Chapter 16: “Bubbles and Mana”

Knock knock knock.

"Lady Celia," came Mariette's calm voice from the other side.

"The sun is up. May I come in?"

I stared at the ceiling with the dead eyes of someone who had not slept.

Not even a wink.

There was no sleep in this room—only shared breathing space, the rustle of sheets, and the quiet pressure of knowing that Seraphina Noir was asleep exactly twelve inches away from me like some elegant specter of doom.

I didn't answer. I couldn't. My voice had been replaced with static and regret.

The door opened with gentle precision.

Mariette stepped in, graceful as ever, a silver tray balanced in one hand and a faint glint of amusement in her eyes. Her gaze flicked to me immediately—and I saw it. She knew.

She knew I hadn't slept.

She knew I looked like a possessed mop.

And yet.

"Good morning, Lady Celia," she said smoothly. "Did you sleep well?"

I slowly turned my head toward her. My eyes twitched.

"Mariette," I rasped, "I look like I wrestled a banshee and lost."

She inclined her head, as if considering it.

"Just a little," she said at last, tone neutral.

I flopped back onto the pillow with a groan.

Behind me, Seraphina was already sitting up in bed, perfectly upright, blanket folded neatly in her lap like she'd spent the night in a royal coffin instead of sleeping. Not a strand of her hair was out of place.

"Good morning," she murmured, as if this were normal. As if we hadn't just spent the night sharing a bed like unwilling sisters in a tragic play.

I wanted to cry.

Mariette walked over to set the tray down on the desk, then turned to me again. "The bath is ready. Lavender and chamomile, as you requested. I've also set out your change of clothes."

I groaned into the pillow. "Please tell me that bath includes a resurrection function."

"I'm afraid not."

"You're cold."

"I'm realistic."

I peeked up at her from under my blanket. "You think this is funny, don't you?"

Her expression remained perfectly composed. "Would it be wrong if I did?"

I groaned again, but this time with a small, involuntary laugh. "Ugh. I hate that you're good at this."

"I know."

Seraphina had already gotten out of bed and was brushing her hair with quiet focus, ignoring the entire meltdown happening beside her like it wasn't worth her attention.

I watched her with horror.

"Did you even move last night?" I asked.

She looked at me, expression unreadable.

"No."

"…Do you even need sleep?"

"No."

That was not reassuring.

Mariette stepped aside, motioning toward the door with her usual calm. "You have twenty minutes. Breakfast will be served in the east parlor. Please don't fall asleep in the bath."

"No promises," I muttered as I dragged myself out of bed like a cursed ragdoll.

And so began Day Two of Roommate Purgatory.

Mariette had already vanished like a responsible phantom, leaving behind the faint scent of citrus polish and subtle judgment. I wrapped myself in a robe and staggered toward the bath chamber, feet shuffling against the floor like they, too, hadn't slept.

The door creaked open with a soft sigh, and I stepped inside.

Steam curled in the air like lazy spirits. The bath was already filled—perfectly, as always.

Chamomile and lavender danced in the air, lulling my senses before I even touched the water. Sunlight streamed through the frosted window, diffused just enough to cast the room in a dreamy glow. For a moment, I could almost pretend the world outside didn't exist.

I hung my robe neatly on the hook, took a breath, and slipped into the water.

Heat bloomed against my skin, and I slumped into the tub with a groan that could've raised the dead.

This… this was bliss.

Finally, I was alone.

Finally, a moment of—

Creak.

The door handle turned.

I blinked.

Please let that be the wind.

The door opened.

It was not the wind.

Seraphina stepped in, wrapped in a towel, looking entirely unbothered.

I, on the other hand, had forgotten how to breathe.

She paused only briefly upon entering, then turned her head toward me with calm, emotionless precision.

"…Good morning," she said.

I sank deeper into the water until only my eyes were above the surface. "Why are you here?"

"To bathe," she replied.

"Here?!"

"Yes."

