Gloria Weber lives in Ohio with her husband and two children. She is a fledgling writer who has appeared in GrendelSong and AlienSkin.

Mason felt awkward wearing one of Gallia's old gowns. Previous to her employment in the Edgeworth home, she had only worn a skirt on two separate occasions. They never suited her and she felt more comfortable in men's clothing.

But society had its standards and Mason wanted to keep her job. With her charge safely in bed she lingered in the servant's hallway watching the party, unnoticed. From there she could see just inside the parlor.

Close to thirty people milled about while an entertainer strummed an antique harp. The bittersweet melody drew Mason out into the foyer.

As she got closer she began watching the guests. People laughed, whispered, and interacted with such ease. She couldn't help thinking she felt rather fake. In a dress, trying to think of interesting things to say, she wasn't being herself. Without realizing it she backed away.

She bumped into the wall. It startled her and her wide eyes looked for a culprit. Instead she saw him. It had been two years since last they last talked.

She found it odd for him to be there with normal people in normal clothes. He looked so out of place, not standing on a well-trodden field. He didn't seem himself in a dinner jacket and silk scarf.

This was all wrong. She needed air; she needed a cigar. The thoughts didn't finish processing themselves and she found herself outside, breathing life into a cigar amid the roses.

Mason inhaled as she heard the familiar footsteps approach. How she could still recognize them was a wonder. She had tried to bury all those memories. Automatically, she held out the already lit cigar to her left as she lit the new one with just a touch of her hand.

"You should quit, May-may."

When the weight of the burning leaves left her fingers, she smiled inwardly. "Right after you, Colonel." She watched the smoke dance in the moonlight, basking in the familiarity of the past. "You're retired now. Pity, civilian clothes don't seem to suit you."

"I heard the hostess's son complaining to his date about the new governess his mother picked for his younger brother. I'm guessing that would be you." He was amused by her new career. "How ever did you manage it?"

Standing next to him stung her soul. "Gabriel threw a tantrum," she said. "Broke a bunch of things in a store then ran out. I just happened to be standing there. I watched the whole thing. Figured there might be some sort of reward if I brought him back before he got in more trouble. So when he went by I just reached out, grabbed him." Mason sighed, "But instead of a reward I got offered a job."

The Colonel laughed, but it was somewhat hallow. "The boy has a reputation for driving away governesses. Lady Gallia is, or should I say was, desperate."

"Honestly, did you know I was here?" What she had meant to ask was, Are you happy to see me?

"No, but it helps." He was going to ask a favor. The pained look on his face was evidence of that. "I'm trying to honorably steal Aldo Boyce's clients. I was planning on having Issac duel his best student. However, his best deserves my best."

Gallia's Weapons Master, Aldo. . .He never spoke to Mason directly; he was too refined for that. She was fine with that, but she had an issue with his weapons instruction. While all well and good for a duel, it was useless in the real world.

She could tell the Colonel meant business if Issac, his son, was to be his proxy. There were only two people in the world that had ever beaten Issac in a duel: the Colonel was one and Mason the other. But if the Colonel was asking her to step in that meant he was worried. The Colonel was definitely Aldo's superior and Aldo's proxy didn't stand a chance against any of the Colonel's students.

"I haven't told Gallia about. . .before. . .But if you arrange it, I'll do it." There was no hesitation. She found that odd and painful.

But she didn't get to revel in her awkward emotions. They heard voices coming around the garden wall. The mood around her and the Colonel was instantly broken by a snobbish girl saying, "How utterly improper, an unmarried woman alone with a married man. And the gall she has smoking cigars. Did your mother actually invite them, Vincent?"

The light of the moon brightened the girl, dressed in the palest of yellows. She was an icy beauty with the frailty and arrogance of the upper class. Vincent hung on her arm like an ornament; as usual he was staring at Mason with disapproval. In the shadows just behind them was Gallia, saddled with the duty of chaperoning the pair.

The Colonel bowed, "Mia Kaya, the eldest of General Kaya's daughters, how wonderful it is to see you again." He had recognized her before Mason had. "Last time I saw you, you were ten years old. You were wearing a very fancy dress, same shade as the one you're wearing now. It was such a pity when it ripped on the podium. To this day I feel bad that the men and I laughed at the sight of your bare little bottom."

Mia stopped breathing as the embarrassment and anger began to swallow her whole. Her eyes twitched and a vein in her forehead began throbbing. Vincent, on the other hand, wore a rather subdued expression of indignation.

"However, my lady wife will more than likely think I'm up to no good if I don't hurry home." The Colonel bowed to his hostess. "Lovely dinner Lady Edgeworth, thank you for inviting me." He looked at Mason, clasped arms with her, and made his exit.

