A pulsing ache blossomed every time she tried to swallow. Her fingertips drifted instinctively to her neck, expecting blood or glass or agony—and found instead a smooth band of clean linen, tightly wound with healing hands. The lightest brush sent hot threads of pain shooting through her, but she was too weak to draw away.

Strong, warm fingers clasped hers—the swordswoman’s. She brought Vivian’s trembling hand to her lips and pressed a kiss to its back, her own eyes shining with gentle resolve.

“Hush, dear one. You are safe now,” the woman murmured, her voice soft as velvet and strong as steel. She brushed the back of her fingers over Vivian’s tear-streaked cheek, weaving away the river of grief. “There is no more pain. Your parents are well. Rest, little star.”

Behind her, the doctor’s lips tightened, unwilling to betray the gentle lie. He turned his gaze aside as the woman soothed the girl, letting the kindness of words protect a soul too newly orphaned for the burden of truth.

And so—enfolded in the scent of lavender muslin, the touch of mercy, and the thrum of a sorrow she could not voice—Vivian let the darkness close gently around her again, the words she could never speak clinging to silence on her tongue.

-Entrance Hall; Vendreich Estate; Outside the Capital of Granzholm, 7.12 AM-

The grand doors of the Vendreich estate chimed softly as they swung open, the muted echoes swallowed quickly by the marbled foyer. Polished stone floors gleamed beneath crystal chandeliers, their flickering candle flames casting playful shadows on tapestry-lined walls adorned with heraldic crests and ancient portraits. The faint scent of polished oak mingled with the delicate bouquet of fresh lilies arranged on a gilded console table.

“Welcome, Archduchess,” intoned the butler, his voice low and measured as he bowed deeply, the silver tassels on his uniform brushing against the velvet carpet. At his side, the head maid executed a graceful curtsey, the rustle of her fine linen skirts whispering like a gentle breeze. Rows of attendants and household staff aligned themselves on either side of the corridor, each bow dipping in perfect unison — a living tribute to nobility and ritual.

From the doorway emerged the figure commanding the room—the Archduchess of Vendreich herself. Her bearing was regal, every step measured yet fluid, like the ebb of autumn tides. Draped elegantly in a deep emerald riding cloak embroidered with threads of gold, she carried a small bundle cradled tenderly in her arms. There, nestled within silken folds, lay Vivian, her midnight hair a stark contrast against the creamy linens, peaceful in slumber despite the journey’s trials.

Suddenly, a burst of youthful energy shattered the solemn quiet.

“MAMAMAAAAA~!” came a joyous cry.

From behind the butler's polished leather boots, darted a little girl, her blonde curls bouncing with each excited step. Her wide violet eyes sparkled as if lit from within by pure delight. She launched herself at the Archduchess’s legs with untamed enthusiasm.

“Mommy! Welcome home!” the child exclaimed, wrapping her small arms tightly around the towering figure’s ankles.

Regina’s stern façade melted into a tender smile. “My baby...” she murmured softly, eyes moistening as she lowered herself to meet her daughter’s gleeful gaze. The walls seemed to brighten as warmth radiated from their reunion.

She gently shifted Vivian so the child drew into the light of the room, the soft rise and fall of the babe’s chest audible amid the muted echoes. Regina beckoned her daughter closer with a delicate sweep of her hand.

The little girl blinked curiously, her brows knitting in innocent wonder. “Who is this, Mommy?” she asked, tipping her head to one side, her voice pure and lilting.

The Archduchess’s smile deepened, full of motherly pride. “Your new little sister,” she replied, her voice velvety and low, as if bestowing a precious secret.

At that, the girl’s hands flew to her mouth in delighted surprise, her cheeks flushed rose-pink like blooming camellias. Tears of joy welled and spilled, shimmering like morning dew as they traced tiny paths down her cheeks.

She bounced on the balls of her feet, bursting into gleeful screams that echoed playfully against the vaulted ceiling. “YAYYYAYAYYYYAYYYY!!!!!!! Lily has a little sisterrrrrrr!!!” Joyous laughter tore from her lips like birdsong in spring, filling the grand hall with pure, unfiltered happiness.

Regina’s eyes sparkled with tears of a different kind—joy tempered with quiet hope. She swept her daughter into a warm embrace, her voice a playful coaxing whisper. “May my baby sister grow up to be a beautiful girl like meee!!!!”
Her breath brushed against Vivian’s silken hair as she planted a gentle kiss upon her forehead, sealing a promise of boundless love and protection.

