Crowds bustled through downtown Sorenth, moving at a rapid pace. Commoners, nobles from other territories, and merchants mingled amongst the throng, as if forgetting the boundaries of status. There was a line of Clerics moving swiftly in front of a large boutique, their posture straight and their hands clasped together. They stood out from the mass with their silver cassocks and the distinct red fascia waisted around their torsos. The ferraiolo they wore seemed like cascading blood, with their hoods up, and a pendant of the Saint's symbol hung around their necks.
The Clerics moved, and the horde parted like a wave, as if directly avoiding them — in return, the red-robed Clerics moved in a singular line, their bodies almost pressed together, in what appeared to be a desperate attempt to move away from the people around them. Their heads hung low, and their blood-red hoods covered the entirety of them — the people's gazes followed them as they walked, but the Clerics had no desire to interact with them, as they quickened their pace and quickly disappeared further into the crowd.
Amongst them was a Lady and her maid. Aina paced like a ghost through the crowd — she allows herself to be swayed, pushed by the oncoming people, her shoulders swaying. She feels her fingers becoming numb, and her feet weakening at the weight of truth hurled at her pale face.
Her reality.
"My Lady" she ignores the pleas of her maid who followed behind her, and in her shadows, she sees the silhouette of the guard her father had assigned to her returning to his place behind her.
Despite the roars of the howling winds in snow-filled streets, both nobles and commoners walked freely in the shoveled cobbled paths — the nobles were dressed in warm furs and expensive wools, whilst common people wore thick cotton from the cheapest materials, hoping it would give a semblance of warmth from the harsh winter.
The sharp wind blew the black-furred hood that she wore, and the biting cold swept her hair, letting it flow with the winds. She doesn't mind her maid behind her, calling for her.
Aina ignores it.
She wanted to leave it all.
.
.
.
The scent of wildflowers drifted through the open seats of the travelling carriage as the horses trotted along the dirt road, their hooves thudding against the earth. Just ahead, a small house stood at the heart of a quiet clearing. When the carriage came to a stop with a sharp tug of the reins, the horses snorted, pawing at the ground to reclaim their breaths.
A woman with raven-dark hair handed the coachman three silvers. He tipped his straw hat forward in quiet gratitude before driving off, leaving only dust in his wake.
Cradling a little girl in her arms, the woman stepped forward, and whispered with a soft smile, "My child, this is where we'll be living from now on"
She gently tapped the girl's nose. The child giggled — a high, bright sound — and the woman's smile deepened, filled with tenderness and something unspoken.
The woman and her child, both crowned with raven-black hairs native to Lanza, paused to take in the humble scene before them. A small white house stood nestled in the quietness of the forest, its oaken roof weathered by wind and time. Two tilted windows peered from the second floor like tired eyes, their frames chipped and trembled against the breeze. A narrow porch waited at the entrance, groaning beneath each step they took. With every creak, the child burst into delighted giggles, the sound ringing out like a chime in the still summer air.
_
The scene shifted — swift and golden, like memories stirred by wind. A swirl of gold bloomed across her vision, untethered and warm, until it settled into the house once more — this time, in all its flawed beauty: wallpaper peeling, furniture crumbling, termites eating through the oak roofs of the white house.
Despite everything, the mother and her child remained happy, they found fulfillment in the most mundane of lives, the mother settled in painting in the gardens — she painted anything and everything, she painted the sky, the lake a few meters from their home, and her daughter whom she gave the nickname 'little dove'.
Though her paintings didn't amount to much, the woman — Marianne — still thought of it as a good life. Despite still having to do odd jobs, like waitressing at the local restaurant, and polishing the shoes of nearby nobles.
Still, it was better than the life she'd fled from in Edaria.
As she glanced at her sleeping daughter under a large sycamore tree, its shade protecting them from the warm spring sun. They laid on a mat, a cheap one she bought from the market, with a basket beside them.
A choked, wet sound escaped her as she clutched her throat. The blood came fast — too fast — sliding down her neck in thick, red streams.
"Mama?" her daughter called, rubbing her tired eyes with her small hands. She sits up from her mother's lap. She turns her head just in time to see the blood running down her mother's neck, falling in relentless drips, like a pipe burst from deep within.
"Mama?" the girl whispered, her voice shrinking. "Mama, what's happening?"
