Fate/Eva Frankenstein

"Life goes on, even when the heart isn't sure how."

— Author unknown

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Chapter 11: Calm after the storm.

Chamonix, Switzerland - 1836

Pov. Eva.

Bread rises better when it's not so cold. That's what Madame Louise taught me in the early days.

Though even with the snow melting at our feet, there are mornings when the warmth of the oven is enough to bring the whole house to life.

"Yes, Mr. Muller?"

"Dear Blanche, two baguettes, please?"

"Of course," I replied, with a gentle smile as I turned toward the freshly baked trays.

The bread was still steaming. The crunch of lifting the baguettes with the wooden paddle was comforting. There was something hypnotic about that sound: a blend of home and routine, something that grounded me.

I carefully placed the two baguettes inside the linen bag and limped slightly to the counter.

"Here you are, Mr. Muller." I offered the package with both hands.

The old man looked at me with that kind, slightly mischievous expression he'd had since I met him.

"Your hands are as steady as ever, dear Blanche," he said as he took the bread. "But don't work so hard. At this rate, you'll leave us no excuse to worry about you."

I smiled a little. Forced, but not fake.

"I don't want them to go without bread. And I don't like sitting still, either."

"Always so responsible..." He shook his head, but his tone was warm. "My wife says your baguettes are now better cut than Louise's. But don't tell her I told you."

"Your secret is safe with me."

Mr. Muller said goodbye with an exaggerated bow and left, wrapped in his scarf, constantly puffing from the cold.

I returned to the back of the counter, where Louise was chatting with a young couple, offering them rye rolls with a smile that filled the bakery.

Her laughter was contagious. That kind of laugh that makes you believe everything will be okay, even if I'm knee-deep in snow.

I paused for a second to watch her. Not so much out of nostalgia, but because sometimes it seemed incredible that... after all...was still there.

That I were here too.

Alive. With people. With warm bread.

I've been out of bed for a week. I walk without much wobbliness, but the cane is still with me… more out of habit than necessity.

Dr. Reinhardt calls me a "walking miracle" every time he sees me.

I don't like it. But I don't correct him either.

What I do correct, whenever I can, is that some people are starting to call me the "Saint of Chamonix."

I'm not a saint. Not even close. And I wish they'd stop calling me one.

I shook my head. Never mind now: I'll keep making bread.

I'd barely finished arranging an empty tray when the jingle of the bell above the door rang again.

"Good morning!" said a cheerful little voice before I'd even crossed the threshold.

I looked up just in time to see Anna running in, her braids bouncing. She was wrapped in a heavy coat, her gloves still hanging out of her pockets.

Behind her, with a more measured stride, came her mother, Celina.

"Sister Blanche!" Anna stopped right in front of the counter, raising her hand enthusiastically as if to greet an old school friend.

"Good morning, little Anna," I replied with a smile that came out more naturally than I expected.

I bent down a little—just enough so my knees wouldn't complain—and raised an eyebrow.

"Without gloves again?"

"I don't need them if the bread's warm," she replied confidently, which drew a soft laugh from Celina, who was already approaching with a serene stride.

"I'm sorry, Blanche," she said with a tired smile. "I told her not to bother you while you're working, but she insisted on coming with me."

"It's no bother," I replied, gently shaking my head.

Anna had already pressed her nose against the glass where the apple buns were.

"It smells nicer today than yesterday," she murmured.

"We used fresh cinnamon today. Madame Louise went down to the market very early," I explained as I picked up some tongs.

"Can we have three, Mom?"

Celina sighed, but gently.

"Two, and one to share with your brother, okay?"

Anna pouted briefly, but then nodded.

As she wrapped the buns in oiled paper, Celina looked at me with a more serious expression.

"Are you... okay, Blanche?" she asked in a lower voice, as if she didn't want to spoil the mood with her concern.

I nodded.

"Recovering," I said, not lying, but without going into details. "It still hurts to walk, but at least I can walk now."

She looked down, perhaps remembering that night.

"I don't know how to thank you. For Anna, for everything..."

"You already did," I interrupted gently, handing her the bag. "And Anna too."

"And I'll do it again!" the girl said with a wide smile as she took her bite of bread. "I promise!"

They both smiled at me again, and I returned the gesture with a warmth that, inside, still surprised me.

Seeing them well. Hearing their voices. Feeling that they still come every morning...

That was also part of recovery.

...I think.

As soon as Celina and Anna left with their buns, the door rang again with a second, deeper ring.

"Good morning, Blanche," said an older man with a bushy beard and a gray coat, taking off his hat. I recognized him by sight. Mr. Bonnaire. A carpenter, I think.