I stared at her. She stared back, serene as a marble bust in a museum dedicated to terrifying composure. I opened my mouth.

Then closed it. Then opened it again, because my brain was throwing sparks like a broken wand.

"There are other baths in this estate," I tried, voice cracking with desperation.

"I was instructed to share yours."

"By who?!"

"Mariette."

I froze.

Then slowly, dramatically, one trembling hand rose out of the water—fingers curled like I was summoning the spirit of justice itself.

"Traitor."

My voice cracked like thunder across the surface of the bath. "She betrayed me. My own maid. My supposed ally. The back-scrubber I trusted!"

I flailed in the water with a splash worthy of an ocean storm, sending soap bubbles flying like doves at a wedding—except the wedding was my funeral.

Behind me, Seraphina climbed into the bath with all the grace and silence of a judgmental swan. Completely unbothered. Probably wondering why I wasn't used to public execution-style mornings yet.

And just before I could drown myself in dramatic shame—

Mariette's POV

Somewhere just outside the bath chamber, I paused in front of the mirror with a neatly folded towel draped over my arm, adjusting the collar of my robe.

Sneeze, I probably hurry and take a bath before lady celia will get out.

I glanced at the nearby tray of rose-milk rinse and lavender soap, double-checking the temperature of the rinse water with two fingers. Satisfied, I nodded once and lifted the towel again.

Back to Celia (still inside the bath)

Just as I tried to hide behind a tiny puff of bubbles and give myself a secret funeral—

The door creaked open. Again.

"Lady Celia," Mariette's calm voice greeted as she stepped inside, towel folded over one arm, eyes glancing at the scene like this was all completely expected. "I've come to assist. If you'll lean forward shortly, I'll begin with your shoulders."

I turned slowly to look at her.

"You," I whispered, pointing one trembling, sudsy finger, "have no remorse."

Mariette blinked. "I brought the rose-milk rinse. You like that one."

"I liked privacy, too!"

Seraphina, beside me, had already started calmly rinsing her hair, completely immune to the volcanic meltdown happening beside her.

I gave up.

Mariette knelt by the edge of the tub, sleeves rolled up with practiced precision.

"Lean forward, Lady Celia."

"…Fine," I grumbled as I slouched forward with the grace of a soggy breadstick. "But this better come with emotional support afterward."

"It always does."

I closed my eyes, resigned to my fate as Mariette gently began scrubbing my shoulders with a warm cloth like this was just another Tuesday.It probably was. For her.

Meanwhile, Seraphina poured rose-milk rinse over her hair in total silence, like some tragic empress being prepped for coronation

"So," I mumbled, eyes still shut, "any plans today?"

Seraphina said nothing.

Mariette answered without missing a beat, "Survive your own dramatics. And breakfast."

"Sounds fake, but okay."

There was a pause.

Then Seraphina spoke, quiet and serene:"You have soap on your nose."

As if to punctuate the scene, I sneezed—right into a puff of bubbles.

And that was how I began the day: half-drowned in herbs, betrayal, and very professional back-scrubbing.

By the time we emerged from the bath chamber—clean, dressed, and only slightly emotionally scarred—the estate was already awake.

Sunlight streamed through the hallway windows, and the scent of breakfast lingered faintly in the air. I, of course, was not allowed to stop and sniff it. No, because apparently, fate hates me.

"Lady Celia," Mariette said as we rounded the corner toward the east wing, "you'll be late if you don't hurry."

"I just survived an emotionally devastating bath. I think I deserve toast."

"I brought you toast in a napkin."

I blinked. "That's… actually very thoughtful."

Mariette handed it to me like a peace offering.

Seraphina, walking beside us, accepted her own napkin-wrapped breakfast without a word. How she could walk and eat and look regal at the same time was beyond me.

Before I could even finish a bite, a loud voice echoed across the stone hall:

"There you are, trouble trio!"

We all turned—well, I flinched—just in time to see Valeria, standing tall at the entrance to the courtyard in her training uniform, arms crossed and a half-smile on her face like she was about to ruin our lives.