Once he was a respectable distance away, Mason puffed on the cigar a couple of times. As she turned her back to Vincent and his entourage, she felt spiteful. They had driven him away. "You know Miss Mia, I wouldn't complain," she said. "At least he didn't mention the time you were two and went streaking through the inspection ceremony."

After another puff, she moved back into the house. Though she expected someone to stop her, yell at her, or both, it didn't happen. She made it all the way to her room undisturbed.

Paranoia kept her from sleeping while the large group still stirred downstairs. Instead of crawling into bed and surrendering to sleep, she cracked open the window and smoked another cigar. She waited for somewhat familiar sounds to once again envelope the house.

She listened as the house staff began cleaning up in the garden below. As long as they were out there she would never be able to sleep. She had to believe everyone was nestled into bed, even if it was a lie.

However, her body was trying its best to convince her mind that it would be a great idea to just rest her eyes for a bit. As her eyelids began drooping there was a knock at the door. She jumped to her feet.

"Enter," she announced as she gripped the back of a chair with white-knuckled hands.

The door opened and in walked Vincent. Suddenly she regretted the invitation. After he was fully inside he closed the door.

Mason kept her hand on the chair back. "If you actually liked the girl, I'd believe this visit regarded my misconduct. But I know better than that."

Vincent came to a stop at the fireplace and leaned on its mantle. "Whatever gave you the idea I have no feelings for Miss Mia?"

"You have feelings for her, Vincent," Mason corrected. "However they are not ones of fondness. Whenever she turns her back to you, you look at her much in the same way you constantly look at me."

"What have I told you about addressing me by my given name?" The statement was accompanied by a bored, scornful look.

A laugh bubbled up from deep within Mason. "Give it up, man. If I call you Master it will be in jest alone. You have none of the right or respect due such a title. But enough of this idle banter, it is getting late. What do you want from me?"

Any games, misdirection, and pretenses were instantly dropped. "How do you know the Colonel?"

"I was betrothed to his son." It was more than that, but she knew that bit would suffice, for now.

"Was." The snide glint in his eyes made her feel hollow. "Smart man."

"I broke it off. I wanted the Colonel to be my father, but I didn't want to be Issac's wife."

Vincent nodded and without words he managed to be patronizing.

That was enough. The emotions were all still too thick in her head and the lack of sleep had worn her nerves thin. Tears ached to come forth. Shallowly buried memories rubbed her insides raw.

She had initially intended to use the chair as a weapon, but her hands demanded the visceral feel of blood.

Mason lunged towards Vincent and she saw that he barely realized what was coming as she swung her leg around. The connection seemed three times louder than its actual volume; it pounded and echoed in her ears. Vincent's body hovered in the air; it twisted then bounced as it hit the ground.

His eyes locked on hers as if seeing her for the first time. The shock quickly smothered the fighting instinct she had just succumbed to. His body tensed as if to retaliate. She stood ready to defend: men never stayed down once she hit them.

"Get out," she managed, almost choking on the words. It was for both his and her sake. Her body was shaking and aching to fall down in fits. The tears finally burst free.

But he didn't leave. He stared at her, malice in his eyes. His eyes begged for her to finish what she had started, but she didn't have the strength.

"Get out," she echoed. Her body began tightening, curling in, hugging itself. Her eyes closed, but she could still see his eyes. "If you hate me so damn much, get out. Get out and stop looking at me. Get out and I'll be gone by morning."

Her erratic breathing drowned out the sounds of him standing and leaving the room. She surrendered to it all and eventually found tormented sleep.

When she woke, it was still dark out. She pushed aside the blankets and looked through the darkness at her packed bags.

As she rose from the bed, the deep shadows tickled her neck. Though she wanted to, she didn't turn and face Vincent.

Get out and I'll be gone by morning. Those words had been a plea and a promise. He must have left at some point; her bags had been kept in the storage room. She reached down and picked them up. She almost regretted the first step towards the door.

"You're going to go through with it?" Vincent stepped out of the shadow.

"I said I would." She couldn't stand to look at him. As she reached for the doorknob, his hand gripped her wrist. She looked at him.

Even in the unlit room she could see his bruised cheek. An apology wouldn't be enough. She lowered her eyes to the ground and tried to step away from him.

He pulled her closer and tilted her head up. There was no anger in his eyes, but what was there was indefinable.

It was then she realized why it bothered her that he looked at her that way. Vincent represented all the beautiful people and things she had been denied as a child. She had always wanted something beautiful in her life. Now she had one gorgeous thing and he hated her.

