I Was Born The Unloved Twin 54 Damask

I have run into an issue with all my kitchen experiments.

Don't get me wrong, every other Friday is still pizza days and we're getting some interesting additions introduced into the menu. Fresh-grilled flatbreads are still the most popular additions but pitas have gotten more use since we figured out how to turn them into chips without burning.

But uh, it may not be able to sustain itself at this rate

I've gained a sort of pet name among the camp, specifically the kitchen. I have been called many things in this world, many of them no so pleasant. Never before did I think I would be called Little Bread Wizard?

Are you kidding me?

It may sound flattering at first but it's actually not, primarily because they don't actually call me the 'wizard' part and I have no magic powers at all. It's like rubbing salt into my healing wound.

With that, they're calling me s.h.i.+tty cutesy little pet names like, 'chip' 'bread roll, 'honeybun' and 'little ball of dough'. What am I? The Pillsbury doughboy? Is this a fat dig? I am perfectly healthy for my age okay, babies are supposed to be squishy!

I honestly don't know how that happened but I have no one to blame but myself. As willing, even desperate as the kitchen staff is, I'm the one giving the orders to bake, bake and bake some more.

After essentially turning both our manor kitchen and the training camp's cafeteria into bakeries, we've come across a supply problem.

We're fast running out of flour.

Typically there are employees to help do supply ordering and logistics, such matters are too bothersome to the head maid or butler let alone the family.

It's not until the stock was concerningly low of flour and other essential ingredients that anyone even bothered to even tell me. I'm trying to offset a famine here, not start one due to low storage.

It is partly my own blind ignorance for not being involved enough in the process. Contrary to my young miss role I'm not an unreasonable little princess. Of course, this info isn't obvious to everyone, I'm a toddler!

A strangely well-spoken one but somehow I have the feeling I'm not the weirdest thing most of the main Ventrella staff, not the mention the troops, have ever encountered. I hope then that they give me a bit more trust and leeway in coming to me about these sort of things.

I know it's hard to believe but I'm actually decent at organizing.

I have spreadsheets and the resume portfolio to prove it! Well, not anymore. I don't think resumes are even a thing there, huh. How does the hiring process happen then? Good old connections and introductions?

Well, that's terribly inconvenient then. Underproductive to the hiring market too.

Anyways, in that case, I have the greatest credentials in this world right now. I'm the rich little miss of the Ventrella family. Money and power baby!

With my soul being a normal person, I don't have that 'throw money at problems' habit. Quite the opposite really, I've rarely bought anything that wasn't on sale. I would always figure out the best money to value on groceries and restaurants. Once I had to cash in and carry a very high figured check for my boss and had heart palpitations the whole time.

Being born rich in this life is still like a dream for me.

But I'm not trying to mess up the market and economy here, that would just chaos unnecessary chaos. Nor do I want farmers and suppliers to be forced to keep selling up items at cheap stable prices, though that is preferable.

I want to go to the source of this supply shortage and go one from there. Who knows, maybe I can find more ingredient sources or even figure out how to increase productivity. I havve no memories of Rosalia truly surveying the land or any agricultural information.

Such things are essentially the key to preventing, rather than just offsetting, a future famine across the local area. It's turning into a more and more important issue the further I think about it.

Which why I am convincing father to take a little trip surveying the local farmlands!

Yes, it's field trip time!

As a typical n.o.ble the previous Rosalia didn't really have that many hands-on experiences with her territory outside the high end circles. That was left to her father while he was still alive in her childhood.

The common people, the workers, what their lives and conditions are like and thoughts to improve them were all theory and up in the air.

This isn't necessarily her fault, it just wasn't expected of a woman of her station to pay attention to such things outside of books and theories. Rosalia actually did well in her lessons but even if history is important, it's a huge difference between lessons written by old out of touch n.o.bles and the actual reality. Queens lessons were mandatory but visiting farmlands,? Not so much. That's some pretty bad queen lessons honestly, to ignore the majority of the population to focus on memorization and etiquette of the few, the 1%, is terribly irresponsible.

She hardly noticed when the famines rolled through, n.o.blewomen tend not to.

They were nothing major by our modern standards but some years there would not be enough food to go around. The results are as expected. This was something that the citizens of this world are long used to, death and suffering is inevitable. These 'minor' famines were considered more than normal.

Not only were there deaths but it would severely weaken the people as a whole, the power source of the world and economy. This sort of thing I had forgotten since it had little to no effect on Rosalia's life and memories.

