The afternoon sun streamed through the windows, throwing soft golden light across the hardwood floors of the quiet house Aira had lived in since she was three. It no longer felt like home—but neither did the grand Laurent estate she had yet to set foot in.
She sat quietly on the low couch, her posture straight, legs crossed at the ankle, hands folded in her lap. Not a single hair was out of place.
Across from her, Seraphina Laurent watched with a gaze that mixed warmth, worry, and admiration. There was something ethereal about Aira—the way she carried silence like armor, the way her eyes held centuries when she had barely lived eighteen years.
The white-and-blue box sat between them on the table, untouched.
"I brought this from your brothers," Seraphina said gently, voice laced with a tenderness that never quite lost its steel. "They each left something inside. No one told them what to write. It all came from them."
Aira glanced at it.
She made no move to open it.
"Thank you," she said politely. "I'll look at it later."
Seraphina studied her.
"Would you like some tea?" Aira offered. "I made jasmine."
"I'd love some."
Aira rose, moving with quiet grace into the kitchen. Seraphina watched her from afar—noticing the subtle stiffness in her spine, the composed efficiency in every step. Not robotic, no. Controlled. Restrained. Like porcelain—polished and cold, but one crack away from splintering.
When Aira returned with the tea tray, Seraphina took it and smiled. "It smells just like my mother used to make," she murmured. "You have good taste."
Aira merely nodded.
For a moment, they sipped in silence.
Then Seraphina asked, "Are there any colors you don't like?"
Aira blinked. "Pardon?"
"We're preparing your room," Seraphina replied, her tone casual but kind. "And your wardrobe. I thought you might prefer selecting your own palette."
Aira's grip on her teacup didn't falter. But something in her chest shifted.
No one had asked her preferences in years. People always assumed, decided, controlled. Even her mentors had simply… guided.
"I prefer soft tones," she said finally. "Greens. Muted blues. No bright pinks. Nothing frilly."
"Noted," Seraphina said with a smile. "Any food allergies?"
"No. But I don't like overly sweet things."
Seraphina nodded again. "And your schedule? Are there certain habits or rituals you'd like us to respect?"
Aira hesitated. "I usually train at dawn. And I read late. I don't like being disturbed at night."
"Duly noted, darling."
Another pause.
"You don't have to come back right away," Seraphina said quietly. "We'll wait. As long as you need. But… they're excited. Nervous, even. Elias has cleaned the garage himself. Twice."
Aira's lips twitched.
Not quite a smile.
But close.
She looked at the box again.
Still unopened.
"I'll come soon," she murmured. "I just… need time."
Seraphina placed a hand gently over hers.
"No one will rush you, Aira. You're not a guest in our lives. You're family."
Aira didn't flinch.
But her fingers curled slightly inward.
As if holding something fragile.
Later, after Seraphina left, Aira locked her door and sat on the edge of her bed. She stared at the box. One breath. Two. Three.
She untied the ribbon.
And as the lid lifted, her carefully constructed walls—her porcelain—remained intact.
But her heart…
It cracked, ever so slightly.