Weiss's hands tugged at the hem of her dress; it was just long enough that her upper back rounded for her to reach. Her hands were batted away by Margret, who had walked her to this point where they would part. Instead, her posture straightened and hands switched to smoothing invisible wrinkles in the top part of the garment. This was not an uncommon ritual, perhaps more or less frequent than other households, but eating a meal in the evening together was not a foreign occurrence; in fact, it was most every night, with rarely three missed in a week by her father and nearly never by her mother, sister, and herself.

"Stop that. You look fine." assured Margret despite patting the short sleeves of the dress.

A deep breath was all the response the handmaiden was given, shaky from the strain of inhaling a bit too much and exhaling a bit too slowly. A hand slid over Weiss's waist and gently pushed against the small of her back as the handmaiden walked behind her, passing the door they had paused before and leaving for the servants' dining room. Weiss stood straighter at the touch, her breath catching and her chest so slightly arcing forward; she settled her body back into its proper stance and raised a hand, resting the palm on the smooth and cool door.

The dark grain gave way to the warm orange light of the setting sun, angled to fill the room with light but not face in directly in a manner that would be blinding. Dinner time had once followed the sun even as the day length changed through the year, but a few winters ago the time had stopped moving while the sun went to bed earlier and earlier - hiding from the snowy season and necessitating the use of lights in this room. Although decorated with paintings, carved moulding, and a fireplace, there was a modesty exuded from sparsity. What dominated the room was a long wooden table that matched the double doors Weiss had entered from, doors replicated on the same wall but farther down.

A bouquet of flowers and two empty candelabras were centred on the table. At the end closest to the fireplace and the servant door to the kitchen, only place settings rested atop it. Four places were set, and two occupied, the two beside each other along the long edge opposite the doors. The heiress stepped forward, the sound of the door shutting softly accentuating the sound of one of her footfalls; despite her light gait there was nothing in the room to muffle the noise nor voices to drown it out. A fleeting notion considered just how long her mother and sister had sat quietly, snuffed before a nagging voice could put words in the nascent thought that perhaps it was not so up until her entrance.

As the heiress pulled out her chair her eyes flitted to the empty seat on her right before she sat down. She looked to the remaining vacancy's plate at the head of the table, then her mother's, sister's, and finally her right wrist. "Good evening." she said as the hand she was looking at reached for her water glass and brought it to her lips.

"Yes. Weiss, dear, do be sure to meet your companions' gaze when you greet them, and outside familiar company remember to do so before sitting down." said her mother, upbraiding her eldest in a tone soft enough that it failed to carry throughout the room.

"Yes Mother," replied the heiress, looking up to her mother's face, her own soft - neither drawn nor smiling - whilst her hand deftly replaced the glass. "and with a curtsy too, or at least nothing less than a bow of one's head."

Her mother smiled and the heiress nodded, leaving her head down to stare the hands clasped in her lap. A moment later she glanced up at Winter, upon which she noticed that the younger girl's attention was toward the far corner of the room. Following the path she raised her head and settled on a painting beside the double doors farther from their end of the table, off-set enough so as to not be in the shadow of the side wall nor obscured were the doors to be propped open. Depicted within the frame was a field of sunflowers under a white-clouded sky, broken by sunlight only toward the back of the field, beyond which the top of the Atlesian skyline was just barely shadowed. She couldn't quite see most of it from her current position, but twas a simple task to fill in the details from memory.

As the heiress's attention returned to her plate, one hand lifting for the glass of water, the nondescript door on the empty side of the room near the windows opened, revealing the head of the household and closing behind him. She watched him walk along the windows, casting a shadow far larger than his physical presence across the room, matching him better than his silhouette. Hands gripped tightly in her lap, she fought the urge to stand at his arrival. She could hear Winter squirm, a hand flipping a knife over and over again until a clink from a ring touching her sibling's plate indicated her mother's own hand had put an end to the impatient behaviour.

