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Just Communication
__________________________________________________________
Michiko guardian give Selene a book. A book of Anime Culture
Like the guard know she always boast about Anime
and choose to give the book to other people
Selene read.
Her fingers tracing kanji and the translation.
Anime culture.
Opening songs.
Tropes.
Weaknesses.
Strengths.
Everything was a weapon.
Including this absurd girl with a red umbrella and a voice louder than Imperial sirens.
Selene decided.
I will use her.
One day.
Somewhere.
She will shatter court silence like glass.
And I will aim her at my enemies.
__________________________________________________________
They walked together through the marble halls.
Winter sun bled through stained glass.
Then —
Music.
Soft.
Flawless.
A pianist — alone — lost inSwan Lake.
Her age?
Maybe fourteen.
Maybe fifteen.
But her world was far older.
Cécile Renard.
Daughter of no House.
Grandchild of no Empire.
Just — fingers on ivory keys.
Making ghosts dance.
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Selene and Michiko stopped.
Only three girls in the golden hall.
Silence wrapped them like velvet.
Until —
Disaster.
__________________________________________________________
Tap tap tap tap tap—
Michiko stormed across the polished floor — straight to the pianist.
Umbrella still in hand.
No title.
No permission.
No hesitation.
She leaned over the grand piano — wide-eyed.
"Are you watching anime?"
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Cécile blinked.
Still playing.
Still perfect.
"...What is anime?"
__________________________________________________________
Selene, standing nearby, closed her book slowly.
Another one.
Another victim.
Another target for future chaos deployment.
__________________________________________________________
But Michiko wasn't done.
She sat down beside Cécile.
Like this was a park bench.
Like this was a street corner in Kyoto.
Like royalty meant nothing.
__________________________________________________________
Her finger crashed — hard — onto random piano keys.
But —
It wasn't noise.
It wasn't mess.
It was melody.
Broken.
Strange.
But rhythm hiding in violence.
__________________________________________________________
Cécile froze.
Eyebrows narrowing.
"...What is that now?"
__________________________________________________________
Michiko grinned.
Like she was the Emperor herself.
"Just Communication."
__________________________________________________________
Silence.
Cécile tilted her head slightly.
"...What."
Cécile blinked again.
Processing like a soldier hearing code in a foreign tongue.
"Ah... communication."
She nodded, polite.
"Like Morse Code. I understand. Thank you for your... communication to me."
__________________________________________________________
Selene almost sighed.
Michiko smiled brighter — oblivious to the cultural collapse behind her.
She forgot to tell them.
Forgot the absurd truth.
Forgot that Just Communication was her favorite anime opening song.
__________________________________________________________
In this dead, frozen Empire —
Three girls sat around a piano.
Speaking languages none of them understood.
But somehow —
Selene knew.
This moment would never leave her.
Not because it was beautiful.
But because it was absurd.
Because it was real.
And because in this cursed world —
Sometimes the most dangerous thing was not silence.
But communication.
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The Fox in Swan Lake
__________________________________________________________
Evening settled over Den Haag like silk.
The gardens of Huis ten Bosch turned golden — trees casting long, royal shadows across marble paths and sleeping roses.
Three girls walked side by side.
Like nobles.
Like daughters of empire.
Like children playing make-believe in a crumbling world.
Selene — quiet as ever.
Michiko — twirling her red umbrella like a sword.
Cécile — arms behind her back, steps too graceful for someone without a crown.
__________________________________________________________
They walked.
They talked.
They laughed.
And for once — Selene didn't calculate their movements like troops on a map.
She simply walked.
__________________________________________________________
"You're so graceful, Cecile!" Michiko grinned.
"Like, too graceful."
"You walk like you're in a musical."
"Have you read too many princess novels or something?"
__________________________________________________________
Cécile smiled.
But not innocently.
Not shyly.
She smiled like a fox in a chapel.
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"You know Swan Lake, yes?"
Both girls nodded.
Selene: "Tchaikovsky."
Michiko: "Classic."
Cécile's eyes glinted in the dusk.
"Tchaikovsky is my grandfather."
__________________________________________________________
Silence.
Not shock.
Not reverence.
Just confusion.
Selene blinked.
"...Wait."
Michiko tilted her head.
"Your accent..."
She leaned in.
Eyes narrowing.
"Are you... Russ citizen?"
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Cécile's grin widened.
Selene spoke flatly:
"Of course she is, Chiko."
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Michiko pointed dramatically.
"Then what's your real name, huh?"
__________________________________________________________
Cécile stopped.
Turned.
The wind caught her pale curls just enough to make her look like a ghost of nobility.
She curtsied.
With theatrical grace.
And said:
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"Atyusha Isakovsky."
__________________________________________________________
Silence.
Both Selene and Michiko stared like they'd just seen a spell cast.
"Aht-yu...sha?"
"Eye-sa-koff...?"
Michiko fumbled.
"Wait, say it again!"
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Cécile bowed her head politely.
"Atyusha Isakovsky."
__________________________________________________________
Selene blinked.
"...That's not real."
"It is," Atyusha smirked.
__________________________________________________________
Michiko threw up her hands.
"Nope. That's it. I'm calling you..."
She paused.
Snapped her fingers.
"Shaty!"
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Atyusha raised an eyebrow.
"...What does that even mean?"
Michiko grinned.
"Short for Shady Tchaikovsky."
Selene finally exhaled through her nose.
Not a laugh.
But something close.
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And just like that —
The sun dipped behind the palace.
And three girls — from three empires — kept walking.
No longer strangers.
But not yet friends.
Just... pieces on a grand board.
Unaware how many wars would one day remember this day.
When Selene, Michiko, and Atyusha first walked as one.
Then she reach a tombstone of Tatiana Romanov Aethelwald.
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