Night draped Mondstadt in laughter and ale. Near midnight, tavern roars still spilled along the streets like foam on the city's wind.
Outside Rosalyne's suite at the Goethe Hotel, two Electro Cicin Mages stood guard, ears tilted toward the door.
"Why's it so quiet in there?"
"Beats me. I heard Lady Signora brought that handsome outsider to our 'of-fice' at dusk and ordered—no joke—every dish and every bottle."
"All that just to take a single sip of each?"
"Lady Signora isn't a foodie… and she's never shut herself in her room with a man this long."
They traded a look.
"You think she's in danger?"
"Don't be ridiculous. Our lady—danger?"
They didn't know the entire room was wrapped in a telekinetic barrier.
Inside, Rosalyne sounded like someone crying for help from the bottom of the sea.
She felt like she was dying.
No choking, no strangling—yet her lungs refused rhythm, breath snagging on invisible hooks. Sight smeared. Limbs hummed with numb heat, as though someone had poured quicksilver through her veins. Her thoughts came apart in soft shreds.
Only when the fire in her body crested and broke—only then—did the Crimson Witch know a moment of calm.
Su Xuan drifted to the window and looked out over Mondstadt's night.
After a day of hauling timber and stone, the citizens were back to their favorite sport—losing themselves.
How very Mondstadt.
He checked the hour. Still time left in the day.
A thought, and the diary flickered to life.
[Diary]
Got back to Mondstadt this afternoon and was ambushed at the gates by the Eighth Harbinger.
Rosalyne-Kruzchka-Lohefalter. The Crimson Witch of Flames. That's… a mouthful.
From what I know of her—arrogant, imperious, chin-high at all times…
Mm. The type that dies early.
Rosalyne, limp and boneless, caught the glow from the corner of her eye.
Die? The word slammed through the fog. She clawed herself upright and rasped:
"You're going to kill me?"
Su Xuan blinked.
"I said you're the 'dies-early' type, not that I'd be the one to do it."
"Kindly be quiet until I finish my entry."
The quill in his mind continued.
[Diary]
If I hadn't shown up in this world, she would've completed her mission just fine.
Barbatos and the Tsaritsa share… an understanding. With a bit of theater and a lot of sandbagging, the Mondstadt Gnosis would've been hers.
And then she'd have kept working—because she's a model employee. Liyue next. Then Inazuma.
Problem is, Barbatos and Morax are gentle. She mistook that for the world being gentle.
In Inazuma, she never grasped that the one on the throne wasn't Ei but the Shogun puppet. She lost the duel to the blonde traveler… and the Shogun doesn't care about Fatui-Tsaritsa relations.
You lose a duel—you die. One Musou no Hitotachi later: the Crimson Witch becomes the Ashen Witch.
What makes it tragic? She went to Tenshukaku to "negotiate" a Gnosis that her colleague had already acquired at the Delusion Factory.
And that colleague—Lightning-For-Brains—didn't tell her. Because he wanted front-row seats to her execution.
The watchers across Teyvat stared, equal parts unsurprised and appalled.
Rosalyne's voice cracked into a snarl:
"Scaramouche! The little cur set me up!"
She didn't know who "Lightning Cannon" was, but a certain ball-kicking puppet came immediately to mind.
The diary scrolled on.
[Diary]
To her credit, she was very courteous tonight. Brought me to the Goethe, ordered the entire menu, poured from her private cabinet.
I had a bite of everything, enough to get pleasantly drowsy.
After that…
She invited me to her private room with even better wine.
Her hospitality was so earnest I almost felt bad.
And the price she offered for the Gnosis? Acceptable.
We talked a long time, and—I decided to tell her about her future. Call it reciprocation for a generous host.
Ah, she's calling again. Looks like she's prepared the finest suite in the hotel for my use tonight.
Anyway. She can preen at the world all she likes; to me, she's respectful, and that's enough.
All across the city, women reading the diary fell silent.
Respectful? When the man in question could hurl Nails from the Heavens, who wouldn't be?
Back at Lisa's, Jean, Lisa, and Eula were gathered around the same warm lamplight.
Jean hugged her knees and buried her face.
"It was careless of me. I wasn't nearly as… warm as she was."
Lisa squeezed her shoulder.
"Give it a day or two and try again. Don't beat yourself up."
(The truth Lisa didn't say: if Rosalyne had been "warm," most of it had been pleading by now.)
In the hotel suite, Rosalyne watched Su Xuan approach, fear warring with fury.
"We… haven't even named the price. Why write as if we had?"
"Notice how I didn't write a number?" Su Xuan gave her the look one reserves for a particularly slow aristocrat.
"Tomorrow, bring something symbolic. A gesture."
"That… works?"
"You're a Harbinger. I doubt you'll be stingy."
She stared. Five centuries of storms in politics and war, and tonight was the first time she felt utterly at a loss for words.
Su Xuan clapped his hands lightly, smiling.
"If not for me, you'd still die in Inazuma. Be grateful."
He flipped the Qian-Kun Mirror in his palm. Sheets straightened themselves; the room rewound to immaculate.
"Five hundred years old and sulking like a child. If you can stand, go freshen up. The night is long."
Rosalyne jolted.
"W-wait. The mirror—if it can rewind my state, can you… shine it on me? I'm… not in good shape."
Su Xuan's eyes lowered. The corner of his mouth lifted.
"You want me to reset the field I so painstakingly tilled—back to zero?"
"Perish the thought."
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