Carlotta

The night rain drummed the window and stirred up an odor of pungent liquor. Carlotta didn't like the smell, but she took comfort in that only those compelled by the strongest of desires would venture out in such weather, and such individuals were rarely subtle.

A woman in worn yet carefully maintained clothing tried to appear nonchalant, but her eyes were fixated on the auctioneer's every move like a desperate gambler. A flamboyant man in the central foyer loudly expounded upon various art styles, unwilling to relinquish the attention he had attracted, all the while unaware that he had conflated several distinct schools of art. Finally, a boy lurked by a window, furtively glancing at Carlotta before catching himself and looking away—rather tactless, but by no means a problem.

For Carlotta, this was a game whose outcome was hers to decide.

This was not Carlotta's first auction. On stage under a soft spotlight, the pieces came and went. Potential buyers murmured among themselves, forgoing discussions of artistic merit in favor of analyzing each work's price history. Creating art is a noble endeavor, but the business of art is far less so. Here each transaction was a present wager on a future payoff.

Even so, Carlotta still raised her placard for niche works that held little mainstream appeal. To her, these pieces were part of a grand strategy—whether a meaningless melange of shapes or a deconstructive expression of true artistry... time would reveal the answer, with returns far exceeding expectations.

Such behavior was initially met with skepticism, but Carlotta's air of certainty soon began to sway the bidders and shape their choices. It seemed as though she had a strategy uniquely grounded in art theory, aesthetic sensibility, and market insight. Yet she was about to go one step further in search of greater heights.

And then, the moment arrived, right then and there...

In the final seconds of bidding, Carlotta raised her placard once more to the astonishment of onlookers. Seeing this, the flamboyant man instantly one-upped her bid.

Countdown. Bid. Countdown. Bid... The auction rushed forward, each bid thicker and faster than the last, pushing everyone's emotions toward a suffocating crescendo. The woman in worn clothing widened her eyes in disbelief at the rising sums. The boy scarcely caught his breath as he whipped his head back and forth at the frenzy of activity.

Just as the auctioneer's hammer was about to fall, Carlotta waved at her rival with a rueful smile. "How unexpected that there is another who recognizes the true worth of this painting. Your willingness to stake such a sum... It rightfully belongs to you."

The event drew to a close, but Carlotta still had a few matters to settle.

She watched the man leave with the painting before retreating into a quiet corner. The boy who had locked eyes with her earlier approached.

"I let slip that Carlotta Montelli had her eyes set on a masterpiece. Just like you instructed, Miss."

Carlotta smiled and gave the boy his reward. If he stayed agreeable, she wouldn't mind taking him into her confidence again, should she need him again for some future trivial task. As for the woman lingering nearby...

"Miss Carlotta, I'm very grateful for all that you've done for me and my father. It's just... it's just..." The woman hesitated, searching for the right words. Carlotta didn't miss a beat.

"No, the piece sold at a fair price. I used my methods, but your father's painting is indeed worth that much. Sometimes, people simply lack patience."

Everyone got what they wanted. So did she.

With that thought, Carlotta left the auction hall to disappear into the darkness and rain.

That night the rain came suddenly.

It flooded the streets and filled those final moments before midnight with a deeper misery. Carlotta lifted her eyes to glimpse blurred shadows through the faint light piercing sheets of water. Wasn't she another shadow in the downpour? Yes... A shadow that reaped lives to right past wrongs.

The rain would not stop her from finding the one she sought.

Click... Click... Click. The sound of heels on pavement drew nearer. A door creaked open, and Carlotta strode inside. She had traveled across Ragunna to find the man standing before her, nearly forgotten by time. Her words were terse, "To be frank, I've come in the name of the Montellis to read you your obituary."

"I knew you would come."

Silver threaded through his hair, his face worn by time and regret. His voice was steady as he regarded Carlotta blankly.

"The Montellis do not forget blood debts. Sooner or later, I knew I'd be found."

A window in the room was ajar, and a cold breeze crept in, bringing the chill of the night. The old man shivered, but his frailty only irritated Carlotta. He spoke as though he hadn't once schemed against the Montellis and ingratiated himself with the Fisalias. As if he hadn't orchestrated the Montelli headquarters raid which cost so many their lives, even after the family had agreed to a deal over the West End.

Carlotta's retort was sharp.

"You knew the consequences of your actions."

"Bah! You Montellis never change. It's been ten years. Everything's over. You took back the West End, while I've been cowering like a rat in a hole. I live in fear that come any rain-sodden night, someone like you might sneak in and end my life."

The old man sighed, his expression hardening. His hand shot out for a hidden weapon.

Carlotta said nothing. Her crystal morphed into a gun in a silent but lethal threat.