"I once caught a butterfly, when I was six." She didn't realize she had started speaking. "For some reason I thought it didn't belong on a training field. So I ran with it, to the tents. Unfortunately for the butterfly, I was a rough and clumsy child. I fell. I squashed it."

He let go of her wrist, but moved so he blocked the door with his body. "Mason, you mean practice battle field. Don't you?"

"Do you know what the Colonel did for the military?" When Vincent shook his head she replied, "He was a sorcerer handler. My handler."

Vincent reached for her arm. With care he slid her right sleeve up until the top of her forearm was bare. The branded skin stood out in the moonlight. A crude flame underscored by a thick line. "I saw it, as I left the room and you were crying. . .You're a decommissioned sorceress."

It was then that she comprehended why he had been lurking in the shadows of her room. He understood. Her mannerisms, her way of dealing with things, was all a product of power hungry men.

When she was barely old enough to walk the military had taken her away from her family, as they did with all magical children. A handler, the Colonel, focused all his efforts on making her a war machine by the time she turned thirteen.

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"I was scared, Vincent." It seemed like a pathetic reason, but it was the truth.

They stood in silence. The sounds of the night invaded the space around them and hugged them both with solace and forgiveness.

"Be gentler with Gabriel." His hand reached down and grabbed the bags from her. "He's not as tough as you."

Her stomach tightened and she said the first thing that came to mind. "Please, don't hate me."

He guided her back to the bed. "I never hated you. I just never thought you were governess material." As he tucked the blankets under her chin he whispered, "And I was hoping she would hire a foreign woman, with rather large. . .Well, you need your sleep."

For the first time since joining the household, Vincent didn't start the morning by yelling at or about her. He also switched the focus of Gabriel's lessons from Latin to the structure and operating practices of the military.

Everything was fine until the end of lunch. Gallia cleared her throat. "Vincent, could your brother accompany you to your weapons lesson? I need to have a word with Miss Mason."

The familiar sense of dread reared within Mason.

Though obviously bewildered by the request Vincent honored it. The servants exited the dining room and the two women were left alone.

"When I was ten, my father and I were almost mugged. . .Funny, for a decommissioned sorcerer, my father was rather powerful."

At first Mason thought she had misheard Gallia. Then, as the words circled inside her mind, she whispered, "He was a decommissioned sorcerer?"

Gallia nodded. "He could freeze just about anything, including would-be muggers." She paused a moment. "I find it somewhat fitting that now there's a wielder of flames in my household."

"You aren't angry?"

"I knew all along. When you grabbed Gabriel, your sleeve rode up." Gallia set her hand atop Mason's. "But, just so you know, Aldo's champion is going to be Vincent." Gallia leaned forward in her chair and locked eyes with Mason. "I give you permission to champion your Colonel, as long as you promise not to kill my son. First blood only. Am I understood?"

Mason tried to envision Vincent dead, but all that came to mind was the crushed butterfly from her youth. "I could never. . .To first blood, promise."

Even with the duel looming over their heads, Vincent went out of his way to spend time with her. He admitted feeling guilty for his previous treatment of her. Mason was just happy that it was not pity that had gained her a friend.

Most of their time together was spent at night, in the garden. There, Vincent tried to give her small portions of the childhood she had missed out on. They played games under the clear skies, forgetting their true ages and trying to recreate the wonder of before.

Not once did they talk of battle or about her abilities. She was just a person, for the first time in her life. She began to love the night.

But the days came, until finally it was the morning of the duel. Gallia had offered to tend to Gabriel. Mason spent the early morning hours in her room, preparing.

As the time ticked by, she began to dread breakfast, fearing a renewed rift between Vincent and herself. It was a shock when she opened her door and found him there, waiting for her.

In his eyes there was no hostility. Yet she had seen that look before. It was the same look he gave her after Gabriel had gone to bed. It was a promise of a good time and friendly fun. She relaxed a bit after that.

The carriage ride to the city limits was a quiet one. No matter how hard Gallia or Gabriel tried, they couldn't rope Vincent or her into a conversation. Their minds were on what was to come.

It was like a dream from that point forward. She stepped off the carriage, not looking back. The crowd that had gathered were blurred faces and their words a tuneless hum.

The Colonel handed Mason her old sword, which had never looked so elegant or beautiful till that moment. It was like the past finally had some use in the present. She finally had the chance to make things up to the Colonel. She may have failed him as a sorceress, but she refused to fail him as his champion.

Suddenly, in a blink of an eye she was no longer standing by her old handler. Her blade was cutting through air defending her from the first blow of combat.

The sounds of battle reawakened the child in Mason. The clank of sword on sword, the grunts, the scraping and shifting of dirt beneath her feet, all brought a smile to her face. The magic of the night had found its way to the dueling field.