Outside, a gentle breeze stirred the lavender garden beyond the open window, carrying the fragrance of lilac and freshly turned earth—a perfumed benediction for new beginnings amidst noble halls steeped in history and grace.

-Inside Regina's Study' Vendreich Estate, 8.39 AM-

The first brittle rays of morning filtered through tall leaded windows, casting lattice patterns upon the rich mahogany shelves lined with leather-bound volumes that whispered secrets of generations past. Heavy velvet curtains, still drawn partly aside, swayed gently in the chill breeze that carried with it the scent of damp earth and distant pines.

Regina sat behind her ornate desk, the surface cluttered with parchments, quills, and a steaming cup of bergamot-infused tea. Her sharp eyes scanned the report now presented before her—a ledger of debts and misfortunes belonging to the late Count Cernava.

“Here, Your Excellency,” announced Luke, her secretary, depositing the worn stack of papers with a soft thud. His tone was edged with frustration, the creases between his brows deepening as he awaited her verdict.

Regina’s gaze lingered upon the figures, the weight of countless creditors inked in black and red, an empire of debts towering higher than any crown. “Incredible,” she breathed, a faint smile curling at her lips. “A man ensnared by liabilities far grander than his own life could bear. Truly, an irony steeped in tragedy.”

Luke’s face darkened. “And what worthy fascination do you find in financial ruin, Your Grace?” His voice sharpened with incredulity.

“It is not mere ruin, Luke,” Regina retorted, amusement flashing through her gaze. “Consider this: would a man orchestrate his own demise—his family’s deaths, too—to escape a life shackled by debts and disgrace? And to choose the very day his daughter was to be presented before the Emperor? Such timing suggests designs far deeper than despair. Nonetheless, his creditors are a mixed assembly—some newly risen, others long established. Their patience, when worn thin, would swiftly lead to legal ruin.”

Luke shuffled nervously. “Designs, you say? What scheme could justify such a cruel masterstroke?”

Regina rose gracefully, crossing to the map pinned on the oak-paneled wall—its delicate parchment marked with routes and notations. “This path he chose was known to be treacherous—an unfinished way wrought with perils. No prudent man would risk his only kin’s safety upon it. The newer, safer road, though longer in length, offered security. He took the dangerous shorter road knowingly.” Her voice dropped as she traced the lines. “And the coachman…he survived a twenty-foot fall unscathed—improbable, unless complicit. Because he lingered in their county long enough—fortnight like he claimed, to discern the Count’s intentions.”

Luke’s lip curled in disdain. “What a wretched soul.”

“None desires a life steeped in bitter debts and dishonor,” Regina replied softly, the steel beneath her tones unmistakable. 

“Yet the question remains: what becomes of the child now, with her noble line extinguished?” Luke's eyes shone with eager calculation. “Is she to be consigned to a temple’s cold stone halls? An orphanage, perhaps?”

She smiled, a glimmer of triumph in her eyes. “No…she shall remain with us.”

Luke nearly choked. “What? Enough with Lillian, I say! She alone is quite sufficient.” 

“Lillian has long yearned for a sister,” Regina said warmly, turning back to her seat and opening the report again. “Fortune has smiled upon us—Vivian bears a name akin to ours. Vivian Noella Dorothea Iris. A remarkable coincidence. I must say fate has an odd sense of humor.”

Luke scoffed, exasperated. “Similarity? The sunlight and the midnight shadow—how do you see likeness in that?”

“Enough,” Regina commanded, calm and firm. “The new decree requires children to be presented before the Emperor before receiving their household name. Vivian has yet to be named officially, even at seven years.” Her eyes gleamed with cunning.

Luke’s voice fell, curiosity piqued. “…seven years old? Shouldn’t these have been done at birth or near it?”

“Details,” Regina interrupted, the smile never fading. “More importantly, I intend to place a dead girl—a doppelgänger—within the ruins of the shattered carriage located in the forest beneath the path, complete with a shard of glass embedded deep in her neck.” Her fingers toyed with a lock of her blonde hair, eyes distant yet calculating. “Thus, when the Emperor’s envoys scour for the missing Cernavas, they will find proof of their demise. Vivian will evade suspicion entirely, her lineage obscured by this carefully woven deceit. And thus, I shall ease her into our household without the burden of debt or disgrace.”

Luke blinked in shock, voice rising in incredulity. “You’re mad—or worse! Pray, say you jest!”

Regina’s laughter was delicate with ice as she toyed with a lock of blonde hair. “Madness, dear Luke, is oft the companion of queens who dare reclaim what fate would see lost. This is but a necessary gamble in the crooked dance of power and survival—a perilous waltz few possess the grace to master.”

