She doesn't blame Ivan.

Really, she doesn't.

In truth, she always knew her situation wasn't just an easy fix. She's young, yes, but she's got a good enough sense of how people react to her to know that there wouldn't be some miracle fix.

Still, she's a kid desperate to be loved by her last direct family member. Hope is an addictive drug. 

In the first few classes, she didn't answer any questions, hardly bothered with her worksheets. She had received surprised glances, but not much else. Her tutors had been quick to report to Clainon.

They'd let her be. She eventually stopped going to the classes altogether.

This apparently sent the wrong message.

"My lady, I didn't expect this level of immaturity from you," Clainon says this with a level of disappointment she wonders at. How does he feel he has earned that?

She fiddles with her dress, silent.

"Do you hate Andreis so much you can't stand to be in the room with him?"

This comes from Andreis' maid, who had stormed into the library alongside the butler. The mousy girl who had been so annoyed with her back when Andreis had first been introduced. Milly? Was that her name? Not that it matters. 

The accusation makes her frown. "I don't hate Andreis."

The maid scoffs. Clainon shoots her a stern glare.

"Enough. Don't level accusations. My lady, what is truly going on?"

"I just... don't see the point. Weren't you the one to tell me to be a kid?"

"Ah... indeed. That said, I didn't mean to give the impression your studies don't matter-"

"They don't."

This time, both the maid and Clainon look shocked.

"Explain, please."

"I'm not the heir anyway. The maids make sure to remember that."

Milly looks nervous. Clainon's eyes are on her, sharp. 

"I see. I shall leave this for now, my lady. I seem to need to discuss a few matters with the women of the manor."

Mila almost laughs. Sure. 

They'll just get better at hiding it for a few months and get right back to it.  That's the norm.

When she's called in front of her father, it's not excitement or hope she feels. She'd already accepted that it likely wouldn't be a pleasant meeting.  Any attention from him at all is rare, so she tries to tell herself that anything is worthwhile. 

She blinks in surprise. Is he missing a new petal? When had that happened?

"Amelia," her eyes snap back up to his, feeling her shoulders curl in at his tone. She's not necessarily used to his voice, but she'd definitely never heard this tone from him before. "Feistras do not skip classes. Feistras do not forego their studies. Feistras do not have tantrums." 

Each word falls like a hammer. He says it in a particular cadence that almost makes this sound rehearsed. She finds her eyes locking on his shoulder, unable to meet his eyes. His face had stayed a stone-cold mask, like it always was. Disappointment is an ugly color in his eyes, and she quickly finds she doesn't like it.

"Return to your studies and apologize to your brother."

She can hear the scratch of his pen on paper. She's as good as dismissed.

"Amelia. Be glad our family ceased with whipping for such disregard." 

Mila feels a hard shudder go down her back. She'd never been threatened by anyone before. 

That it's her father to level the first one takes her back to when she was little.

When she's safely alone, she holds her Sienne doll tight, curls in a corner, and cries.

Clainon was the one to level her punishment. She was required to do all the work she had refused, apologize to Andreis in front of the staff, and be confined to her room.

The last one hardly matters. She usually is anyway.

Apologizing in front of the staff rankles. They don't laugh behind raised hands- too aware of Clainon's sharp eyes ever since Milly had gotten many of them in trouble for loose tongues.

Andreis had looked severely uncomfortable, his hands wringing together. 

"Sister," he says clearly, his voice raised to be heard. "Your apology is..." he seems uncertain of what word to follow with. Milly leans in, murmuring a choice, her eyes cutting to Mila behind her raised hand. "Acceptable?"

It doesn't look like the word was what he wanted. It's not lost on Mila that it's just another way to push her down a peg.

She curtsies gracefully. 

"Thank you."

She would not call him her brother.

After that, it didn't matter what she did. She went back to classes, back to acting as a well-behaved child. 

All of her actions are deemed in a negative light from then on.

Her next letter to Ovi is a simple one. "It's okay, no more plans are needed. I spoke to my father."

They still meet under the plum trees. Livi shoots down any attempt to talk about more plans. She's done with plans. The only one who could really change anything is her father himself, but he wouldn't. She's not sure what to do. She doesn't really want to think about it, either. 

She's tired.

Her birthday comes and goes. She is twelve. Ivan and Ovi send snacks. 

A small bouquet is left on her desk in her room. They're mostly pink, freshly picked. It's pretty obvious to her who would bother to give her something in this house.

She really wishes he were a jerk. 

Her father sends another batch of dresses through Clainon. For once, they're of the fashions of the time, and in the right age group, but they clash with her hair. She sighs. 

She continues to deny being given a personal maid. Instead, she learns from Ovi how to do makeup and simple hairstyles. It's a mess, Ovi is, after all, not an expert herself, but her maid takes mercy on them and shows her. She uses the knowledge as an excuse to keep turning down any offers Clainon pushes her way.