"Since we discussed your mana and elemental affinities yesterday," she called, "today's lesson is simple."

Simple. That was always a lie.

Valeria raised one brow, eyes gleaming with intent. "We're going to increase your mana and elemental compatibility. Through physical training."

My soul left my body.

"I knew I should've stayed in the bath," I whispered.

Mariette patted my back. "At least you're clean."

That doesn't help at all.

I stared at Valeria like she'd just told me to jump into a volcano and find enlightenment.

"Physical training and mana focus?" I repeated, horrified. "Isn't that a little… much for first thing in the morning?"

Valeria grinned. It was not comforting. "You want to grow stronger, don't you?"

"I also want to stay alive."

"You'll be fine. Probably."

Mariette, beside me, offered a towel as if that would help with the spiritual crisis I was currently enduring.

Seraphina, of course, just nodded solemnly like this all made perfect sense.

"Today," Valeria said, striding toward us with that terrifying captain-energy, "we're starting mana concentration drills. You're going to focus all your consciousness into your mana core and accumulate as much energy as you can hold."

I blinked. "That sounds like the magical version of overinflating a balloon until it explodes."

"That's… not inaccurate," Valeria replied cheerfully.

My brain short-circuited. "Wait—explode?!"

"If you lose focus or overcharge," she explained like we were discussing tea temperatures and not life-threatening consequences, "your mana destabilizes, and the flow collapses. You'll have to start over from zero."

Mariette leaned in to whisper behind her hand, "There's also a mild risk of magical feedback frying your nerves. But it's very mild. Mostly."

"That's not mild!" I screeched.

Valeria clapped her hands. "Alright, spread out. Find your spots in the courtyard. Deep breaths. Think happy thoughts. And if you feel a strange buzzing in your spine or start to float, that means it's working."

"Or it means I'm dying!" I snapped, but I was already being shepherded onto the training mat by Mariette like a reluctant lamb toward magical slaughter.

I sat cross-legged beside Seraphina, who had already closed her eyes and gone disturbingly still.

"She's going to turn into a magic bomb, I just know it," I whispered.

"She's regulating her core," Mariette corrected gently. "You should try too."

I closed my eyes. I tried to breathe. I tried to picture my mana core.

What did it even look like? A marble? A soup pot? A tiny angry sun?

No—focus.

I imagined a soft light deep in my chest. I tried to pull everything—thoughts, attention, magic—toward it.

For a moment, it worked.

Warmth bloomed inside me. My senses sharpened. I could feel mana trickling into the core, slow and steady like morning dew collecting in a bowl.

This wasn't so bad.

Then something… twitched.

A spark.

A rumble.

Like someone had lit a match inside a

balloon full of soda.

My eyes snapped open. "Is it supposed to vibrate?!"

"Yes," Valeria called from across the field. "But if you hear ringing or see stars, stop!"

I heard a violin solo. That was not normal.

Mariette suddenly grabbed my shoulder. "Stop. Now. You're glowing."

"I am?!"

"Yes. And you're vibrating like a kettle about to whistle."

I yanked all my mana back in with the force of someone pulling a plug out of a volcano. The glow stopped.

The pressure faded.

I collapsed onto the grass like a deflated balloon.

"Well," I gasped, "that was terrifying."

Seraphina, still seated like a serene monk, finally opened her eyes.

"I reached my fourth loop," she said calmly.

I stared at her.

"You what?! I nearly exploded just trying to find mine!"

She blinked. "That sounds like a skill issue."

I howled into the grass.

Mariette patted my back. "On the bright side, you didn't explode.

That's progress."

Valeria strode over and crouched beside me. "Not bad for your first attempt. A bit dramatic. But expected."

"That was my soul being dramatic," I mumbled.

Valeria nodded like she understood. "Then you're halfway to becoming a proper mage."

I groaned again and flopped backward, staring at the sky.

Mana training was clearly a form of spiritual punishment.

Or worse—