"I hope you did not wait long." said her father only after he was seated. It was a perfunctory comment spoken as he took up his napkin and laid it unfolded upon his lap.

His heiress followed suit with her own napkin, the action not a full step behind him in the process. Her hands smoothed it, her posture subtly taller and stiffer.

"Not at all dear." her mother replied, reaching a hand to rest on his for no longer than a second with a short squeeze in a calculated display of affection.

Displaying restraint one might not expect, Winter did not counter this remark nor complain of her hunger, instead jumping directly into conversation. "How was work today, Father? Did you convince the settlement to acquiesce yet?"

Their father smiled warmly at his youngest daughter, broken only by a laugh.

"Now, honey, there is no need to delve into such colourless topics so quickly." said Mother.

"They aren't!" Winter protested. "I find them positively droll." she said with a self-possessed grin that shined truth on her suggestion of finding negotiations entertaining.

The protest was paid no mind as the door to the kitchen opened, releasing the tantalising aroma of tonight's courses, and servants entered the hall with a bottle of wine and the salad. Despite no call nor indication of her father's arrival their entrance lacked any delay beyond that necessary to gather their items. Her father was served first, a serving and a half of salad coloured with tomatoes, carrots, and mandarins, then to the left, to her mother and sister. The second waiter poured wine into her parents' empty glasses while the third placed a small basket of warm rolls between them all and took up the salad bowl to serve the heiress. Winter was quick to place her napkin in her lap and begin.

Mother leaned slightly toward Father as she shook her napkin under the table to unfold it. "Her language lesson was taken last today." she explained.

"Ahh, yes, that would explain it." replied Father, he too playing into the game of pretending to be unheard by his daughter. Straightening up he reached for a roll and looked to his salad. "An orange salad tonight?" he asked his wife. The roll tore open between his fingers and he closed his eyes as the steam hit his face.

The heiress looked up from her salad to her sister, surprised at the lack of retort, but pacified by the sight of the younger girl ripping off an almost too large bite of bread and her salad fork already on her plate.

"Yes, with a sweet sesame dressing. Some nights are already beginning to have a bit of a chill so I thought it was something we should try and possibly serve at the upcoming gala." answered Mother before taking her second small bite of it.

Her father readied a large forkful and chewed thoughtfully before examining the wine and tasting it as well. The lull in conversation was filled with sounds of contented consuming, but not to continue forever. "You look well, Weiss." he began, pulling a small piece of bread from his roll. "How were your lessons today?" he asked, experimentally placing the morsel in his mouth as if wary of if being unsatisfactory.

She mentally scolded herself for taking a normal-sized bite of salad and attempted to chew quickly without attracting attention to it. "Thank you Father, I am, and you as well I hope?"

He nodded, his focus returned to the salad.

Weiss sipped her water as he did so, and placed her hands in her lap to clear them of condensation with the napkin. "I am glad. My lessons went well today, thank you for asking. History and Trade Law were the two I gave the most time today."

"How are you taking to Trade Law? Is your tutor putting the agreements in context of the period politics and personal relationships?" asked Father, now looking at her as he drank from his wine glass.

"Yes sir. It is pulling from many ideas from my history lessons and explaining in depth why some things occurred in a way I didn't see before."

"Were there aspects of your history lessons you did not understand previously?" inquired her father, replacing his glass and observing her more closely.

"Oh no, it wasn't that. It- I had questions - " she winced inwardly, struggling to not let it show. Speaking faster than her thoughts rarely went well. "Not questions per se, but it has been explaining why some diplomatic agreements had seemed unbalanced or a person had accepted a deal that was not ideal for the kingdom."

"You hadn't pursued answers when the questions came up?"

"Not questions, more concerns. The rationale was not implausible nor unexplained from the diplomatic angle, however the laws that bound them and the personal implications have cast those decisions in a more full light - I can now more fully appreciate where they came from and that that place was not quite as capricious as I might have thought, as humans are subject to flawed reasoning that would have explained it in a less satisfying manner." Her hand hovered around the stem of her water glass, holding off so as to not indulge nervous behaviour and instead simply waiting for the pause that would indicate permission.

