Lub-dub. The words used to describe the sound our hearts make. The first sound (the lub) happens when the mitral and tricuspid valves close. The next sound (the dub) happens when the aortic and pulmonary valves close after the blood has been squeezed out of the heart.
It was ringing in my ears, loud enough to block all of my senses. The only thing that was working was my motion and the ability to see. My eyes focused on something particular—the letter.
Trembling hands sealed the letter shut, finishing it off with our family stamp.
Since I belonged to the royal household of Laven, it was important to seal my letter with the family stamp, a lavender. All royal families had a family stamp, passed on from generations to generations. Important messages, festive greeting cards, and mail—they all had the iconic stamp.
But there was something about the stamp, something about the whole 'lavender thing' that I was curious about.
Why did my ancestor choose lavender as our family stamp?
I heard from my other royal friends about various oral tales about how their own family stamp was chosen. I addressed them as 'friends' since the only time I met them was during parties. And using any other word for them would be 'too distant'.
But never did I hear any ferocious tales about our family stamp. Whenever I picked up the topic about the family stamp during dinner, all I would receive was pure silence. Nobody would speak up. Because I never got the guts to ask them. I would fiddle with my fingers, hidden from everyone's eyes as I tried to speak about the stamp. But feeling Grandmother's strict aura, her low-lighted eyes holding a stern gaze on everyone, I would back down.
Books were useless. Searching through the huge library in our house, I found zero clues. I did hear that some books were kept in Grandmother's office. But sneaking into her office is like giving a direct call to hell.
I still remember the time when I had first entered the office.
"Kate! What are you doing here?!" She grabbed my hand as she furiously pulled me out of the office.
"Grandma! I am sorry! Please don't punish me!" My wetted cheeks begged her, but she didn't let go of my hand. She threw me into the shed, my knees bruised from the impact. My head turned towards her, eyes gazing into hers as I begged her for the last time.
"You must be disciplined. You'll stay in this shed throughout the cold night." The door was slammed shut. My lips quivered; cold hands desperate to receive warmth. But it was useless. No servant would dare to go against her words and open the door.
And I don't blame them for that. It's my own fault. I shouldn't have opened the door.
I remained in the shed all night. The next morning, I was immediately taken to our family doctor as I was nursed back to health. That incident had left somewhat of a crack on our fragile relationship. Besides, the relationship between me and Grandmother wasn't formed on love. It was caused by the circumstances.
A terrible one.
"Kate! Your carriage has arrived!" I wore my large side bag, placing the letter delicately in it as the door burst open.
"Kate—"
"I am ready, Eve." I cut her off as Eve scratched her neck, embarrassed.
"Sorry for entering your quarters rudely." She bowed, apologetically.
"It's okay. It wasn't a big thing." Eve nodded her head as she opened the door for me. "Thanks."
"At your service." Eve smiled. She leaned closer, bringing her lips closer to my ears as she whispered. "Careful though, Grandmother is standing in the hall."
Abort the mission! I cannot send this mail now!
"Knew it." Reading my expression, Eve held my hand, pulling me out of my room. I braced myself, clenching my fist from time to time as I mentally prepared myself.
"Morning, Lady Kate Laven." Grandmother's strict voice greeted me near the entrance as I bowed to her.
"Morning, Madame." Eve bowed to her, excusing herself as she went out of the house.
That Eve-
"It seems like you have ordered a ride somewhere." Grandmother's eyes fell on the carriage waiting outside as she looked at me. "Where are you going?"
Oh shit-
"I thought of delivering a letter to a dear friend." My hands went to the large bag as I lightly patted it. Grandmother's eyes followed my action. "I am not sure how long it might take, but I will try to reach before the curfew."
Oh god, the curfew. The one thing horrible in my life. Or at least in the list of horrible things in my life.
"Good. You can leave." Grandmother moved away from the entrance as she walked away. I released a sigh in relief as I walked out of the house, running to the carriage.
"What took you so long?" Eve asked me as I sat opposite her.
"Well, you left me alone to deal with her."
"What was I supposed to do then? Watch the awkward tension between you both? Hell no." I chuckled as I knew she was telling the truth.
Grandmother and I never had a stable relationship. The only memory I have of her during my childhood was on that unfortunate day. Other than that, she never bothered to even visit us once. I mean, my old house wasn't that bad. It was small, but comfy. But Grandmother preferred her mansion.
"We are here." The coachman spoke in his shrill but husky voice.
He opened the door, holding my hand as he helped me down from the carriage. "Thanks James." He only nodded as he sat back in his seat.
"You, okay?" Eve asked upon seeing my expression.
"I am fine." I am totally not. I clenched my gloved fingers, gripping on them so tight, I might even break them.
"Hey!" She slapped my hands harshly and took them in hers. "Calm down. Issac wouldn't want a woman with broken fingers."
"You are not helping at all."
Currently, we were standing in front of the small house. The windows and pillars of the house were reconstructed, adding support to the old house. I bite my lips, grasping my hands together. I don't even have the guts to face them after these many years. I can never repay for what I have done. But I can't walk away. After many years, I have to give this letter to him. To Issac.
I walked through the pebbled path they had made towards the garden. If my memory is correct, they must be in the garden. I clung to Eve's arm, warming my hands even though I was wearing gloves. The chilly winds blew, my breath visible to the eye as I walked into the garden.
Even after these many years, it is still the same; except some more plants were added to their collection.
"Greetings, Mr. Wintergreen." Eve spoke as she bowed to the man in front of us.
The man with whom I can't look in the eye.
"Oh? Eve, is that you?" Mr. Wintergreen asked, fixing his glasses as Eve nodded immediately.
"Come, have a seat." Mr. Wintergreen patted to the empty seats beside him as we sat.
Mr. Wintergreen's eyes were on me. It wasn't like he didn't know me. The fact that his eyes were waiting for me to say something shows that he definitely recognised me.
"Kate Laven, what a nice day to see you." The sarcasm filled voice reached my ears as I only looked down. In extreme cases, I would have spat back. But right now, getting on his bad side is the last thing on my mind.
"Robert! Have some manners." said my knight in shining armour, Mrs. Wintergreen as she slapped her husband's arm. "It wasn't like she had any choice, stop acting like a kid."
She took the seat beside me. "Oh my, you have grown to become a very beautiful woman." Her honey-filled voice calmed me as she held my hands. "Oh my, your hands are so cold!" Taking my soft hands between her wrinkled hands, she rubbed them—warmth reaching my cold hands.
"So, why have you come to us?" Mr. Wintergreen spoke, receiving a glare from Mrs. Wintergreen.
"I want to meet Issac." my voice came out confidentially.
I swear to lord, it took my everything to not stutter. My legs started to shake, hidden under their sight. But their expressions changed. Mrs. Wintergreen's eyes saddened, as if I had mentioned the dead.
"He's not here." Mr. Wintergreen spoke.
The one thing I liked about him was his straightforwardness. Just going straight to the point.
"What do you mean by he is not here?" Eve asked, confused. "As long as I remember, he planned on working in a factory."
Mr. Wintergreen scoffed. My muscles tensed. Him scoffing means there's something that is going to hit us like a truck. His next words shook me.
"He never joined the factory." Mrs. Wintergreen only looked down, controlling her tears as her husband continued.
"He joined the army to fight in the war."
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