As Shirou leaves for the kitchen, Semiramis remains still, using the moment of solitude to observe something intangible. There’s a whisper of old familiarity, and she casts it aside like a lacerated glove, too ruined to serve its function still. This was then, and now is now. Whatever happens here belongs only to them — to her as is. A spectre she might be, but at least she inhabits the now, unlike the her that was. That should count for something.
It should, but as her narrowed eyes drink in the surroundings (surely, if there is one thing amiss, there must be more), her gaze catches on a cardboard box, far too inconspicuously placed near the cabin’s Television device and DVD player to be truly inconspicuous. The selection of movies itself being present here is not surprising —a summer camp staple, really— but she glimpses one cover adorned in black and red, sharp-edged golden lettering proclaiming a movie title that has no right existing.
Unobserved, there is no need to hide the spark of anger the cover ignites, and, skirt fluttering, she rushes to the box, picking up the incriminating movie only to find a sequel hidden behind the first DVD. “Crosses and Thorns,” the title proclaims, “an empress’ love story in 3 acts. A trilogy by Shakespeare Productions”. Trilogy?! Of course, the box contains the final part as well.
Semiramis gathers them all in her hands, not even bothering to school her expression into an impassive, unbothered smile. Only one question needs answering now, and she reaches the kitchen swifter than a dove’s wing beat.
‘ Amakusa Shirou. Did you know about these? ’ She drops the DVDs next to a pile of carrots.
the rhythmic chop of carrots stops short at the sudden arrangement of items that should not belong on a kitchen counter. shirou eyes the stack of DVDs with a crinkling brow, but the question of what goes where and more soon becomes a secondary concern at hand.
the presented discs—their style and decorum, easily noted as the works of Shakespeare, dastardly done—calls for trouble. some distant part of him coils up and bristles with the knowledge, mainly because it’s a series production cropping up unexpectedly from that caster.
❝ i can see why you would feel concerned about this, semiramis——do you think i am responsible ? ❞ he asks, setting the knife aside and wiping his hands on a rag. but, of course, semiramis need not answer. any suspicions would be well justified considering the not-so-coincidences playing by his hand.
❝ i had no idea such things existed, ❞ shirou admits truthfully. the first case is then lifted, scrutinized with an air of indifference, and he sobers into a smile at the sight of semiramis’ expression. a soft chuckle follows suit. ❝ still, aren't you in the least bit curious ? though, i suppose this story could be about any empress in love. why don’t we play one to find out ? ❞
