SAO: Strawberry Bunny

Here's a sneak peak at what's been happening at the Fraser home. I've been meaning to publish this. Enjoy~

The Fraser estate was vast, a sprawling compound nestled amidst acres of manicured gardens, shimmering fountains, and towering oaks. The mansion itself was a blend of modern luxury and old-world charm, its marble floors and high arched windows reflecting the status of the man who owned it—Hampton Fraser, CEO of NOVA Inc., one of the leading companies in advanced robotics and AI development.

But despite its grandeur, the house had grown eerily quiet over the past month. What was once a home filled with muted laughter and the soft patter of energetic footsteps now seemed lifeless. The absence of Memphis Fraser, known affectionately by her staff as their "Young Mistress," hung heavily in the air, turning even the sunniest days into muted shadows of what they once were.

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The Maids: Memories of Joy

In the east wing, the maids gathered quietly in the vast kitchen, the scent of freshly baked pastries filling the room. Patricia, the head maid, stood at the counter, meticulously slicing strawberries for a shortcake. Her hands moved with precision, but her eyes betrayed her worry.

"She loved these," Patricia murmured, placing a perfectly sliced berry onto the cream. "Whenever she came into the kitchen, she'd swipe a slice before I could even finish."

A younger maid, Eliza, smiled faintly. "And she'd always blame someone else. Said it was probably the squirrels outside or the wind knocking things over."

The room chuckled softly, though the laughter lacked its usual warmth. Eliza's hands trembled slightly as she folded linen napkins. "Do you think she's okay in there? In... that game?"

Patricia's knife paused mid-slice, her lips pressing into a thin line. "She's strong. Our little tomboy's always been strong."

The maids nodded, though the tension in the room remained palpable. Memphis wasn't just their employer's daughter; she was the heart of the household. Her mischievous nature, her infectious energy—it was those small moments that had made the Fraser mansion a home. From sneaking into the garden to climb the old oak tree to teasing the stoic butler until he cracked a rare smile, Memphis had a way of bringing joy even on the hardest days.

In the library, Mr. Hargrove, the head butler, adjusted the books on the shelves with meticulous care. He had served the Fraser family for decades, his demeanor always composed and reserved. But even he could not hide the worry etched into the lines of his face.

"She used to sit right there," he muttered to himself, glancing at the plush armchair by the window. The sunbeam that fell on it seemed lonely, as if waiting for its rightful occupant to return. "Always with a book she'd pretend to read. But the moment I turned my back, she'd be up that tree outside."

A junior butler, Marcus, hesitated by the door, holding a tray of freshly brewed tea. "Sir, do you think Mr. Fraser will ever—"

"Speak less, Marcus," Hargrove interrupted, his tone sharp but not unkind. "We are not here to dwell on doubts. We serve, and we wait. For her."

Marcus swallowed hard and nodded, placing the tray down before retreating quietly. Hargrove allowed himself a rare moment of vulnerability, his hand resting on the armchair's back. "Come home, little one," he whispered.

In his study, Hampton Fraser sat behind his mahogany desk, his hands buried in his hair as he stared blankly at the stack of reports in front of him. The man who had built an empire with his intelligence and determination now looked like a shadow of himself. His once sharp suit was crumpled, the tie discarded, and his eyes were rimmed with sleeplessness.

A photo sat on the desk—a younger Memphis, grinning widely, her arms wrapped around a beautiful older woman with long dark pink hair. Her tomboyish charm was evident even then, with her short hair tousled and her scraped knees on full display.

"How did this happen?" Hampton muttered, his voice breaking. "How did I let this happen?"

His secretary, Mrs. Whitmore, stood by the door, her expression sympathetic. "Sir, you couldn't have known. None of us could have. The technology was vetted—safe."

"Safe?" Hampton's voice rose, uncharacteristically sharp. He slammed a fist onto the desk, making the photo rattle. "My daughter is trapped in that... that death trap, and you call it safe?"

Mrs. Whitmore didn't flinch, though her voice softened. "She's resilient, sir. Just like her mother was."

At the mention of his late wife, Hampton's anger dissipated, replaced by a hollow ache. "She's all I have left," he whispered. "And I wasn't there to protect her."

Outside, the gardeners tended to the sprawling estate grounds, their work a quiet but necessary routine. But even they felt the absence of their Young Mistress. Memphis had often joined them, her curiosity and boundless energy making her a welcome, if mischievous, presence.

"She used to insist on planting strawberries," said Eduardo, the head gardener, as he adjusted the soil around a budding plant. "Said they were her favorite because they reminded them of her mum."

Maria, his assistant, chuckled. "And then she'd eat half of them before they were ripe."

Eduardo smiled faintly but quickly sobered. "The garden's too quiet without her. Too quiet."

Despite their worry, the staff found small ways to keep Memphis's presence alive. The maids continued to bake her favorite treats, leaving them on the kitchen counter as if she might walk in at any moment. The butlers kept her room tidy, arranging her books and belongings just as she liked them. The gardeners tended to her strawberry patch, ensuring it thrived in her absence.

And Hampton Fraser, though consumed by guilt and fear, poured his resources into finding answers. He had hired the best minds in VR technology, desperate for a way to monitor her progress in the game. Every morning, he received updates—fragmented glimpses of her activity within Aincrad.

"She's alive," he murmured to himself every time he saw her stats. "She's still fighting."

It was a small comfort, but it was enough to keep him going. Because no matter how impossible the odds seemed, Memphis was his daughter. And if anyone could beat the game and come home, it was her.

As the sun set over the Fraser estate, casting the gardens in a warm golden glow, the staff gathered in the kitchen for their nightly tea. It had become a ritual of sorts, a quiet moment to share stories and memories of Memphis.

"She'll come back," Patricia said firmly, her voice cutting through the silence. "She's too stubborn not to."

The others nodded in agreement, their determination mirroring the spirit of the girl they all adored. Because no matter how dark the days grew, the Fraser estate would be waiting—ready to welcome back its light of joy.