"Good morning," I replied, brushing crumbs off the tray of black bread.

He came up to the counter and looked at me decisively.

"Do you happen to have garlic bread?"

I nodded.

"Fresh out of the oven. Just a moment."

I turned and walked to the back shelf, where several long, golden pieces rested on a board. The smell of garlic, butter, and herbs still hung warmly in the air.

I picked up a loaf wrapped in waxed paper, returned to the counter, and handed it to him with both hands.

"Here you go."

The man smiled as he held it up, as if it were a small treasure.

Truly, if Lea were here...she and Mr. Bonnaire would be good friends.

"I always say it," he commented jovially as he smelled it with delight.

"This is the best garlic bread they make in all of Chamonix." He let out a satisfied sigh. "It's wonderful. Do you like it as much as I do?"

I paused for a second.

I smiled softly at him, one of those smiles that came to me without even thinking about it.

"No. I never liked him... and I probably never will."

The silence was almost audible.

Mr. Bonnaire stared at me, the loaf of bread still in his hands, one eyebrow raised, his expression confused. As if he didn't know if I was joking or an overly honest confession.

I watched him for a moment longer, still smiling.

"Anything else, sir?"

"Uh... no, that's fine, dear," he murmured, a little disconcerted, before turning and leaving with the same clang of the bell that had brought his entrance.

I was alone for a few seconds, exhaling softly. I leaned briefly on my cane.

He wasn't a bad man. He only asked one question. But I couldn't help being honest... with things like that.

Of course, that didn't mean I made it badly.

It was a favorite bread for many people. And I was okay with that.

Even if I never liked it.

As soon as Mr. Bonnaire left, the faint jingle of the bell faded again, and then I heard footsteps approaching from behind the counter.

I didn't need to look to know who it was.

"Good work, Blanche," said Madame Louise's warm voice. "Want to make some change? I can take care of it while you go upstairs to rest."

I shook my head gently as I arranged the coins in the register.

"No. It's better this way. Being on the move helps. I prefer this to lying down... in that bed."

Louise frowned slightly. That familiar expression, a mixture of concern and disapproval.

"I don't want you to overexert yourself," she said, crossing her arms.

"I won't," I assured her with a small smile, without looking at her. My hands kept moving, wrapping another loaf of bread.

She sighed, resigned, and patted me lightly on the shoulder before turning away.

"Okay. But if you feel dizzy or in any pain, let me know right away. I mean it."

I nodded wordlessly and turned just in time to see the door open again.

The ringing was sharper this time. Two men entered. Gray uniforms with copper buttons, and cloaks heavy with cold.

Guards.

The tallest one took off his hat and looked at me with a neutral, if polite, expression.

"Good morning. Miss Blanche?"

"I am," I replied, looking up slightly from behind the counter.

The guard nodded.

"We'd like to ask you a few questions about... the incident in the woods. If you have a few minutes."

Silence.

Madame Louise turned at the sound of them, her face hardening reflexively.

I nodded slowly.

"Sure. Just... let me take off my apron."

As I turned to hang it on its hook, a thought crossed my mind with a dry, almost mocking tone.

"Again?"

It was the third time this week.

Not that I minded talking to the guards.

But I was starting to wonder if any of them kept track of previous statements… or if they just wanted to make sure the "miracle baker" didn't slip up with a new detail each time.

Maybe they were hoping I'd say something different. Like, I actually have horns, I fly at night, and I eat children with jam.

"Can we sit here?" the shorter of the two asked, pointing to one of the tables in the establishment.

I nodded and sat across from them, my cane resting against my thigh.

The warmth of the oven was still felt in the room, but now, surrounded by stares and uniforms, it seemed distant.

"Very well, Miss Blanche... just a few more questions. It won't take long."

That's what you said yesterday, I thought. But I just smiled politely.

"Go ahead."

The youngest guard—tall, square-jawed, and wearing a uniform that was a bit too big for him—took out a small notebook of notes.

His partner, a slightly older man, stood silently, arms crossed, studying me in silence.

"Thank you for your time, Miss Blanche. You see, there are some things we... still don't fully understand."

"I thought so," I replied calmly.

The guard looked down at his notes.

"For starters... the body. Just as you told us, it was partially crushed at the basement entrance. But the rest of the place... looked like it had been smashed to bits. Pulverized rock, beams bent as if a wagon had crushed them..."

"So?"

The guard looked at me with an awkward smile.

—With all due respect… you were alone. How did you manage to do that?

"I had a weapon," I replied simply.

"A mace? That's what the villagers said... but still..."

