Rumors have a vicious way of getting worse, especially when their victim has no one to say otherwise.

Mila is blamed for Kayra's death, even when she is bedridden from losing another petal. People had overheard her beg Clainon to check on the maid back when she had called so desperately. It just seemed to confirm for them that she does foresee death.

It quickly evolves. Being around her is what causes death, not her seeing it. After all, the only two people she was around so often were the ones to die. 

Mila wishes she didn't believe it. 

Kayra's passing had been a terrible event. The maid had her own home outside of the manor with her husband, a man Mila had never met. He has a reputation for being a kind man. She had ordered a sneering maid to find him, to offer him his wife's belongings.

It is reported to her by the same maid that he had denied the items. She has them set away in a storage room, unable to get rid of what was left of her.

"Who would want anything that's been near a cursed child? The poor guy made a smart decision. Her curse might have rubbed off on Kayra's possessions."

A short snicker. "Careful. You wouldn't want to get a 'promotion' as her new maid."

"They say he said he'd like to live past the cursed child that killed his wife..."

"She is still the lady of the house," a maid tries to hush them, eyes flickering to the library door. Mila spends much of her time there now. It's a stupid worry, anyway. Mila refuses every personal maid she is offered.

The light admonishment went ignored. There wasn't anyone left to fight nasty rumors.

Mila could, maybe.

Yet she can't bring herself to deny the words.

She doesn't.

"Your father loves you."

"Huh?" Mila blinks at the sudden claim, peering up at her mother. Vineil had passed by them in the gardens, off to meet some noble or another. He had smiled at his wife as he passed, but he glanced over his child without a word. She had been partially hidden behind her mother, a habit that had kicked in when Vineil would appear.

Sienne ruffles Mila's hair, pulling her to walk beside her.

"You'll trip me, dear. Feistras walk with their head held high," the correction is gentle. Mila nods and straightens herself, though she keeps a grip on her mother's dress. Small steps.

"Father doesn't ever say hi to me though..."

"Your Papa is just awkward. He works hard, and that is how he shows most of his love. You'll understand when you're older."

Mila nods, but isn't sure if she believes that. She turns her gaze back, watching the disappearing form of her father. Calling him papa doesn't feel right. 

"How can I get father to say hi to me?"

Sienne chuckles, patting her girl's head. "Mm. Maybe if you work hard at your studies, Papa will let you sit in while he works."

Mila deflates. "I don' like studying..."

"But you like Papa, don't you?"

A nod.

Sienne hums, picking up her child. "Then work hard to be a good Feistra. He will appreciate it. Want to know a secret?"

Mila leans into her shoulder, nodding again, eyes wide and curious.

"Papa wants to build a steady future for you so you don't ever have to worry. If you work hard too, he will worry less and loosen up a bit. Okay?"

Mila nods, eyes almost sparkling. Mommy is always right.

Mother was wrong, Mila realizes with the cold splash of clarity. 

Mila studies and studies, impressing her many tutors as much as she can until they quit in fear of her curse. She learns the history of the Feistras, boring as she finds it.

Her family used to be related directly to the royal family. They had been given their seat of power due to concerns that, without it, a coup would occur. This seemed to have satisfied the Feistras for a time. 

As their blood diluted from the royal family, dissent began to fester. The family realized that, due to a series of adoptions, dying heirs, and a series of misfortunes, they could lose their seat too easily.

A coup was attempted, failed, and squashed by the Hundreis family. Their interruption earned them a newly made seat of power. Mila shakes her head at this. Well, that explains some of the hostility she faced from the family. Though the event had been a century before, the bad blood had remained. 

Unlike the Feistras, now spread thinly through the country, the Hundreis had no issues expanding their family. Mila grows tired of trying to decipher their family tree. She's not a Hundreis, anyway. 

Ovina still talks to her, and Ivan too. She doesn't know if they have heard the rumors about her yet. She maintains distance anyway; her communication now is just letters and gifts. She doesn't want to risk testing her theory if people lose petals simply by being near her. 

The manor had been oddly busy of late. The maids were always running about, Clainon sending groups of them to handle clearing out an old section of the manor that hadn't been occupied for well over ten years. Her aunt used to stay there.

She doesn't have many fond memories of that time. 

Mila dutifully studies. It's nothing to do with her. Maybe if she were a good Feistra, her father would at least notice her.

Maybe.

Mila has maids surrounding her. They tug at her hair, none too nicely. They bathe her with what almost feels like military precision, before they eventually push her into a deep green dress she hasn't worn before. It's less frilly, with only gold threads detailing her sleeves. It isn't overly long, just puffs around her knees. The color makes her think of her mom. She liked dark green.

Her hair is twisted into a long braid, now mid-back. 

"What is all of this for?" Mila finally asks, even though she usually avoids talking to the maids.

"No one told you?" A younger maid with orange eyes and brown hair. Mousy. Mila refuses to look at her flower. Said maid rolls her eyes, put off with her for some reason.

Mila fights the urge to remind her that she's a maid, that such a tone is improper, but chokes it down. This is no small part of why she doesn't bother to know their names. Such disrespect deserved no regard. 

"Oh well. You'll learn soon enough."

The women mutter, eventually leaving her face makeup-free, deeming no need for it. Mila's face is flawless, pale, and still round with baby fat. 

She's pushed into the dining room, her father sitting at the head. She stares in clear shock before collecting herself, curtsying with as much grace as she can muster. It's not much.

She sits to his left, her hands trembling in her lap as Clainon pushes in her seat for her. 

Vineil nods once at her, hands folded neatly in his lap, sitting back in his chair. Somehow regal, despite what would traditionally be viewed as poor posture.

"Amelia."

"Yes, father?" She can't help but look at him, eyes wide with something like hope.

He doesn't say anything, instead waving his hand. The doors open, and a boy steps in. 

He's maybe a year older than her. Silver hair and eyes, a soft shade of lavender. 

She doesn't have a good feeling. 

The boy is sitting across from her. He somewhat reminds her of her father, his face impassive yet handsome. He offers her a smile, though his body is tense. She assumes he is her age, if appearance is an indicator. Eleven, maybe twelve?

She doesn't look down, but she does know the color is green. She offers a tight smile back to be polite.

Vineil, seeming to ignore the tension, sips once at his wine. 

"Amelia. This is your brother, Andreis Feistra."

It may as well have been a hammer, the finality with which he drops this news. Her eyes close.

Mother was wrong.