Ella was about to say yes to the Celestial Summoning Field when she suddenly paused. Familiar footsteps.
Her senses sharpened, instantly recognizing the presence approaching their room. Mother.
She didn't need to turn. Yula.
Ella's fingers unconsciously tightened around her fork before she forced herself to relax. She couldn't afford to act strangely. Even with their current family, Ella remained cautious—always cautious.
The door creaked open before Scillia could even move. She had already sensed Yula's presence and stepped aside naturally. This had become routine.
Yula entered with her usual calm, unreadable expression. Her gaze swept over Ella and Olivia before she spoke.
"Are you eating well?"
Her voice was steady—neither too soft nor too firm. The kind of voice that commanded respect effortlessly, yet carried an underlying warmth.
Ella was about to answer, but before she could, Olivia eagerly spoke first.
"Yes! It's delicious, Mom!" Olivia beamed, flashing Yula a bright smile before scooping another bite of meat. She ate with a specific focus, a particular joy, as if savoring every moment.
Ella glanced at her twin. Olivia… craved this. Not just the food. It was acceptance. Attention. A mother's love.
She had been starved for it.
Yula remained composed, but her mood subtly brightened. It wasn't obvious to most, but Ella noticed the faintest shift in her mother's usually impassive eyes.
"Do you want me to eat with you?" Yula asked, her voice softer than usual.
Olivia immediately perked up. "Sit, Mom! Let's eat together!" She turned toward Ella, gesturing excitedly, urging her to agree.
Ella hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding.
It was fine.
If it made Olivia happy, it was fine.
But deep inside, a storm was brewing.
Olivia switched seats without hesitation, placing herself on Yula's lap. She leaned against her, holding onto her as if afraid she might disappear.
"Mom, feed me?" she asked, her voice light and playful, but her grip betrayed something deeper.
Yula blinked, surprised for a brief moment, but quickly concealed it. Her fingers trembled ever so slightly before she steadied herself.
How could she refuse?
"Here," she said, slicing a piece of meat before gently bringing it to Olivia's lips.
"Ahhh~" Olivia opened her mouth expectantly, letting Yula guide the food to her.
Yula remained expressionless, but Ella saw through it.
She was shaken.
Ella lowered her gaze, pushing food around on her plate, her mind churning.
She isn't bad.
She really does care about us.
And yet—we aren't her real daughters.
The thought struck like a knife, twisting in her chest.
No matter how much warmth Yula gave them… it wasn't real.
Not like before.
Their real mother had spoiled them. She had held them so gently, given them unconditional love. She had laughed with them, sung to them, spent entire days doing nothing just to be near them.
And now, they couldn't even remember her face.
They had been forcefully reincarnated, stripped of everything—left with only the aching knowledge that they had lost someone irreplaceable.
And yet, here Olivia was—clinging to another woman, filling that empty void with a mother that wasn't truly theirs.
Something inside Ella cracked.
It was wrong.
It was twisted.
To accept this—to indulge in this illusion—wasn't it the same as betraying the mother who had given them everything?
Ella felt an ache in her throat, an unbearable tightness in her chest. She clenched her fists beneath the table, forcing her emotions down.
She couldn't think about this now.
She couldn't break.
Not in front of Olivia.
Ella's expression grew distant, her emotions slowly stripping away.
Yula, however, noticed the slight shift in Ella's demeanor.
A shadow crossed her gaze.
She had thought herself perceptive, but this child… she hid too much.
She repressed too much.
Yula wasn't sure what it was, but she could feel it—Ella was hollowing herself out.
Her instincts screamed at her. Something was wrong.
And so, that night, as the twins settled into bed, Yula made a decision.
"How about I sleep with you tonight?" she asked, her tone casual—but her intent anything but.
She needed to be there.
For them.
For Ella.
Olivia, as expected, cheered. "Yay! Let's sleep together!" she beamed, latching onto Yula like a child afraid of the dark, clutching her clothes as if she didn't want to be separated.
Ella, however, remained silent.
Yula's gaze sharpened, watching her closely.
She knew something was wrong.
She knew that Olivia needed warmth. She knew that Ella was resisting it.
But what she didn't know—was why.
Had she done something wrong?
Had her work, her responsibilities, made them feel abandoned?
Yula had made up her mind.
Hours passed, and as the night deepened, Olivia drifted into a peaceful slumber.
But Ella…
She was awake.
She lay still, her body rigid, her breathing shallow.
Yula turned slightly, sensing it.
"Come here," she murmured.
Ella flinched. "Don't."
Yula's heart tightened.
The way she said it—it wasn't rejection.
It was pleading.
Begging.
As if she didn't trust herself to accept it.
What happened to you, my child? Yula thought, her chest aching.
She reached out, wrapping her arms around Ella without hesitation.
Ella tensed immediately. Her body trembled, fighting against the warmth surrounding her.
"Don't misunderstand—I…" Her voice cracked. She gritted her teeth, trying to hold back something—but it was already slipping.
Tears.
They fell before she could stop them, soaking into Yula's nightgown.
Yula didn't say a word.
She simply held her tighter.
I won't let go.
Ella's walls—walls built from grief, from guilt, from loneliness—began to crumble.
"Why…?" Ella muttered to herself.
She squeezed her eyes shut, her breathing ragged.
She had the strongest will Yula had ever seen, but in the end, she was just a little girl—stubborn, but still craving a mother's warmth.
She had held on. Endured. Buried her pain, her longing, her grief.
But at this moment—it all came undone.
She shrank into Yula's embrace, clinging to her like a lifeline.
She hated herself for it.
But she needed this warmth.
And for the first time in so long—she let herself have it.
Yula's fingers ran through Ella's hair, gentle and patient.
"You don't have to say anything," she whispered.
Ella buried her face deeper into her chest, her hands clutching Yula's nightgown so tightly her knuckles turned white.
She had no words.
Only this overwhelming, terrifying, desperate need to hold on.
And so, Yula simply held her.
Through the night. Through the silent, unspoken grief.
Through the quiet, painful acceptance.
And when morning came—
Ella hadn't let go.
Nor had Olivia.something unspoken, yet undeniable.
Ella hadn't let go, her grip on Yula firm, Olivia curled up just as tightly against her.
The three of them remained entwined, drawn together by something unseen, something deeper—something unspoken, yet undeniable.