"I had... a lot of adrenaline."

Silence. The second guard was watching me as if he wanted to pierce me with his gaze. I felt that old, uncomfortable tug at the back of my neck, that feeling of alertness... but I didn't let it show.

"Fine. Sometimes, in extreme situations, the body responds unpredictably," the younger one added, as if to convince himself.

"What also intrigues us is the condition we found her in," the other chimed in for the first time. "Two broken arms, ribs, a leg, internal injuries. And yet... in less than three weeks, she's here. Walking. Working."

"Yes, well," I said lightly. "I'm in good health."

The young man smiled, but the other didn't. He remained silent. Then, like someone throwing a stone into the water just to see the ripples, he asked:

"And how exactly did you get those wounds?"

I tensed a little. But I answered without hesitation:

"When I found him, he attacked me. He had a tool, a shovel maybe. He was fast. I barely remember the details... We fought near a ditch... I lost my balance."

Silence returned. This time, longer.

They both looked at me, waiting for something.

Perhaps a crack, a contradiction. I didn't give them any.

The young man nodded slowly.

"I guess that would be all... for now."

"Sure," I replied, and stood up slowly. "I hope you find what you're looking for."

The older guard held my gaze for a few more seconds before nodding slowly and following his companion.

When they left, I stood alone in the room, my back straight, my fingers curled around my cane.

They didn't ask about the weapon.

But they would. Sooner or later, they would.

As the guards crossed the door, I heard one of them mutter under his breath, not realizing I could still hear them:

"...I still think she's a witch."

"Eric, watch your words," the older one scolded him sternly.

But it was too late.

I had heard it.

Louise, too, with her thunderous expression.

The other customers present also looked askance at the guards.

I, however...

I remained silent, still standing, without turning around.

It wasn't the first time I'd heard that term.

And probably... it wouldn't be the last.

"Blanche, are you okay?"

I looked to my side and saw Louise looking at me with concern.

I just nodded silently and continued with my work.

Madame Louise looked at me for a long time before speaking.

"You didn't tell them the whole truth, did you?"

"It wasn't necessary," I replied simply. "It wouldn't have been of any use."

"After all...they won't find anything in the end."

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A few days ago.

Pov. Third person.

It was the third night since she'd been able to walk unaided again.

She wasn't sleeping. Not completely. she still felt the weight of the cave beneath his skin.

She waited until everyone in the house was asleep—Lilia, Louise, even Laura, who was starting to feel more suspicious than usual—and quietly slipped out the back door.

She walked toward the woods with a firm step, though each stride reminded her of broken bones.

She carried a covered lantern, barely filtering a ray of light, and a blanket wrapped around her back.

When she reached the clearing, the entrance was still open among the rubble of the cabin, just as she'd left it.

With an effort, she made her way down to the passageway and began to walk. The air that emanated was thick, heavy with dampness, dried blood, and death.

She moved forward slowly.

With each step, the stench grew stronger. She had to walk carefully to avoid stepping on the corpses she'd left along the way.

She crossed the workshop and quickly reached the cavern. Everything was just as she'd left it.

She went a little deeper and looked around.

"Where...? Where are you...?" she murmured, biting her lip lightly as she searched.

Then she saw it. And relief flooded her.

Bridal Chest. It was there, half-covered in debris, still stained. She picked it up carefully and hugged it for a second.

She felt a familiar spark… along with something she could almost interpret as a complaint about leaving her behind.

"As soon as we get back, I'll give you a thorough cleaning. I promise," she said, stroking the handle lovingly.

With her first objective accomplished, it was time to fulfill the second.

Her eyes fell on Benedict's crushed remains.

They were now little more than an amorphous mass of blood, bones, and flesh.

"A fitting end, damn it..." she murmured with a satisfied, if somewhat annoyed, smile. She would have liked to be the one to deliver the final blow.

But life never goes as you want it.

With the blanket, she wrapped him as best she could and began moving him toward the entrance.

The walk back was difficult. The air was barely breathable. Her wounds protested her every movement, but she didn't stop.

No loose ends could be left.

However… before she could leave, something stopped her.

To her left, among the wreckage of the battle, lay two bodies.

The chimeras.

She hadn't paid attention to them before. Not when pain and urgency dominated her actions. But now, with absolute silence enveloping her, she approached.

She knelt beside the first. She raised the lamp.

Slowly, with a growing sense of nausea, she turned the body over… and held her breath.

In the deformed abdomen, joined by lines of grafted flesh and alchemical twisting, were two faces.

The faces of girls.

Eyes closed.

As if asleep.

She turned to the other creature. She repeated the gesture.

