SERAPHINA’S POV
I was six years old.
Perched high on my father’s shoulders, my legs swung wild and free, laughter bubbling out of me as each of his steps sent the world dancing beneath us.
“Careful,” Mother called, holding up an ice cream cone.
Father laughed. “She’s not made of glass.”
I leaned down, taking a large bite of the ice cream she held up to me, sticky sweetness smearing my lips and chin.
“This is the best day ever!” I declared.
They both laughed.
The air smelled like sugar and sunshine and something bright I didn’t have words for yet.
The amusement park belonged to us alone, every ride alive with promise. I ran until my legs burned, laughter unraveling into something wild and breathless.
On the carousel, Father held me steady while Mother clapped from below.
“That’s my girl,” he said proudly. “The Lockwood pride.”
Back home, my father cradled me in his arms as I fought to keep my heavy lids open, head tucked beneath his chin.
