Mila is scared.

Kayra was missing a petal. Sure, sunflowers have a lot of them, but why all of a sudden? She'd only been missing five before. She's never seen her lose one, not ever. Not until now.

Mila doesn't ask. She doesn't want to be hated.

Kayra is knitting again the next day, humming. Mila doesn't leave her room often, so other than helping her brush her hair and put on a simple dress, Mila doesn't require much fussing. 

Mila attempts to peek over the woman's shoulder. Kayra snickers and hunches over it, her soft blond hair helping with her efforts to conceal her project.

"Too slow. You'll have to be quicker than that, my lady."

Mila huffs. "You're going to show it to me soon enough, right? What's so bad about a peek?"

"A gift should always be a secret. Be patient." 

Kayra pats her head, and she crosses her arms, turning her face away. She remains pouting. "Boo... no fun."

The maid chuckles, pushing her to sit across from her and delivering a new book from the local library. Mila had long since read most of the book she could in the Feistra library. There weren't many books good for her age, and her private teachers only ever allowed her the boring curriculum of nobility. Mila quickly forgets her pouting in favor of the book, dropping down with a loud 'thank you!'

This one is about a young woman who goes on an expedition across the seas. Mila wonders what it's like to adventure far. 

The two are peaceful in their projects.

Mila had been too preoccupied to notice another petal was missing from the sunflower. 

Mila knows something is wrong. Kayra looks normal, acts normal, but she has bags under her eyes. She's missing more petals. Sometimes she loses one each day, sometimes it's a little more spaced out. It's terrifying.

Mila approaches the butler, managing to get him to stop. The man always seems to be busy, running about, handling all sorts of jobs for Father. Usually, she wouldn't interrupt, but this is an emergency.

"Mister Clainon, please!"  

The desperation in her voice makes the older man pause, his obscene pile of paperwork tilting dangerously in his hands. He sets it to the side.

"How may I help, young miss? It is unusual for you to be so frazzled," Or out of your room, some part of his face seemed to say. His silver eyebrows are raised high on his face, as though incredulous she was speaking to him.

Her fingers tangle together in uncertainty, fiddling. Her head bows. "I'm sorry, I know you're busy but... is Kayra sick or something? She doesn't... something is wrong."

The butler stares at her for a moment. "Kayra... no, I haven't noticed any such thing. She reports in as usual. Adults work a lot," his tone, while gentle, makes her prickle. He's somehow being patronizing, but she can't verbalize how. "They become tired. Worry yourself not."

And just like that, he seems to dismiss her, taking her frustrated silence as acceptance.

Mila squeezes her hands together, the force of it making her arms tremble. She turns on her heel and returns to her room.

That day, she offered an amused Kayra to read her a story. The exhausted, kind maid with blue eyes, blond hair, and a sunflower balding with only 12 petals left humors her.

Mila wishes she could have done more.

It continues. Mila has marks all over her hands from where she had gripped herself too tightly. She's a mess.

Kayra only has one petal left, and Mila can't be sure how to tell her. Should she?

It's bad enough that she sits in her gardens, pacing wildly back and forth. The other maids have been more disturbed by her behavior than ever, but she doesn't care about them. 

Eventually, she just collapses on the bench, legs drawn up to her chest. Her birthday had been a week ago, and Kayra had been the only one to celebrate it, wishing her a happy birthday with a breakfast she made herself and a huge cake. Ever since her mother died, it had only been Kayra. Her father usually just sent an expensive gift as an acknowledgment. It's rarely right.

Dresses that fit the fashion of the times, yet were too young for her by years. They fit, of course, but they're not the correct style for her age group. It's another reminder of how little her father knows her. 

Ovina and Ivan sent her some sweets, likely out of their funds. She's glad they thought of her. 

Mila doesn't get parties or celebrations like they do. She's not allowed to attend theirs either, only able to send gifts with notes. 

She's a bad friend, Mila feels. A bad friend, and a bad lady to her poor maid, who seems to suffer in silence. 

Kayra finds her like this, curled up in the garden, unaware of her. She taps the girl's head, smiling warmly down at her. "I have a surprise for you."

Mila, startled, lifts her face, eyes wide and puffy. Kayra's own widen before she swipes at the tears, her hands so gentle. Mila hugs her. 

"Oh, dear. What's wrong? What on earth could upset you so?"

Mila feels it on the tip of her tongue. It feels heavy, a boulder, too heavy for her to impart. What if she just makes it worse? No. Kayra deserves better. Tears come heavier, her breathing ragged.

Kayra, seeing Mila isn't calming, fishes in her pockets until she pulls out what she's been knitting. 

"Here you are, my lady. I hope you enjoy your surprise," Kayra's voice is so soft it makes Mila break out of her head momentarily, reaching trembling fingers to the blob of red and green.

She sniffles, wiping her eyes until she isn't just seeing blurs of color, trying to fight back the waves of deluge in her nose. 

She knitted a doll that looks like her mom. She must have worked hard to get the right shades of red and blue for her eyes and hair, and a green dress. It's much better than their little drawing. Mila clutches it to her chest, grief washing over her in waves, yet somehow warm.

"Fank you, fank you-" she's near incoherent, but she can say that much. 

Kayra just laughs and holds her tight. She seems relieved these are mostly happy tears and finds herself joining her charge. 

They cry together for a while.

That night, Mila sits beside Kayra on her couch, leaning on the maid. She had asked a large dinner to be brought for them, and it had certainly been delivered. Usually, nobles would never dine with their servants, but it's not as though her family was normal.

So she has dinner with the woman who treats her like family, her Sienne doll in her lap. It's warm. She's exhausted from all her crying and full from the food. She's dozing against Kayra's shoulder while the woman piles the plates together.

"Kayra? Can you do me a favor?"

"Of course. What is it?"

"Please be careful. You only... have one petal left. I don't want anything to happen to you." The words are quiet, Mila barely awake. 

Kayra listens but doesn't hear. She doesn't recall Mila talking about a last petal on the night of her mother's passing. She just remembers trying to protect a little girl from further pain.

So she just pats Mila's head and helps her to bed, as a good maid would. 

"Rest easy, my lady," Kayra says, setting the Sienne doll next to the girl, petting her hair. "Paint happy dreams."

Kayra goes home, knowing her dreams would be anything but. 

Mila is relieved to see Kayra still has her petal the next day as she arrives in the manor. She is safe; she will see her soon.

She goes back to studying. A book she had grabbed about flower meanings. It's supposed to be for noblewomen's etiquette, the only reason she was given it. She likes to learn their meanings.

An hour passes. Strange that Kayra isn't here yet. She brushes off her unease and flips the page.

Another hour and Mila is asking around. No one knows where she is. She checked in that morning, but no one had seen her. Mila rushes for the room she knows is Kayra's, with a sinking feeling in her stomach. She's probably fine. Maybe someone had asked her to help with a task. It's not the first time.

She knocks on Kayra's door. No answer. It's slightly ajar, light coming from inside. 

"Kayra?" She calls. No answer. She calls again. 

She gulps, slides the door open just enough to peer in. 

Kayra lies on the floor, hand stretched to the door, partly on her side. Her mouth is wide open, something like foam frothing at her lips. 

It's her mom all over again. She's screaming desperately for help, having rushed to Kayra's side. Shakes her, nothing. She begs, pleads, but she's never answered. Mila tries to move her but is unable, reaching across her shoulders. Not enough. Her small hand scrabbles, loses grip- her hand slides across-

She can just feel the soft velvet of the petal, falling away under her hand. She doesn't need to look to know it's crumbling to dust. 

Mila is ten and left alone again.