Like Father, Like Daughter

I remember when I first saw you. It was only five years ago.

You were just a girl. Just one of the many saints in the Embassy. I was with my father and a few other ambassadors, speaking with the archbishop of Greathēlden—a respectable man. Taken the title of “Father” seriously and treated the saints as his own children. We were leaving through the entrance hall, where the saints were healing the people. You were pushing a large box toward one of the people. A nearby saintess called you “Sister” and asked you if you needed help. You insisted that you could handle it.

You turned your face then. Just for a moment. But I saw your face.

I had seen that same face a few hours earlier, when my father introduced me to the suprēmen of Greathēlden and his family. And I wondered why his daughter was here.

When I asked the archbishop about you, he merely smiled. And what did he say?

“Oh. That is my daughter, Saintess Dēzirae. Though, she is often mistaken for Princess Dezidēria.”

When I returned to Victersverg, I asked my emissary to gather information about you. He confirmed that you were the archbishop’s daughter.

“Same age as the princess,” he said, “but born one week after. Adopted by the archbishop. There was once a whole story about the suprēminess actually giving birth to twins and the suprēmen deciding to give one of them to the archbishop since his wife died before giving him a child, but that was later proven false.”

Heh. I still think that would have been a thrilling tale.

Anyway, at first glance you seemed like every other saint—same kind face, same divine ability, same concern for the people. But the further I observed you, the more you reminded me of the archbishop. Same warm smile. Same gentle gaze. Same kindness to others. I sometimes wondered if you were his biological daughter.

But then you extended your kindness to your enemies.

The one action of the archbishop that I still think is foolish. Enemies are threats, and threats are eliminated. Yet, you two would rather shower them with kindness. Who does that? Why do that at all? It makes you seem weak, especially to them.

Even the little girl you often spoke with agreed with me. Still, like any child, she asked you why.

To this day, I can never forget your answer.

“I decided to be kind a long time ago. I’m not stopping just because of a few cruel people.”

Is that why your kindness seemed so…natural? Did that father of yours make that same decision? He must have, or else he wouldn’t have become the kindest soul anyone would ever know.

At that moment, it no longer mattered that you were adopted by him. You were, truly, his daughter. I had to keep an eye on you. Had to see what else you had inherited from your father, what else he had instilled into you.

And so, I watched.

Watched as you gave larger boxes of meals to those who were rude to you. Watched as you gave signed copies of your book to those who spoke ill of you. Watched as you smiled at those who were secretly waiting for your downfall. Through it all, you never expected them to reciprocate your kindness—you knew that they wouldn’t. The clarity in your eyes told me that. And that father of yours? Still spoke to you with all the gentleness he had. Still said “My daughter” when he called you. Still trained you himself despite all his responsibilities as the archbishop of an empire. And over the years, as the two of you stayed close, you only looked more alike. The same resolve after a decision was made. The same compassion for the poor. The same respect for authority. The same dedication to the kingdom above.

No one would ever think that you two share no blood ties.

And then, after your book became a bestseller, and couples came to you for advice, you began officiating weddings and betrothal ceremonies, like your father once did. Unlike him, though, you were passionate about marriage. Heard that you only wed couples who were sure about it.

Never expected that Dezidēria and the king of Yolvin would be one of those couples. Must have been quite the surprise when you officiated their betrothal ceremony. I could imagine the shock on everyone’s faces when they saw two identical faces.

Speaking of your book, I have a copy as well. Quite the read, I must say. I never considered that the differences between men and women were by design. Makes sense now that you pointed this out, thoroughly no less. I especially like the chapter about a woman’s need for affection. I have always wondered why a woman would do anything for love, why she would even seek such a thing at all. But I understand now—this is her need. Every woman’s need.

Your need.

I wonder, were you referring to yourself when you listed many affectionate gestures for her? When you said that they are meant to make her feel loved? When you said that he doesn’t need to be affectionate or in love, just consistent and understanding?

Mm, no matter. Even if you weren’t, your message was clear. So, dearest, why not shower you with affection? Why not show you that you are my dearest person? You have become dear to so many people, after all. At least, with me being affectionate with you, you can tell them that your husband treats you kindly. Maybe they wouldn’t worry so much…or maybe they would worry even more. Either way, they would want to know how you are doing. Especially that father of yours.

Speaking of which, he has been contacting me lately. He misses you dearly. Actually, they all do. They have been sending quite a lot of letters to the Embassy. You should respond to them, dearest. I will handle the heirdom’s matters in the meantime.

Good night, dearest. Sweet dreams.