This, too, gets her punished. 

"Your disregard to the staff is not befitting a noble."

She doesn't try to tell her father that the staff don't treat her befitting of a noble, either. She doesn't trust herself to talk in front of him. She always becomes tongue-tied, and he sends her away anyway. Being silent is easier. 

The next time she is pulled in front of her father, it's after Andreis' birthday. It's a beautiful, warm day at the start of September, likely one of the last warm days before the cold of fall would extend its chill. 

She wasn't sure what to give him. She knows both she and Andreis have funds for their desires, but that means going to Clainon to request them. In truth, she prefers to avoid him now more than ever. In a sort of Pavlovian response, seeing him implants the image of disappointment in Father's peridot eyes. 

Instead of requesting a gift for a boy she doesn't really know, she does as he did.

She goes to the gardens. Mila eventually decides to make a bouquet of his own flowers.

Green orchids. She picks a few of them, noting that the magic in the gardens must need a renewal. They are slightly wilted. She surrounds their stems with baby's breath and uses some of the pretty stationery she uses just for Ovi. She ties one of her old hair ribbons around the bottom.

Milly had gone out of her way to organize a party for Andreis. 

Their banquet hall, more a relic than an actual room, is, for once, cleaned. Lavender decorations are hung from the banisters, white gems laced along them. The firelight in the large fireplace reflects rainbows around the room, several garlands of white gems hanging over it to create the effect. Foods she doesn't recognize, likely from his homeland, fill the table on one end. They are brightly colored and fragrant in a way that she's not used to. What she gets to try, she finds she rather likes, though it burns her tongue. 

It's really quite lovely. Andreis has not been allowed to attend parties yet, so he has no friends to invite, but the staff are here. They smile and support him.

Her jealousy forms a tight knot in her stomach.

It almost physically hurts when even Vineil takes a moment to drop by, a stiff 'Happy Birthday' leaving his lips before he retreats to his office.

She resolves to give him his gift and leave immediately.

Andreis thanks her for the flowers, which she holds stiffly towards him. His smile is warm, but uncertainty is clear on his face as he looks over her. He takes the flowers. His own green orchids disappear into the bouquet he holds to his chest. The other gifts he was given, small things from the staff, he had left alone on the far end of the table. 

"Thank you, sister."

He's so kind. It makes it somehow hurt worse. 

She nods once, managing to say a happy birthday. She turns to leave.

Clainon looms behind her, an oddly gentle smile on his face. He urges her to sit beside Andreis.

Mila doesn't want to, but she also doesn't want to get in more trouble.

The festivities continue. Mila is sitting to the right of Andreis, her hands trembling in her lap.

Please, please, just let her leave. The silent begging in her eyes isn't met; Clainon just pushes some of the food to her. 

Andreis looks happy. Some distant part of her is glad for him, but it's hidden under the ugly, twisting monster burning in her. Mila doesn't want to be angry at him.

She is.

He gets a cake, gets a song, gets applause. They're happy he exists here. Why, for just one minute, could-

"Sister, would you like-" Andreis is handing her a slice of cake.

"Sister, help me open these?" Gifts. 

"Sister, will you play-" Some game he unwrapped.

"Sister,"

"Sister,"

"Sister,"

"You're NOT my brother!"

It came out unbidden, shrill and utterly enraged. She slaps her hands to her mouth, horrified by the slip. 

She vaguely remembers many raised, hateful voices. The whisper of Clainon in her ear. It doesn't register.

Later, her own father's voice, sharp with anger. She doesn't remember the punishment.

All she really remembers was the hurt look in Andreis' eyes, and the salt of her own mistake.

Mila lost another petal that night. The ash of it stayed in her bed, having no energy to even brush it away. Her punishment is held while she's left bedridden by the pain once more, her only company a doctor sent to look over her now and again. Something about less food. She doesn't really want to eat anyway.

A letter is left at her desk. And another. And another. Most are lightly colored. One shows up that's a deep red.

She reads none of them, only reading those she knows are from Ovi. The pain is gone, but she doesn't leave her room of her own choice for a long time.

Clainon checks on her regularly, but she rarely acknowledges him, usually curled up by the balcony, staring at the sky outside. He brings homework, since her time with the tutors had been suspended. Likely in case she blew up at Andreis again. She does the work almost mechanically, leaves the books untouched. 

Fall is in full swing. The magic hadn't been replaced, the trees were balding, and the flowers were dying. She isn't sure why, but she likes it. Likes the dormancy. Warm sunny weather would just be more frustrating. 

Her Sienne doll has been shoved deep into the bedside table. 

She doesn't want to disappoint anyone else.