It wasn't until they were locked, sword against sword and trying to make the other submit, that she saw Vincent's face. There was no joy. His face was one of concentration. She remembered what the Colonel had always had to remind her: swords aren't toys.

Shadows of the real world started to invade her swordplay. From the corner of her eye she saw that the spectators didn't cheer as they had during her childhood. They murmured and gave her disapproving looks.

Her happiness began to dissipate. The joy of the duel was escaping her grasp and the pain of life was coming to drown her. It was time to end it.

Vincent didn't see it coming. She withdrew quickly from his range and lured him towards the nearest tree. He charged after her retreating form, but she swung deftly onto a low-hanging branch.

The blood rushed to her head as her upper body swung towards the ground and her legs hugged the tree. With her came the blade. He tried jumping back, but he was too late. The blade kissed the flesh of his arm and the referee declared Mason the winner.

None of it mattered to her. She flipped herself down into a crouch, stabbing the earth with her blade.

"I hope you don't off yourself because of this humiliation, Vincent." The speaker, whose voice was riddled with superiority and conceit, was all too familiar to Mason.

"Have no fear, General Kaya, there is no risk of that. But, in light of this defeat, there is a grand likelihood that I will be changing my weapons master." Vincent was trying to unsuccessfully stanch the flow of blood with his hand. Droplets landed on the dirt in front of Mason.

While the medic tried to convince Vincent to sit, the General continued. "Well it's good to see that a decommissioned sorceress has some use as a show animal for a retired military dog. A hundred of his students could have lined up and beaten Vincent and I would still trust Aldo above the Colonel."

Kaya was out to destroy her and the Colonel, and the instant Mason heard Mia's giggle emanate from within a nearby carriage, she understood why.

"You all saw her," the General continued. "That's no way for a proper fighter to act." He glared at her. "Think of all the tax money that was wasted on that one. . ."

"He's right," Mason swallowed hard, trying to contain herself. The General's thoughts were so transparent she could almost make them her own: the military had fed, clothed, sheltered her, had taken care of her in health and illness. How ungrateful of her to not become more powerful.

"Yes, they took care of me. They even gave me dolls to play with. Life sized dolls, women, men, children, armed, unarmed, sleeping; I was commanded to burn them to ashes." Only after the words had left her lips did she realize she had spoken aloud.

The worst accusation still hung in the air. How dare she find joy in combat? Yes, how dare she? She had been pitted against sorcerer and solider alike and punished for falling before their feet. Their blood meant she would be praised, the closest thing to love she had ever known.

"I wounded my first live victim when I was five. I shed tears, for he was my comrade. For my sympathy, I got beat. They told me that sympathy was weakness."

Sorcerers didn't have weaknesses.

"Then, when I stopped progressing, I was decommissioned." She had been so young when they had branded her. Mason hadn't known what to expect. The hot metal had kissed her skin and she had screamed like death. "They threw me onto the dirt road without a farewell."

Her eyes stung. "Tell me, would you let them do to your daughter what they did to me, General? Because I am someone's daughter, though whose I'll never know. And none of you care!" Her stomach turned at the ugly truth.

Her voice suddenly seemed like a weapon that was meant to wound only her. Finding nothing in the crowd but stunned looks, she ran away.

She ran until she lost herself in the woods. It wasn't till midday that she stopped and tried to find her way back to the Edgeworth home.

She stepped inside the front hall just as the first stars made their appearance. The sound registered before the sight did. It was wet, with a metallic caress, muted under a scream. She blinked and watched the blood drip from Aldo's sword onto the Colonel's dying body.

General Kaya stood next to Aldo. He laughed. "You should have kept your mouth shut, Mason." The blade of his sword caressed Vincent's throat. Her eyes slid from him to the rest of the Edgeworths, bound, gagged, and lined up for execution. "You said things that you shouldn't have. Do you think people want to hear that war isn't honorable? No one likes to hear children are mistreated."

Aldo smirked. "Now these innocent people have to die and you need to be blamed for it," he said. "Apparently you were always quite mad and not even the military or this family could help you. Don't you feel ashamed?"

For some reason she didn't. Instead, she felt offended that no sorcerers were present. The indignation ran further when she only counted seven soldiers along with the two brutes. They began to move towards her.

A smile crept onto Mason's lips. As she looked into Vincent's eyes she saw no fear, only trust. She saw the butterfly flapping its wings. Her hands came to life with heat.

Like a dream, Gallia's words floated through her mind: 'Funny, for a decommissioned sorcerer, my father was rather powerful'.

Without realizing it, Mason giggled: "Quite funny."