"I see," he replied with another drink of his wine, supplying the requested reprieve. "and your fencing?"

The heiress replaced her glass to the table and hands to her lap. "Yesterday and tomorrow, Father."

"What of your teacher? Have you improved?"

"He is very skilled, and I can see where I had weaknesses that I have moved beyond."

"You bested your previous fencing tutor in two months. How long have you been with this one?"

"He- Yes sir. Six."

It wasn't in her interest to mention the unequal gaps between them, nor correct her father that it had been closer to three months. The lull in conversation allowing for more eating, she surveyed the table's plates as she chewed. Her mother's salad plate was empty, as was her small bread plate, and she had leaned back to enjoy her wine. Winter, in contrast, was reaching for her second roll. Father ate the last forkfuls of his salad and polished off his wine, as did the heiress although with her water. Waitstaff entered the room as she and her father put down their forks.

"What did you think of the salad, Weiss?" her mother asked.

"It was different but I liked it, although sweet. My favourite is the apple walnut, but that won't be in season for another month."

Her mother smiled then turned to her father. "As for you, dear?"

"It was good, whatever you think will go over best." he said, reaffirming her power over the decision without helping.

Two of the waitstaff removed the soiled plates and forks, one passing to the other then collecting the red wine glasses. A glance at Winter's plate, with nearly half her small portion of salad remaining, and holding a third roll explained why her opinion wasn't sought; such childish tastes. In a show of honed dexterity a waitress held the entree pan along one arm, a towel draped underneath, and served with the other hand; again, Father was served first then the dish went around to the left while another wine was served and water refilled.

"Winter had some interesting accomplishments today." announced their mother, cutting in to her main course. "She was hitting the 50-metre target with 80% accuracy using the semi-automatic pistol. Her technical writing project and creative writing essay were both returned today with high marks as well."

"The 50 already? I thought you were on the 35." asked their father.

Winter set down what remained of her roll and swallowed. "Correct, but I like to give the others a go at the end, but based on last time I thought I'd try to start there and it went well enough to stay."

"I am very impressed Winter. How are you handling the recoil?"

"Thank you, Father. It has been hard on my shoulders, so Mother suggested I take a couple days off and maybe try a lower caliber for a while as long as I am shooting a lot to learn accuracy instead of merely practicing or building strength." responded Winter. She finished with a large bite of the entree, a chicken breast strongly seasoned in the style of Vacuo.

"I see. What about your writing?" inquired Father, moving on.

"Both of the reviews were favourable, and the reader for the one on the differences of safety features in mining equipment for various types of dust commented surprise upon reaching the end and finding my age. Speaking of, I'm turning 13 in a few months."

"Ah, very well."

Mother placed a hand one Winter's forearm. "Five is closer to 'several' than 'a few'." she corrected, shifting her attention to Father. "How was your day?"

Winter slid her hand from under her mother's on the pretext of picking up her fork. "Still, it is coming up." she continued undeterred.

"Mistral Harbour is adamant on the fee increase still and Bay Port is reluctant to expand enough for real commercial use." he began, pausing to take a drink of his wine. "The increased security on the Vacuo-Vale line transports seems to be helping; there was only one major incident last month and none so far for this month."

"Surely they won't be able to go through with it though, the smaller companies would switch over to Bay easily." offered Mother.

"Weiss was 13 when she debuted." said Winter, trying again.

"Yes, we know dear." said her mother, eyes glancing to the daughter beside her only briefly.

"Theoretically, yes, but they only want us to pay. A report came upon my desk today of information that Harbour is looking into fees by rig size, which fits with the earlier, nebulous look into contracts that would allow different rates for different merchants, and the tax fees that would appeal to the Mistrali government."

Winter continued her own conversation with herself. "But fifteen is the proper age and there were extenuating circumstances. That clearly demonstrates that it wouldn't be unheard of. Winter, it's still early, let's wait until it is closer." said Winter, repeating the remainder of the conversation quietly to her glass of water as she studied it before placing it to her lips.