Whirls of memories seemingly made from golden silk transfigured the world around them once more. Now, the child kneels on the harsh, wooden floors of the small house they lived in. A single painting of a little raven-haired girl was nailed on the head of the bed — it was watercolor, its brightness didn't suit the somber mood of the bedroom. A single bed stood at the center, white cotton sheets covered a woman — her bones stuck out from her pale skin, and her black irises seemed like pits of darkness in her sunken sockets.
Outside, the winds of winter howled, and the crumbling roof groaned in protest, as if it too were trying to hold on.
"Mama…" the girl's voice was soft. She reached for her mother's hands, and she felt her weak touch in return.
"My little dove" the woman tries to smile, only for it to end up in a grimace as a stabbing pain struck her chest. She moved her other hand to grip the fabric, her face crumpled in indescribable pain.
"Aina, go to your room for now, I'll tend to your mother" another woman sat on a stool on the other side of the bed, bearing witness to the small moment between the pair.
"But…" the small child didn't seem to want to leave.
"I'll be okay, Aina, go" despite sweat forming on her temples, the woman tried to smile for her daughter — the small child saw how hollowed her cheeks were, and how red the rims of her eyes were, yet she couldn't understand why.
In the innocence of a child, her mother was down with a common cold.
She lets go of her mother's hand, turning away from them obediently. Before closing the door behind her she hears, "You don't have much time left. What will you do with her?"
The sounds muffled against the creaking door. "...to her father" was the last thing she heard.
The golden whirls of silk swallowed her whole, and the scene changed again, like flashes of lilac and gold through the keyhole of the room. The whirls slowly faded, and they settled until the final scene materialized.
The little girl, aged 6, stood in the center of a clearing. The white, worn house was behind her. A single white, wildflower was crumpled in her hand, and she wore a thick cotton black dress — mourners from a nearby village stood around her, and she was at the center of it all.
A stone grave laid before her. The tomb of her mother.
Written on it were her last words.
"I love you, Aina, my little dove. I will love you beyond my death"
There was a Minister who oversaw it all, wearing his own mourning uniform, and the symbol of a cross hanging in a chain around his neck. He held a book, murmuring a soft prayer for the freed soul, his somber tone setting a heavy mood around the vicinity.
Aina didn't understand.
She didn't know why she held a flower. She didn't know why she wore black. She didn't know why everyone was crying around her.
And most of all, she didn't know where her mother had gone.
She didn't know why the Minister was praying about a soul that was freed from her suffering.
"Mama…" she murmurs, feeling an unexplained weight in her heart, nailing her feet on the ground, and freezing her limbs — an unexplained weight pressed into her chest, pinning her feet to the ground. She couldn't move. She only stood there, stuck — frozen — as the petals in her hand unraveled one by one, in a manner that made it seem to be grieving for the little girl who couldn't.
.
.
.
A force gripped her arm from behind, tight and commanding. It knocked her from the memories of gold and lilac silks that controlled her mind in the midst of busy streets in Sorenth. Aina froze, her entire body locking up. That touch — commanding, familiar, and male — seized something that crushed her. She turns, her breath hitching through her throat, and she met the familiar set of deep green eyes, unwavering and sharp as they mirrored her own.
Lorian.
"Ciana" he calls.
"Let go" her voice was biting and filled with disgust. She didn't wait for the man to let her go. She pulled her own arm away, her body shook in anger as she glared at the flawless Duke before her.
If he was startled, he didn't show it. "Were you out shopping with your servants?" He seemed too interested. And that irked her.
Lorian wore a deep set of black suit, and he wore a suitably tailored dark coat with high collars, embroidered with sets of lines in black thread that only became visible in certain lights. His hair was swept in his usual style, and on his hand was a family cane — an emerald handle and ebony wood, the familiar ouroboros carved on the silver top.
"Why do you care?" she asked, she grits her teeth in annoyance.
Why? Why did I have to meet him today?
The smile on his lips quivered, and when his snake-like eyes opened, they glistened with danger. "You forget who you are speaking to, Ciana" he spat her name like venom, stepping forward to close the distance between them.
Aina clenched her jaw, but she didn't back down. She raised her chin, as she backed away from him. "Get away from me, Lorian" she glared with the might of an angry beast.
"And don't touch me ever again," she added, there was a fire in her tired pale eyes.
Tiredness that didn't seem to go unnoticed by the Duke.
