The Weight of Legacy

Birthdays only mattered so long as people cared about them.

To the widow, the whole concept had been tiresome—as a grown woman, there was nothing more terrifying than the influx of messages from people who were acquaintances of hers at best, remembering her existence once a year. They drowned out the actual, relevant messages in her inbox!

It didn't help that she'd rarely encountered birthdays as a source of information. The closest it got were with commemorative cards that were handed out to guests, much like they would at funerals. And even then, such things just served as confirmation for names and vital dates, rarely including familial details.

The first birthday the widow celebrated in earnest had no doubt been her grandson's, though she failed to recall the exact age—it was strange.

Malwine had some memories of looking over her grandson as he progressed through his college years, of being there for his wedding. As the widow, anyway. But she also carried with her a strong impression of Yoyo having been someone she didn't get to see grow up, not really. She reconnected with him at some point, but the details were muddled.

It hurt, in a distant way—tough as it might be to say, Yoyo didn't mean as much to Malwine as he had to the widow. Oh, she'd never stop loving him—for he might have been the only person the widow loved at all in her last decades—but there was a permanent divide between them now.

Seeing Matilda's birthmonth celebration begin as The Snow of 5801 started was thrilling, and nostalgic—it stirred that distant sadness in her, but also brought up all those kinds of fuzzy feelings Malwine hadn't quite been ready to deal with.

Malwine sniffled—as the attempts at [Remote Reading] she performed through [Multitasking] kept leaving her empty-handed, her thoughts had strayed. And now she was nearly crying.

"Aw, don't worry," Thekla patted her head. That strange newcomer of hers was sitting by her side, and her aunt had rudely neglected to introduce them. "You'll get your celebration too someday."

Crap. I don't want to give them the wrong idea. What would a non-jealous toddler say?

"It's just," Malwine didn't even have to fake another sniffle—she was still sorting through some stuff. "I'm so happy for her!"

"…Oh?" Thekla blinked at her, hand frozen in the air mid-pat.

"Matilda's so nice! She showed me books!" Malwine clenched her fists around the height of her cheeks and started twisting her body in what had to be quite the cartoonish display of 'happiness'. "And now she's growing up! I'm so happy!"

Okay, yeah, maybe that was a bit much.

Thekla at least resumed the patting. "Aw, that's so nice of you to say."

From where they were sitting, Malwine admittedly didn't get that great of a view at the main celebration. There was a strange amount of people around, though she wouldn't have been surprised if they were just the staff, taking the chance to get a good meal on Kristian's dime.

Malwine took a moment to open her to-do list and add 'Figure out how money works' on it. How making a panel messy was even possible was beyond her, but she was pretty sure even she had no idea what all the contents of her oldest panel were anymore, seeing as she kept overwriting them.

"Auntie Thekla," Malwine looked up. "Why are there so many strangers in here?"

"Because, dear, Bernadette sent out invitations far and wide so all get to celebrate Matilda's big day. Some even brought their children, so she might even make friends her age. Finally. Most of them are admittedly just… random people, though."

"Mending relations with the population of Beuzaheim will be key to improving the chances of finding new information, Thekla," the bespectacled man next to them said. "About… you know?"

Malwine frowned. No one would get mad at a toddler that was a bit too honest. "Who even are you?"

It might have been somewhat rude, sure, but this was the third time she'd seen the man—either he or Thekla had plenty of chances to just introduce him, instead of acting as though Malwine didn't need to be told anything.

"I am Abelard Lange," the man told her.

Malwine's frown only deepened as her curiosity grew—she really hoped she looked more annoyed than interested. "That's a weird name."

Thekla paled, eyes widening. "Malwine!"

"It is of no issue," Abelard said with a smile. "My name follows Lizanąn customs, so it might seem odd to you. I bear my father's call name as first name, and my mother's family name."

That wasn't in any way related to why Malwine had found it strange—it was just wildly out of the norm. Her impressions of Grēdôcavan names so far had reminded her vaguely of some Germanic customs, but she wouldn't go as far as to consider the country—the Principality—to have anything more than a passing similarity to the German locations she'd read about as the widow. That would be doing both a disservice.

Then this man came around and… just sounded vaguely French. Malwine decided to hold true to her previous convictions—it would probably be weird to be thinking of this… Lizaną?… as any direct parallel to her previous life. Especially considering what he just told her of how their names apparently worked.

Naturally, that meant it was time to deflect from her ruminations by asking the most normal question she could think of.

"How does it work if you're a girl?"

Abelard tipped his head—his mannerisms were actually a bit like Thekla's. "You'd have your mother's call name and your father's family name."

"What happens if people have more than one kid?"

"That is why middle names exist."

"And if you're a bastard?"

Thekla just buried her face in her hands, letting out an unseemly sound.

"Well," Abelard actually stared off into the distance as though he either didn't know the answer, or had no idea how to explain it to a child. "There are none to speak of. Only through the known parentage only marriage can provide will it be ensured children will have the best possible inheritance in terms of power and Affinities—if any at all. Any who carry a child that would belong to no proper home have to either… not, or be cast to the sea. So people simply do not have any."

Malwine wished she had a drink to spit out, given how her immediate reaction was to sputter. "What…" she struggled to choose how to curse, before coming to her senses slightly—she probably shouldn't. "What?!"

At least Thekla was not far behind her. "Seriously? What sort of barbaric trench is Lizaną? Everything you tell me makes it sound worse and worse."

"Let us say I do not plan on ever returning, and leave it at that."

The two exchanged the type of glances people who regretted a conversation did.

But the more she thought about it, the more Malwine figured what Abelard claimed was probably unenforceable, at least on a wide scale. There were probably layers to society over there, and she didn't believe for a second that illegitimate children could outright not exist. Either he was sharing—or had been taught—a simplified version, or he was going out of his way to leave much context out of it. Probably the latter.

Regardless, Lizaną had just been added to her list of places to never visit—or to only visit once capable of wiping the floor with anyone who could get in her way.

It was in moments like these that the widow's ego sort of showed itself—Malwine found she shared her first life's near-incapacity to view something as impossible. With time limits removed—or at least dampened somewhat—she struggled to not see everything as just a matter of time.

Even power.

Sighing, Malwine decided the time had come for her to sink back into herself. A part of her was slightly annoyed at missing out on the main celebration, but 'it's for grown-ups' wasn't something she could argue against without bringing trouble for herself.

Nevermind that Matilda isn't even a grown-up… Oh, Malwine could understand the concept of it being a milestone, a formative moment, but a coming-of-age type of thing? Absolutely not.

To her, Matilda was like seven-and-a-half at most. For all Malwine had mostly gotten used to her new world's years, the fact that it meant everyone was actually younger than the numbers sounded never left her mind.

Malwine herself should have been the least convincing two-to-three-year-old in existence, but she knew how willful ignorance could go. You were more prone to ignoring problematic behavior within your family because, well, it was your family.

She gave Thekla and Abelard another glance, torn between going right back to annoying them with questions—like when were they getting married?—and just checking back up on her progress.

Her splinters of common decency eventually won out.

Malwine smiled. The manuscript hadn't been particularly long, and she knew she'd never be able to use what she learned for anything practical, but she'd gotten what she wanted.

Since she started to spend more time outside, she found some of her attributes increased—very, very slightly—on their own. It had taken her a bit to notice, seeing as she no longer got notifications for it.