"How crass. Has your team begun assembling options?" continued her mother, paying no mind to her daughter beyond a flicker of a scowl.

"Indeed, although none yet are terribly promising. Working with the government has proven costly in the past but we have been in contact with our own looking at treaties and agreements."

"There is always the option of simply offering to not supply them at all, but that is nearly as barbaric as their demanding more lien from their largest clients."

"Yes, but if it were to come to that we would follow through and they know that."

"What of the settlement disputing mining rights?"

At this Winter perked up from her concentrated effort to cut her chicken into bite-sized pieces.

"Our representative met with their leader yesterday and the preliminary report was hopeful that he would at least be able to ascertain their goals."

"He? You didn't send Sandra? I thought she was your best for negotiations." questioned Mother.

Father nodded. "She is, but I suspected that some of this may have come about from an illustrious youth mingling with the faunus."

"Oh my, how bothersome."

"Without knowing how involved the settlement has become with the miners -"

"Yes, yes, of course. I see now. What a mess. Who did you end up sending?"

"Henbit. He's good, although odd, but that helps him seem relatable."

"Odd is one way to put it. His views on social structure would half the military if they ever stood a chance. A good fit for this assignment though."

"It has been gaining some traction. Fischer is subscribing to it too, the friend of Kunze."

"Such a backward philosophy; the animals living by it ought to be enough to prove that." groused Mother. "Councilman Kunze? He'll be attending the Gala, I believe."

"Did he RSVP a plus one?"

"I don't recall, do you have someone in mind?"

"Not seriously, but it may be prudent to introduce him to the Brauer girl, the one that debuted earlier this year."

"Mmm, I shall check in to that. The middle child of the . . ."

The heiress's parents continued, running through names and trading them back and forth. Looking up from her own plate she stole a peek at her sister. An easy smile, hair down but groomed, energetic but respectful, showing interest in the company despite free to choose any topic of study: the perfect, precocious, progeny. Winter placed a small piece of chicken in her mouth, taking care to not let the fork scrape against her teeth, a show for their occupied parents to prove she could eat amongst the public as well as entertain herself in spite of the dulled conversation; she knew this all well, having done the same near that age but less from desire.

As the heiress was about to turn back to her plate she froze; Winter's eyes had met her own. Surprise, longing, and a not-inconsequential amount of fear rushed over her but before she could react her sister had quickly turned her attention back into the plate. The moment passed and the heiress resumed eating. Winter's fork tapped against the plate, shuffling the food around. Wrapping her fingers around her glass, the heiress found that it was devoid of water.

"Winter, honey," started Mother, "please do not play with your food."

The fork tapped the plate twice more as the prongs and handle were lightly placed upon it. The rebuke was spoken softly, not just in tone but words too; striking in absence was the lack of additional commentary regarding such behaviour as not being becoming of a young lady, and about the effort that went into preparing the meal from the farm hands to our kitchen staff. Her parents continued to quickly cycle through names and the personal affairs of people for several minutes until two members of the waitstaff reappeared to fill water and wine glasses.

Water was filled all around, and wine was filled for both parents with a small amount poured for the heiress. Winter's attention, moved from her next forkful of rice, fixed itself upon her sister's second glass. As the waitstaff left, the heiress lifted the new beverage to her face, eyes shifting briefly to check her audience - her father. She inhaled, closing her eyes, and drew her head back up as her hand swirled the light-orange liquid; the smell of apricots offered to distract her from the burning sensation that filled the back of her throat, aided by hints of honey but further hindered by a kick of ginger and an unidentifiable element. That final element, heady and intoxicating, drew her into wanting another whiff but was also nauseating as though a poison all its own, although distinct from the smell of the alcohol itself.

"A tart, dry wine, with strong fruit undertones." she stated, careful to eliminate the rise in intonation that would indicate uncertainty but be necessary in a public setting.

