Episode 27: The Automata’s Tale 1/6
Misty, though now moving with mechanisms and magical power, wasn’t always like this.
She was a perfectly ordinary girl, born to a human father and mother.
Just a normal girl with normal talents.
However, Misty’s family was a prestigious lineage of swordsmen, producing knights for generations.
Her parents, who had wanted a son, were disappointed by Misty’s birth.
They tried for a second child, hoping for a boy, but were unable to conceive again.
So, they decided to train Misty as a swordsman. There were many women who had become swordsmen. Surely, Misty would become strong, join the knight order, and fulfill her duties admirably.
Misty couldn’t live up to her parents’ expectations.
Misty was just an ordinary girl.
Despite her parents’ almost abusive training, Misty’s swordsmanship didn’t improve.
Eventually, their second child was born. A boy.
Her parents rejoiced, and Misty became obsolete.
Why? After trying so hard?
If I’m not strong, am I just unwanted?
Misty’s conversations with her parents ceased, and she simply ate what the servants brought her.
She had no trouble with clothes or food. The abuse had stopped. She was free to go out. She wasn’t scolded for anything she did.
But Misty preferred the time before her younger brother was born.
Then, one day.
Misty’s tenth birthday.
Her father and mother spoke to her for the first time in a long while.
She was happy.
She didn’t need a party or presents.
She just wanted to be treated as someone who existed, and she needed nothing else.
“This man is your marriage partner.”
“Isn’t that wonderful, Misty? He’s a great minister.”
Apparently, Misty had to leave this house.
She had to marry this fat old man.
Why? Marriage was supposed to be between adults who loved each other.
Why would a child marry an adult they’d just met?
Misty didn’t understand.
She didn’t understand that the minister was the kind of person who had a sexual interest in young girls, or that she had the kind of appearance that would attract such people.
She didn’t know that it was normal to use a daughter for advancement.
Not understanding anything, Misty cried and screamed.
Even so, she was mercilessly put into a carriage and shipped off to the minister’s house.
The minister couldn’t wait until they arrived at his house and tried to sample Misty in the carriage.
Even without knowledge of sex, she knew she was being violated. She understood that she was about to be subjected to something very unpleasant.
Misty desperately resisted and fell out of the carriage with the minister.
Misty scraped her whole body and broke her left arm. The minister was in worse shape. His head was split open, and his insides were spilling out.
When the coachman frantically stopped the carriage, Misty was already hiding in the forest thicket. And while enduring the pain, she crawled away little by little.
When night fell, and she heard the howling of wolves in the pitch-black darkness, she held back her tears.
She survived by drinking muddy water.
In a tattered state that was hard to believe for the daughter of a knightly family who was supposed to marry a minister, she arrived at an unknown town.
No one would hire such a Misty, and she didn’t have the wisdom to seek help from the church.
She tried to stave off her hunger by scavenging for scraps, but of course, it wasn’t enough.
Finally, she stole something.
Her hand reached for a single loaf of bread. She tucked it into her clothes and ran.
She thought she was running.
The weakened Misty was slower than an adult walking.
And she was beaten with a stick by the baker who chased after her, and died like a stray dog.
She should have died.
But she woke up in a bed.
Fluffy futon. Clean pajamas. Her muddy skin and hair were clean.
Was it all a dream?
Where did the dream start? From when she was taken away by the minister?
From when her younger brother was born?
Even so, the interior of this room was completely different from her own. The scenery visible from the window was also completely different.
A house in the forest?
There didn’t seem to be any other buildings around?
Why was she in such a place?
Why was her body so cold?
Why couldn’t she hear her heartbeat?
“Am I… am I really dead…?”
“That’s right. I’m sorry. I bought your corpse. Your soul seemed compatible with the body. I really wanted your consent, but it’s hard to get consent from a corpse. And if I didn’t do it quickly, your soul would have left your body and disappeared. So, you’ve become my doll. Even if I tried to make another one, it wouldn’t be easy. So, even if you say you’d rather be dead, I have no intention of letting you die. If you commit suicide, I’ll fix you. Hmm? Since you’re a doll, is it self-destruction instead of suicide? Well, whatever. Anyway, I am your creator and owner. My name is Celine Dufour. Now, would you tell me your name?”
The one who spoke was a woman who wasn’t old enough to be called an old woman, but certainly not young either, probably around fifty years old.
According to her.
For her, creating magical tools was a hobby, a job, and her entire life.
Weapons that could blow away an entire town. Charms that would keep monsters away. Mirrors that reflected distant landscapes. Clothes that would repair themselves even if torn. Pots that could make delicious stew without fire. Glasses that made you drunk twice as fast.
From terrifying things to trivial things, they were all equally important works to Celine.
“Your concept is an Automata that surpasses humans. You have the same appearance as a human, can converse with people, and no one will notice even if you mix into human society. And you’re strong. You have to be stronger than me at the very least. And you have a semi-permanent lifespan. You have to operate at least until you fulfill your role.”
“Role…?”
“I’ll talk about that later. For now, let’s get you used to your body. Your height is similar to begin with, and I modified your facial features to resemble yours. So, it should be easy to get used to. Well, I did change your hair color to my liking… You used to move with muscles, but now it’s mechanisms and magical power. It’ll be different. And the power of your whole body has increased exponentially. Let’s see… how about you try doing some housework? If you can do everything without breaking anything, we can say you’re used to it.”
There was a big problem with Celine’s suggestion.
Misty had only ever trained with swords, and after her younger brother was born, she had been neglected, so she couldn’t do any housework at all.
“What? I have to teach you from scratch? When I made a maid Automata before, I burned the knowledge into the body… but if I do that to you, it seems like it would clash with your soul… that’s a problem. I’ve taught magic before, but teaching housework is a first for me. Well, whatever. Everything is experience. Let’s start with cleaning.”
“Um… I… I want to try cooking…”
Cooking.
For Misty, who had been living empty days since her younger brother was born, meals were the only daily pleasure.
No matter how depressed she was, if she ate delicious food, she would feel a little better.
And she had thought, just a little, that she wanted to try it herself.
“Cooking is last. Because knives are dangerous. Ah, don’t misunderstand. Even if you press a knife against yourself, it will only cut the thin skin, and the main body will be unharmed. That thin skin will regenerate immediately. What I’m worried about is the knife chipping.”
Sweeping and wiping.
Celine’s house was big. But it seemed that she didn’t have to clean the rooms that weren’t being used. She was told that she didn’t have to make it spotless every day. So, it wasn’t that hard. At least, compared to sword training, not at all.
“Hee. You have a good knack for it. The maid outfit suits you well too. You could work well anywhere.”
She was praised. Probably. Because she had never been praised before, she didn’t really know. But Celine was smiling, and she felt happy too, so she thought she had been praised.
A few days later, she was taught how to do laundry.
It seemed that she could relax with the automatic washing machine that Celine had made. But since the purpose of doing housework was for Misty to get used to her body, relaxing would defeat the purpose.
With a tub and washboard that could be found anywhere, she scrubbed. She scrubbed, careful not to tear the cloth by putting too much force into it.
The washed and dried laundry smelled very nice. When she took it down from the clothesline and hugged it tightly before putting it in the basket, it smelled of the sun and soap.