The executrix sighed, looking at the ragtag group of young adults gathered. On the surface, they seemed fine enough; their clothing was clean and neat, as was their appearance, with their hair being well-kept and their skin unblemished. She, like everyone else in this city, knew the truth of these vultures. They kept their youth using forbidden magic, like their late father had. It was impossible to know what they traded away for their looks, but it was rumored to have been something priceless for each.

"I, Count Henrique Floris, devise and bequeath my property, both real and personal and wherever situated, as follows..." the executrix began.

Just as she was about to continue, a young woman entered the room. Her hair was in a messy braided crown and she wore a brown peasant's dress. She looked vaguely like the other young adults, but somehow, her youth seemed more authentic than theirs.

The others began to mumble and stare, but the executrix silenced them. "She's in the will, be still." She could feel their rising anger but continued. "To my son, Henrique, who shares only his name with me, I bequeath... nothing."

"What!" said Henrique demanded. Two of the other young men present snickered, as did the two women who were present before the late entry.

"To my son Aleist, whose troubles number greater than I do in years, I bequeath... nothing."

"Wow, father is going the scorched earth route, isn't he?" remarked one of the women.

"To my daughter Yura, whose troubles number even more than Aleist's, I bequeath... nothing."

Said Yura grumbled and crossed her arms, making no remarks. She looked to the peasant woman instead with a piercing stare.

"To my son Faus, who left home and surely only returned upon my death, I bequeath... nothing."

"Maybe if he gave me some money before he died I would have stayed around longer," Faus grumbled.

"To my daughter Mielle, the most rotten of my children, I bequeath... nothing."

Mielle scowled. "Rotten!? Rotten! If he wants to see rotten, I'll show him rotten."

The executrix looked from the will to the last person yet to be mentioned. "To my daughter Cecilda-"

"What, daughter?!"

"You can't mean that thing there-"

"-daughter of the late Arie, the only one to receive my gift, I bequeath all my possessions."

The falsely-young siblings looked at Cecilda, gazes intense. They descended into a cacophony of shouting and pointing and profanity, which made Cecilda recoil. The executrix approached her and placed a hand on her shoulder reassuringly. "Do you mean to insult your youngest sister and Countess?"

"Stop shouting at me!" Cecilda blurted out, and the siblings, who grew even more heated... fell silent against their will. The air was thick with suppressive magic.

"... you have the gift of Command, my lady?" asked the surprised executrix.

"Oh my Gods. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to..."

The siblings pointed at her and then at their own mouths, which she understood. But she shook her head no. "You can speak again only if you promise not to shout at me."

The executrix applied gentle pressure on the new Countess's shoulder. "Let's depart and leave your siblings to sort out themselves for now. There is a lot of paperwork for you to fill out." The young woman looked down a little and nodded her head. When she did, the executrix lifted Cecilda's head by her chin. "None of that now, you're the Countess, and the wielder of magic far greater than any of us. Walk with pride."