The smile on his face returns at her response. And Aina wanted to scratch it off from his perfect lips. He didn't move again, but her guard never went down. She remained stiff, and a foot was behind, like someone ready to run anytime.
Lorian seemed to find amusement in her stance. But he didn't challenge her again. Instead, he tapped his cane on the slippery stone paths of the street. "Are you really going to be acting like this now?"
"You insulted me, your grace. Or is your brain not capable of remembering that anymore?" Aina wanted to leave. She felt Allie behind her, standing close but not to be considered impolite. She felt grounded by the maid's presence, a semblance of safety from the man whom her instincts screamed dangerous.
"Ah, so you're still mad at that" Lorian grins, the type of grin Aina knew had women falling all over him.
But it only made her more aggravated.
She turns on her heel, facing her back towards the Duke. She raised her hood back on her head as she took a step to her maid. Allie looked nervous, she didn't seem thrilled that her lady was leaving without saying a word to her fiance, Duke Fremont.
"Your father…" His voice was the only thing she could hear through the bustling of people around them.
Aina turned only her head, her brows crossed as she gazed upon Duke Fremont. She noticed the small mole on his right temple she's never seen before and thought how he might've considered it an imperfection — Aina wouldn't consider it that — it highlighted his symmetrically straight brows, and made his face even more perfect.
Irksome.
"He wanted me to escort you back to the manor"
He spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. Aina couldn't doubt the truth of his words — he didn't seem to enjoy that order either. There was a small flick in his eyes that told her how bothered it made him. Aina would've smiled at the fact, if only it didn't concern her.
"No" was the only thing she said before turning from him and walking away.
When she was five steps away, she felt a silhouette loom over her, it cast a shadow over her own, and her world dimmed for a second. Instantly, she moved away from him, striding forward in a panicked motion — her gloved hands trembled with intensity and her shoulders stiffened from the sudden dread that crept to her spine.
"I told you not to touch me!" she raised her voice as she glanced at the startled eyes of Lorian Fremont.
There was a well-hidden terror in her glaring eyes, yet the twitch in his brows made Aina realize how he had seen it too.
"Your father ordered for me to escort you, Ciana" his tone was firm and controlled. "And I do not intend to disobey his orders" there was a hint of annoyance in Lorian's eyes as he declared those words.
Aina's jaw clenched. Why did I have to deal with this today?
In itself, the news from Cora took a heavy toll on her mind. It lingered like words that will never disappear. She didn't think it would be the truth, she had been ready to do anything to escape it. To avoid her destiny. And now the reality of it all weighed down her shoulders like an empty coffin, pressing her to the ground, in an attempt to seal her fate six feet under.
Memories of her mother, the smell of decay, and the dirt she had been buried in. It came like forgotten pieces of memories. Like a sudden reminder of the destiny she had been trying to run away from.
"My Lady?" She heard her maid call her.
A luxurious carriage drawn by four horses stopped beside them. The coachman came in the same time Allie instructed him to. The hooves of the horses clicked simultaneously against the cobbled path of the busy street. One of them snorted, a warm puff of air blowing from its nose. Aina stared at the sight, a look of resignation painted her face.
The knight behind Allie — once hidden — opens the door of the large, white carriage.
Aina raised her head, she saw the flag with the Evrian crest coursing through the winds in waves.
In the end, will I never be able to escape you?
"Ciana, may I?" Her head turns to meet the hand being offered to her.
She bit her lower lip at the sight and entered the doors of the carriage on her own. By the glass windows, she sees the dumbfounded look on Lorian's face. Though she couldn't find satisfaction in causing it.
"Only because my father ordered for it" she says.
Lorian closed his fist, and entered the carriage gracefully, sitting down in the seat mirroring hers. She averted her gaze from him, and preferred to stare at the onlookers who were gawking openly at the large carriage, blinded by the silver crest of the Evrian on the door, and the lilac flag on the roof.
Allie entered soon after and sat beside her.
The doors closed, and Aina feels the suffocation of it all. The weight of her truth she tried to run away from. She feels a dryness in her throat, like a lump of destiny she was forced to swallow. Her lips quivered in the air, and a pressure built inside her chest. She feels the air closing in around her, yet she tries not to let it show.
Instead, she settled her hands on her lap, her head hung low as she stared at her pale fingers.
Indeed, a daughter shall always carry her mother's legacy.
She wanted to scream.