Two more.

Four girls.

The four missing.

She didn't cry. She didn't scream. She didn't fall to her knees.

She just stood there, silent, her fingers gripping the handle of her weapon until her knuckles turned white. Something very old and deep twisted inside her chest.

A wound with no name.

And one certainty.

"...I'm sorry... but I can't let anyone see this," she murmured, barely audible.

Then, like a shadow, she began to collapse the entrance from the inside.

Stone by stone. Blow after blow.

Bridal Chest thumped against the walls again and again as she left the workshop.

Finally, she left Benedict's body as close to the entrance as possible, but away from the other remains, and collapsed the corridor above him.

Until nothing remained but rocks.

And darkness.

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Eva blinked and slowly returned to the present.

Madame Louise's voice was the first thing she heard clearly.

"Are you sure you don't want to spend the night at home?"

Eva looked at her. The woman's figure, standing in the dim light of the entryway, cast a long shadow across the freshly settled snow.

She was wearing her thickest coat, her hair tied in a neat bun, and had that expression of a mother who knows when it's useless to insist... but still tries.

Eva smiled gently, though her eyes betrayed a deep weariness.

"I'm sure. Thank you, anyway."

Louise didn't argue. She just nodded gently.

"Have a good night, Eva," she finally said, her tone warm, and started walking down the snowy street without looking back.

Eva followed her with her eyes until her silhouette disappeared into the winter mist.

Then her smile faded, and a long sigh escaped her lips.

She went back into the bakery. She gently closed the door, turned off the lamps one by one, and put everything in order before going upstairs.

She didn't change immediately.

She just sank onto the bed, back, with a stifled groan.

Her cane leaned against the wall, like a silent sentry.

"Really... too much happened in such a short time," she murmured, covering her eyes with her forearm.

She sighed again. The mattress creaked under her weight.

The silence in the room felt thicker than usual. Sometimes, when everything was too quiet, it was hardest to sleep.

"I'm exhausted..."

She sat for a while without saying anything, just breathing. Then she opened her eyes slowly, staring at the wooden ceiling with a neutral expression.

And she thought of the guards. Of their repeated questions. Of their glances. Of the whisper she thought she'd forgotten: "witch."

"I should probably be careful for a few more days," she murmured, her voice barely audible in the darkness. "Avoid contact… as much as possible."

She turned her head slightly toward the closed window. The night shadows stretched like slender fingers across the floor.

"I wouldn't want to be declared a witch and put on trial or something like that," she added with dry irony, looking at the ceiling. "It would be the last straw..."

Her voice trailed off without laughter. Only silence remained. And the soft creaking of the wood as the cold settled.

Just as she thought about letting herself fall asleep, something on her back bothered her.

She shifted a little, frowning, and felt a slight pressure under the mattress, at the level of her shoulder blades.

She clicked her tongue in annoyance.

"Ah... right..."

She sat up with a sigh, turned onto her side, and put her hand under the mattress, feeling between the fabric and the wood.

To the touch, the object was as cold as the first time.

She pulled it out, still wrapped in the cloth she had hidden it in.

She carefully untied the knot and unfolded the cloth, revealing the dark purple-opaque, almost reflectionless metal of the dagger she had taken from the cave.

Its shape remained just as strange: too ancient to be modern, too polished to be merely rustic.

She didn't know why she'd taken it.

Perhaps it was an impulse. Perhaps a suspicion.

Perhaps simply...

She watched her silently for a few more seconds, without touching her directly. She seemed asleep. Like a dangerous creature wrapped in linen.

"I don't know what you are," she whispered. "But... I think leaving you there would have been a bad idea."

She wrapped her again calmly, her fingers careful, as if she were afraid she'd wake up at a touch.

She slid it back under the mattress, deeper this time, making sure nothing protruded.

She sat on the edge of the bed for a moment longer, silent.

Then she remembered something Madame Louise had mentioned to her earlier, while they were putting away the flour: they would make graves for the girls who didn't return. Even if there were no bodies.

"It's the least we can do for those poor souls..." the woman had said, while folding a tablecloth.

Eva lowered her gaze.

Tombs.

She murmured softly:

"…perhaps it's a good time to pay a visit."

She didn't add anything else.

She finally stood up, removed her dress with slow, almost mechanical movements, and put on the white nightgown that hung over the back of the chair.

The fabric was light, soft… and strangely cool to the touch.

She got under the covers and turned off the lamp.

She stared at the ceiling.

She closed her eyes.

And finally, sleep overtook her.

End of Chapter 11

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I'm sorry for the delay. I hope you like it, and reviews and comments are always welcome.