For the head of the house and their family members, nothing was lacking. Even if there were peasants dying out in the fields, it wouldn't affect the n.o.bles besides some raised food prices.

That just doesn't sit right with me.

Again don't get me wrong, I'm not a naturally good person who wants to save everyone. That's impossible, but more food and less overall dying going on, the better everyone will be off. This place is my home now, and I want it to be a good peaceful place for me to live.

There's also the selfish reason of raising the Rosalia reputation points. I didn't exactly have the best reputation among commoners, scratch that I was a flat stereotypical devil child that grew into a villainess.

Who came up with that kind of s.h.i.+t in the first place? I blame the church.

Of course Rosalia, as spoiled and wasteful as she was, really didn't have devil powers. I think that I was just the scapegoat, the celebrity that the ma.s.ses could easily place their hate and frustrations on. Like a bad reality TV show star that people could point their fingers and gossip at.

Again I blame the church.

So if the people aren't hungry then there will be less unrest and less future trouble for me.

There's also my immediate concern of getting more ingredients. What do you mean we're out of flour? I'm trying to improve our standard of eating here, this is a very important checkmark on improving quality of life.

Of course, we could just pay a higher market price to buy up remaining grains and stock. But what a good reminder it is to check up on the farmlands and markets. I'm not paying more just because I can afford to do so now. Not if it means messing up the market and making it harder for the common people to feed themselves.

I was ready to present to father bright and early the next morning a simplified list of reasons why we should be making this visit but he agreed before I even finished my first sentence.

"Very good, let's go."

"Huh? Wait wait that easy?"

"Yes now let's be off, it's still early and there's much to be done, yes."

"Wait? Right now!"

Luckily I always carry my interdimensional bag with me because father simply picks me up and heads down to the stables.

A manservant arrives leading a strong looking mixed breed mare with the coloring of a Yellow Jersey horse. I recognize the mare as Damask, one of the mated pair of steeds that father brought with him from his home, when he married mother.

Damask and her mate Gino are very recognizable not only from their reddish coat and diamond face markings but because as huge as these things are, they're very dog like.

I recall vaguely how after mother and father died, things were moved around and some horses were sold off. Damask and Gino were offered for a high price even though they were no longer considered in their prime then. It's not like anyone could ride them anyways, not without father.

But they're a good breed, both beasts infused fast yet loyal to humans, perhaps they could still produce some young. Even the Bicchieri, father's family offered to take them back home with a price.

The steeds refused any attempt to move or relocate them. Yet no matter how fast or adamantly they run off, they would always return to circle and stay around the mansion. Even back then I remember people shaking their heads at the pair of horses when they were spotted lingering, then make a prayer towards my presumed deceased parents.

Waiting for their master, they would say. If that's true, then it's very Hachiko of them. I'm a sucker for dogs and animal stories thus I can't help the small surge of affection at seeing this not so old horse.

The familiar reddish mare, now over a decade younger than I last recall, trotted enthusiastically up to us, half dragging to poor stablehand. She's much smaller than her mate, short for her breed but just as fast, and easily bent down to affectionately nuzzle father's face. Her coat a few shades brighter red than father's own head of hair. They make a very suitable picture together.

See, just like a dog! Or well a horse, some horses are affectionate no?

She even wants to be petted, which father immediately gives while I watch as an older stablehand pack her up a tad bit more than just ready for riding.

Then to my surprise, the old head Butler Alfonso pops in.

"Your excursion bag and briefcase sir, base provisions have been packed and a messenger bird has already been sent out. "

"Excellent work Alfonso, have the guardsmen follow us after they're ready."

"Yes Lord Frederick, they're expected to catch up with the carriage in no more than 2 hours."

"Very good then, anything else Alfonso?

"A change of clothes for both you and the young miss Rosalia, sir. "

"....."

I'm left gaping in silence, how did father get everything impossibly arranged so quickly? How was the pre-planned already, it must have been to have everything so ready?

"I'm sure our Lady Maria temper shall ease through the day."

"That's what I'm counting on Alfonso."

Oh that.

"Father, are we running away from mother today? Is she still mad about the clown thing?"

Father finally puts me down to prep his gear and change out of his shoes into a more reliable pair of leather riding boots. He also removes his coat for something less valuable and eye catching, something or a warm dark brown leather that compliments his figure rather das.h.i.+ngly.