For Carlotta, this was not about revenge, this was about unpaid debts and lost respect. Any Montelli could die, but as long as one Montelli remained, the family would not fall. A Montelli's absolute trust in their kin gave them the peace of mind to lay down their lives for the good of the family. Should they fall, another would take up their mantle and finish what had to be done. So, even after ten years, this debt had to be settled. Only then would it truly be over. It was never a question of money and closure but of loyalty and commitment.

Bang! Another "gem" shattered into shards.

The old man slumped to the floor. He looked up, determined to keep Carlotta in sight, but he could no longer move.

"Cough... cough... You have not won... this game does not end.... in death..."

Yes. It was a game that only ended once spent.

Carlotta repeated the thought as she stepped into the street. The night air gently brushed her cheek, carrying away the room's echoing silence.

She closed the door. Before that, A note with "Debts Cleared" printed on it fell gently by the foot of the old man.

And so... where there is death inside, outside there will always be Ragunna.

That night, the rain kept sliding down Carlotta's hair onto her face. She felt drained staggering forward, as if she were drowning in the fine drizzle.

Carlotta rued her habit of not carrying an umbrella. She desperately wanted to rest under one, but the approaching footsteps told her there would be no respite. No matter, Carlotta bit down on her glove and tore it off her hand. She had to continue this deadly dance with her life on the line.

Earlier that night... the most opulent ballroom at City Hall played host to a gathering attended by the Order, the Fisalias, and the Montellis, all powerful forces with their own agendas. Carlotta was no different. She had chosen a dress and heels that offered her freedom of movement. She would melt into the crowd and wait in the shadows.

Carlotta stepped onto the dance floor, exchanging a polite smile with the Fisalia representative.

"You look especially enchanting tonight, Miss Carlotta. Do you have plans for later?"

"No, just enjoying the evening," Carlotta replied, her fingers resting lightly on the waist of the stunning woman, whose hand slid up Carlotta's forearm in response. Their palms met and their bodies swayed in unison, their ruffled skirts like petals of a blooming flower.

"Come now, surely you did not come just to dance? There are other Montellis here, I presume?"

"You know how I enjoy these affairs. From the way you watch, I'd say the Fisalias have great stakes in tonight's proceedings."

The beautiful woman shifted her rhythm, grip tightening as she attempted to seize the lead. Carlotta let the pull guide her, spinning easily back into the embrace.

"The Order holds the reins of this city. We Fisalias will not allow you to disrupt the delicate balance. The Montelli vision is too radical."

"You call us radical, and yet it is you who hungers for power. You seek to control the tide, as if it could ever be held still."

Their duet grew increasingly frenetic as both sought to seize the upper hand. It became a dance of delicate evasion, brief moments of contact before pulling apart in the same fluid motion. As the music reached its climax, the woman drew back, glancing at the crowd, her gaze searching for the other hidden Montellis.

Carlotta gripped the woman's hand, guiding her back into their rhythmic dance. The music kept them bound together. The woman had no escape, and she dared not make a scene. All she could do was glare at Carlotta with malice.

"The Montellis have ears everywhere. From the start, you were after my "children." I hope you're prepared to dance until death do us part."

Their dance suddenly took on a new meaning. Carlotta halted, spun, struck, and the targets fell... Her tango became a single, deadly waltz with the woman's guards and "children" all the way to here, their struggle punctuated by the relentless rain.

Carlotta felt poison seep into her wound, its mind-bending venom ravaging her veins. Something metallic trickled from the corner of her mouth. Carlotta smirked, letting out a soft, bitter laugh.

Was this the fate of that woman's last dance partner? No matter. Sooner or later, all who deal in death meet its embrace.

As the poison stripped Carlotta of her senses and tore away all reason and sanity, she bowed, and then with a smile, shone with a brilliance that turned night into day. If death was inevitable, why hold back on the dance of a lifetime...?

That night, Carlotta knew it was raining. She couldn't see the droplets, but the rainwater had left streaks on the windowpane.

Carlotta shifted her skirts and looked into the mirror. The wound had healed nicely and the scar was no longer visible. The toxins had also been completely purged. But she wasn't keen on resting. She kept it to herself, but doing nothing made her uneasy as if something was slipping through her fingers. Carlotta decided to consult Grandfather on how best to handle the recent "troubles."

She found him in a corridor by the foyer. A late sleeper like herself, it was not unusual for Grandfather to be up at this hour. She could not tell whether he was watching the rain outside or admiring the painting on the wall, or perhaps...

"Grandfather, are you waiting for me?"

"Not exactly. You see, I was thinking about you when you first joined the family."

His response caught Carlotta off guard. Truth be told, she didn't like the person she was back then: naïve, weak, abandoned, far removed from being a Montelli. There was so much she had to learn—about Ragunna, the Montellis, and problems that required elegant solutions. Almost no one believed in her except Grandfather. Back then the only thing she took pride in was her Forte, which she instinctively wielded as a means to an end. Over time, she had adapted to the Montelli Code, using her abilities to handle the family's more delicate matters.

