried when our father died, and ran from the room. And in turn, I stepped up, and held the frail hand that reached out for me. I suppose I wasn't the only actor in the family (I had to received the trait from somewhere, after all).

"Take care of him, please," he rasped weakly.

"You have the audacity to ask me that again, now?" I told him quietly, our conversation going unheard to the other ears in the room.

"I do not ask for my sake," he told me, grip loosening on my hand, and I let it fall. "Please, do it for him… Ni….."

And his hand fell limp, completely. I let his eyes remain open, staring into nothingness. One of our men, one of Dino's men, closed them, and I stared, nearly as lifeless as him.

Who was I to act so full of life in the first place? I was living in a stolen body, with a family that I had handpicked, not knowing of my intrusion into their world. This world had long ago stopped being a story to me, to the point where I question if I had thought it was story in the first place. Since the moment I was born, this had been far too real to consider fiction. This was real, but I'll be damned if I didn't want my family to have a happy ending.

And that family? It was no longer what it was.

(A mother in hiding, a father, distant and overbearing, a brother, distressed, and a sister, blank and uncaring)

This house was no longer fit for dolls, but that didn't mean I couldn't turn this world into a playing field with the information I held.

(Is this, I thought vaguely, holding up my hand and looking at it, feeling energy hum through it, is this was resolve feels like?)

I blinked, once and slowly. For their sake, I lifted my dead father's hand and kissed in gently before rising. I smiled, and made it sad and light.

"We should go greet our guest," I addressed the men, holding myself and adhering to image of the young Cavallone princess. I took a deep breath and walked out of the room, preparing for the future ahead.

Because I knew what was coming next, and I'll be damned if I'm not going to take advantage of it.

AN:

So, I decided to redo this story, basically (kind of?), because honestly, I was not happy with where it was. Like, every time I saw someone review/follow it, I kind of died a little inside because I didn't want people to see it? So instead of deleting it completely (something I didn't really want to do, mostly because of all you wonderful people, and because I really do love these characters and relationships), or just leave it as it (which, morally for me, is not an option), I decided to delete the chapters instead of the entire thing, and redo the story.

To my old readers: Hello lovely people. For you, this can be a nice refresher of sorts? Most of the changes will be in early chapters, and a lot of what I'm doing it cutting down Cloud's childhood arcs, changing a few things (like making her "name" a nickname instead of her real name), and in the end, I'm going with an endgame pairing. Plot wise, however, not much will change, big picture wise? But it will be different than my first draft, so I hope you enjoy and continue to review and such!

Really, a big difference in the beginning is that Cloud is going to be a lot more mellow (and depressed, honestly), and then the more she's in the world of KHR and interacting with characters, the more high-strung and fun she's going to get. (And honestly, it's mostly because of Reborn. Not entirely, but mostly. Eh, throw the Varia into the blame mix too).

Also, I will be using the name Cavallone, because I like it better, and I've been using it for WHMTH.

To new readers: Welcome new, lovely people! I hope you enjoy this story, and feel free to review, follow, and favorite! As my usual readers know, I love to talk to you guys and I always try my best to respond.

Blog: If you follow my other story What Her Mother Taught Her, then you already might be aware of my tumblr blog I have set up for my stories (primarily, it's for WHMTH, but I can answer and reblog things having to do with my other stories as well). It's under the url she-has-her-fathers-eyes, and you can drop by anytime to ask questions or even submit fan art! If you look at my profile, here on fanfiction, there's already some fanart for this story, along with a reference chart for Cloud's scars and tattoos. Currently, I am working on OC character sheets, so you guys can request what characters you want me to draw out (you know, when we get to that point in this story for my new readers; old readers who are already aware, can request away), or even request scenes or headcanons. Since I will have a definite endgame for this story this time around, this is probably where you'll get your fluff for the ships you support.

Review Response:

note: I apologize if I didn't get to respond to any recent reviews; I recently was forced to switch my email that connects to fanfiction, and thus lost some reviews that way (seeing that I use my email when responding to reviews)

Guest: Oho~ If you stick around long enough, you'll see some Cloud and Chrome pairings, my friend~ Thanks for the review!

Naliyu: Haha, glad you enjoyed hope! Hope you enjoy this big huge revision as well! Thanks for the review!

-Evenly

Edit: (I forgot about this, lmao) So someone kindly reminded me of the rule that reviewers can't review twice on a chapter, so that may bar someone of you older readers from reviewing, so I apologize for that. I mostly didn't want you guys to lose your alert on this story, hence me not deleting the entire thing. If you still want to comment, you can either leave a guest review, or just PM, whichever is chill with you guys~

Thanks guys and love you all!