Luke exhaled deeply, the tension easing from his shoulders as he nodded with reluctant respect. His eyes, still shadowed with doubt, met hers briefly before he turned, his footsteps brushing softly against the tapestry-lined floor. Just as he reached the heavy oak door, a summons called him back, sharp and deliberate.

“Luke,” Regina’s voice rang clear across the quiet study, punctuated by the firm tap of her slender fingers against the polished surface of her desk.

He paused and glanced over his shoulder, sensing the weight lingering in her tone.

“Do me a favour—and choose wisely,” she continued, stepping toward the window where pale morning light kissed her golden locks. “Find one capable of understanding Vivian as she now is. She has lost her voice, but it would be no fitting fate for the daughter of an Archduchess to traverse this world unheard and alone. Assign to her a translator—one who may speak her soul aloud, who can bridge the silence with grace and discretion.”

Luke bowed his head once more, voice steady with newfound purpose. “As Your Grace commands.”

The door’s hinges sighed softly as it closed behind him, leaving the room steeped in quiet contemplation. Regina’s gaze lingered on the empty threshold, thoughts weaving quickly like the delicate lacework of a spider’s web—planning, preparing, ensuring that no thread was left to chance in the delicate tapestry of power she was weaving.

Outside, the muted chorus of distant birdsong stirred, a gentle contrast to the cold certainty settled deep within her heart.

The corridors of the Vendreich estate stretched long and hushed, their vaulted ceilings tracing graceful arches dimly lit by flickering sconces of polished brass. Regina’s footsteps echoed softly upon the dark hardwood floors, muffled by the thick crimson runner embroidered with gold vinework—each step measured, deliberate, a gentle cadence amid the sprawling silence of dawn.

Approaching the softly glowing chamber door at the end of the hall, she paused, hesitating for a moment. Pushing the heavy door open with a whispered creak, Regina stepped inside to find the serene tableau before her: Lillian, her beloved daughter, lay ensconced beneath a cloud of lace and silk, her golden hair fanned like spun sunlight across the pillow. Each even breath was a soft lullaby, her violet eyes fluttering beneath closed lids as sleep wrapped her in tender embrace.

Yet beside her, unexpectedly, nestled small and still, was Vivian. The two girls, delicate mirror images of light and shadow, trembled in the quiet symmetry of slumber. Their fingers entwined—tiny hands knotted in silent sisterhood. The contrast was striking: Lillian, radiant as morning, and Vivian—dark and mysterious as midnight’s veil.

Regina smiled, warmth unfurling in her chest like spring’s first blossom. The sight softened the heavy burdens she bore, and for a fleeting moment, hope glimmered like sunbeams threading through stained glass.

She knelt gently, her gaze tracing the tender clasp of their hands, marveling at how innocence could sew fragile hearts together in fractured worlds.

May they grow whole, these two—like night and day born to share the same sky.

The whispered quiet of the room sang around her, mingling with the subtle rustle of silk and the faint hum of a distant clock marking the steady, inevitable march of time. Regina pressed a gentle kiss to Lillian’s brow, then glanced at Vivian’s peaceful face—a fragile promise amid uncertainty.

In that gentle stillness, the Archduchess vowed anew: no shadow would sunder these delicate threads of newfound family.

The morning sun filtered softly through the heavy damask curtains, casting delicate gold patterns upon the richly woven carpets of the Vendreich estate’s drawing room. Regina’s voice broke the tranquility with a teasing lilt as she tugged a heavy embroidered blanket from her mother’s slumbering form.

“You reallllly have a most vexing habit of sleeping past noon, Mother,” she chided lightly, folding the linen with practiced ease.

A slow murmur escaped the heavy-lidded woman as she stirred, blinking away the remnants of dreams. “Hmm?” came Maria’s soft reply, still hazy, before her gaze settled upon Regina diligently folding the blanket.

“HUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHH?” Maria’s voice rose suddenly, filled with affectionate alarm as she bolted upright, eyes wide and shining. “Regina! My dear child!” She reached out, pulling her daughter into a tight embrace, her cheek pressing warmly against Regina’s. “Aweee! Where have you been? Do you know how long Lillian and I have waited for you?” Her tone was equal parts reproach and joy, the bonds of family glowing clearly in her golden strands that caught the light like woven sunshine.

Regina stammered softly as the warmth of her mother’s affection flooded her cheeks. “Ye-yes, Mother.” She swatted the folded blanket aside, cheeks burning as the touch lingered.

To be Continued...