Had something gone wrong in the process?

Carlotta believed that her current role in the Montelli hierarchy was most beneficial to the family. They had accepted her, approved of her, and now, they needed her. She was a true granddaughter to the Padrino, more deserving of the Montelli name than ever before. So why was Grandfather bringing up the past?

"Do you remember? When you asked me to make you my Executor, I gave you those opal gloves right here, in this very spot," Grandfather gently patted Carlotta's shoulder. "I have never doubted your abilities, but I've begun to wonder if that was truly what you wanted."

What she truly wanted and what she was doing now... Carlotta saw little difference between the two. Life stretched on and through it, people needed certain beliefs, ideals, or loved ones to be their anchor. For Carlotta being a Montelli was her anchor—and the Montelli family was her everything.

"No, that's where you're mistaken," Grandfather said softly as if seeing exactly what Carlotta was thinking, "A true Montelli does not live solely for the family. She does not exist to only follow rules, whether set by myself or by the family. She must feel the world and make her own rules."

"I want to see you shine because I believe you possess brilliance from within. Before you constrained yourself to the idea of what it meant to be a Montelli, you had just begun to define your own rules."

The sky outside began to lighten... In the end, Grandfather declined to let Carlotta keep the role of Executor. Instead, he asked her to write a letter inviting representatives from the Black Shores to Ragunna. Carlotta looked out the window. After the rain, Ragunna was enveloped in a dull gray mist. The city was a slumbering beast, waiting for the grand arrival of the Carnevale to awaken it.

At that moment, Carlotta was unaware that it was during this rainy night that Francesco Montelli made a decision that would shape the future of the Montellis. He would employ special means to return the power of choice to her hands. And she, like her original self, would pave the way for what was to come.

At dusk, the rain has finally stopped.

The soft glow of the setting sun gently washes over Carlotta as she sips coffee by the harbor. The tide rolls in and out, its golden ripples mirroring the endless cycle of Ragunna's days and nights. With no particular destination in mind, she wandered, pausing at random. This isn't her norm, but in the future, she might just make a habit of it, much like she has started making a habit of searching for parts of herself that belonged to Carlotta alone, separate from the Montellis.

After celebrating the Carnevale with the distinguished guest, and exposing Capollo's betrayal with {Male=his;Female=her} help, Carlotta finally understood what Grandfather had been unable to fully express on that rainy night.

He was concerned that she might do things for the family that went against her principles. Grandfather hadn't drawn a path for her based on his own past. He had only hoped that she would avoid being trapped by the established pattern.

But the truth is more complex than that.

Her decision to remain as Executor was certainly made with the family's interest at heart. But every step that led to her decision was a choice she gladly made, and in the end, that was all there was to it. She was never one to be bound by rules. Not in the past. Not now. And not ever.

Naturally, as a Montelli, she could not afford to think only of herself. She was drawn to extremes, to reckless solutions, unafraid of change or risk. But when it came time to act, when decisions had to be made, she tempered those inclinations. In a way, this was indeed a constraint imposed by her identity—a collar forged by blood and duty. But it was also a bond that anchored her.

She is Carlotta Montelli. She will always be needed. She will be cast aside again. Despite that single constraint, she has a freedom few could claim.

A life devoted to creating a singular, defining masterpiece—Carlotta has seen many such lives.

The tapestry of her future is a subject far more enticing, and one she is more than willing to weave, thread by thread. To capture the essence of who she is, she will continue to cut, arrange, and layer... until she can call it a rich enough work of art.

But for now, she wants to permit herself a small sense of pride.

Carlotta isn't ready to bear the parts of herself that exist only in the quiet spaces of her mind... But perhaps {PlayerName} would be the exception. Indeed, she still preferred to call {Male=him;Female=her} Cat's Eye. They had walked shoulder to shoulder for a time, but in the end, neither of them could have paused their journey for the other. {Male=He;Female=She} had been blunt about her "excessive perfection," and so, in keeping with the promise she made to "be less reserved," Carlotta will weave that Cat's Eye into the fabric of her story. She can't shake the feeling that fate is not done with them yet. As for when, or how, or what new adventures may unfold between them... she can scarcely wait.

In the distance, a Gondola cuts through still water as it glides back toward the dock. A chorus of calls between those aboard and onshore marks the fading echoes of the day's clamor. After the rain, no one can say what transpired in the dark of the night. For now, only the dying light brushes her skin, marking the end of the cycle of the day.

She takes one last sip from her cup, turns, and walks into the encroaching darkness.

In the stillness of the world, she will dance her own dance.