Her father sipped his refilled glass. "Yes." he supplied, but wanting more before displaying his own knowledge.

The heiress gingerly sipped from the glass, conscientious of the mark her lips would leave and fighting to still her facial muscles from revealing her true impressions. "High acidity, medium-bodied, with hints of fruit and minerals without being earthy . . . a Riesling, I suspect."

"Why Riesling?"

"Rieslings are made from grapes that tend to absorb the flavours around them. Although many of the flavours that make this wine complex can be found in others, the hint of minerals from the soil is what gives it away." answered the heiress. The words were ones she had been told on a previous tasting, but still she hid her smile with a second sip and the concentration such an act demanded.

Her father nodded. "Correct. Rieslings reflect their environment, which is most often just to the east of Atlas. These grapes were left until late in the harvest, making it a Spätlese, which gives it a stronger taste good for pairing with spicy dishes. This one was bottled three years ago, from the Brauer company but grown at a small, private, vineyard in the southeast of our kingdom. How would you describe it to a guest or host?"

She finished her small portion with her third taste. "A tart, dry, with an alluring aroma and fruity tones dominated with apricot. I would also mention its age and that it is a local product."

Her father gave a nod of approval and continued to eat his meal. Twas not long before the entree was completed and the plates were exchanged for dessert, a small cake for each of them. With what could be considered little more than a taste missing from his, her father stood, excusing himself, and left by way of the large doors behind the heiress. The heiress was only a single bite ahead but, after regarding the two plates across from her, allowed another two small ones before following suit and excusing herself from the table. As she rose, she felt Winter's longing gaze upon her father's and her own plates; were this family in any other socioeconomic class she would not hesitate to descend upon them, but as it was Winter limited herself to silent, mournful thoughts of want - of which the heiress herself merely hid better.

The upcoming gala meant that soon she would have evening lessons with her father's advisers, who would quiz her on the guest list and detail the plan for who she was to meet with and what interactions to facilitate along with the business and news likely to come up in conversation. It had not been mentioned, still a month away, but she knew it would not be long before her evenings of private studying were temporarily made shorter once more. She stopped outside her bedroom door, looking further down the hall. She should practice her singing tonight, as her teacher would be coming in two days, but the call of her empty room was strong so she resolved to work on outlining her trade law research assignment first.

Weiss fell upon her bed when she returned to her room several hours after dinner. It was late, as was chimed to her as she strode down the corridor. She had excused Margret when she left to sing, telling the handmaiden that she need not wait up for her so long as tidying the room was attended to first. Although typically viewed as an exception, the handmaiden still had two eyes with which to watch Weiss's every move; performing constantly the role in which she was placed felt tiring but only when removed, which had hit her when she first sat down at her desk earlier. Presently, she kicked off her slippers and struggled to remove her dress before conceding and rising to a stand. Treading lightly she washed up for the night before falling back atop her blankets and wriggling until she was under them in the short time she had before being overtaken by sleep.

Weiss awoke, her body stiff, listening carefully. She could swear she heard the bed bouncing and it felt as though she had just fallen into it from several metres above. And yet, as the sound and bouncing faded it was more than just reaching equilibrium, as if the time was blurring the memories until it was a simple matter to accept that the movement and sound had purely been products of imagination. Settled, the next sensation was the pounding in her ears and chest as her heart awakened just as abruptly.

What had it been? Children? A memory? A sensation from between her lower ribs pulled straight through her middle and into the bed, begging her to return to the dream. Weiss closed her eyes and desperately grasped at the quickly fading threads. Winter? Oh, that one. Why did I wake up? The bookcase fell over. No, not this time. This time it was the walls. Her conscious mind searched for answers, but the pull was to the feelings long lost - emotions forgotten from another life. The walls fell on me as mother pulled her out of the room, and that is why I awoke. The walls came in because father didn't want me to follow. I was to stay.

She rolled over, trying to hold on to the first part, replaying the earlier memory of what once was and could have been, but each time there would be a bookshelf looming from the side, threatening to inflict a similar end.