I actually like this handsomely rugged look. Not bad father, not bad at all.

"Something like that, but best not to be caught by her today."

"That doesn't sound very healthy."

"No I don't suppose it is, but you haven't seen your mother petty and angry. Would you prefer that though?"

"No, no thank you. Let's go with your running away plan."

At that moment Alfonso appears again presenting us with a tiny pair of boots and a short common looking jacket to go over my frock.

"Is that for me?"

Obviously, no one else can fit it. I allow father to pull me up and sit me down so they can replace my dainty little sandals for the booties. As quickly as they prepped me up, that was when I noticed a mortifyingly familiar piece of cloth.

"No!"

"Now Damask may be smaller but she's still far too large for you to be riding normally. "

"I know that, I can ride with your just fine father!"

"Yes yes you probably can my little rascal but for your safety and everyone's peace of mind-"

"You are not getting me into the baby sling" I seethed.

The s.h.i.+tty gramps is a terrible influence, father must have gotten the idea after seeing grampa strut with Lilyanne bundled to his person around the camp. No, no I refuse, I am not a real baby or even a puppy dog to be slung around.

"Well then my Rosalia, can you ride my Damask?"

I shake my head immediately at the beast who's coming up to lick and nuzzle at father's head to his amus.e.m.e.nt. Is that sanitary, I think not? Her entire mouth is certainly large enough to gobble a human head in one gulp.

Nope nope nope.

"Well, then would you like to wait a few hours and follow along with the guard in the carriage wagon? It won't be our nice cus.h.i.+oned one since I don't intend to take long."

I shake my head even harder, nope nope nope.

"I'll most certainly get sick on that carriage"

Not risking it, I'll be stuck with motion sickness for a good part of the day and then what's the point?

Father makes that fake 'not mocking' expression as if he's pondering over his options. Tt's hard to take him seriously with his hair half messed by an overly affectionate horse, though by now it does stop nuzzling him so much to give me a curious look.

I hope it's not thinking of eating me.

"Then would you prefer to stay home with your mother today after all?"

For a brief second my mind flashbacks to the carnage of yesterday and that's enough convincing for me. Nope nope nope.

"Baby sling it is then."

"Very good choice Chip, into the thing you go. It's much more comfortable than horseback riding, I a.s.sure you."

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"Do you have to call me that?"

I complain as father stashes me like a mother kangaroo. Oh the shame, no one here is allowed to speak of word of what they've seen ok! I'm using my young miss card here, no embarra.s.sing gossip!

I'm pretty sure father's authority overrides that though.

"Would you prefer 'dough ball', I'm rather fond of that one too."

"Stop stop stop, father! No one really calls me that!"

"I beg to differ, my dear little hot cross bun. Everyone calls you that and every other bread under the sun. Besides I'm quite fond of 'chips', they're a tad hard to chew and snappy but surprisingly delicious. "

"I am not a little hot cross bun..."

"Chip it is then."

Father pinches and pats my dough like baby cheeks before he expertly climbs up and slings his leg over his giant dog horse.

"Take care now my Lord, a good day to you young Miss Rosalia."

"And to you too Alfonso, do send a messanger bird if anything comes up.

With a light kick, Damask carefully begins to turn and trot out the stables. Funny I usually see her and Gino speed out of here with father. He is carrying a bit more cargo today, must be extra careful today with me on board.

I get a quip in before Damask really starts speeding up like I know she will.

"See father, Alfonso doesn't call me any funny bread names."

"That's because he already calls you 'soap suds' when you're not listening."

"What!?!"

"Hmm the sling is nice and tight then, any discomfort at all?"

"What's the soap bubbles thing?! Father?"

" I'll take that as a no, alright then we're good to go. Come on girl!"

"Eeep!"

Then we're really off! The once careful mare went from a 0 to 100 real quick. I think I'm actually glad for the baby sling tying me securely to safety. He doesn't need to with the sling but one of father's arm is still holding on to support and steady me. It's warm in this sling, so close against his chest.

After the first 20 or so horrifying minutes of hiding face first into the sling, it's actually a pretty fun ride going this fast. The scenery is blurry and the wind hurts my eyes if I keep them open face forward for too long but my heart beats not in an unpleasant way.

Then it's nothing but rising suns.h.i.+ne, the rus.h.i.+ng breeze and the subtle scent of bergamot heavy tea, gunpowder, and a bit of the horse, all around me.

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