The morning sunlight of a late autumn day at Hondly Manor offered no warmth. It only highlighted the dust particles suspended in the air, much like the unease suffocating Rubie's chest.
Rubie stood huddled behind the ornate oak door. Her small hands clutched the hem of her pale blue silk dress, her trembling fingers creasing the luxurious fabric. She heard the clacking of high heels on the marble floor—the powerful, cold sound of her mother, Mrs. Hondly.
"Rubie! Aren't you ready yet?"
The voice rang out, sharp as a knife cutting through the thick air. Rubie jumped, her thin shoulders trembling slightly. She took a deep breath, trying to hold back the tears welling up before stepping out of her hiding place.
In the opulent drawing-room, Mrs. Hondly stood before a large mirror, casually adjusting her elegant feathered hat. She wore a deep crimson velvet dress, the color of ambition and extravagant parties. Seeing her daughter enter with a pale face, her eyebrows furrowed slightly in impatience.
"Mother... I..." Rubie murmured, her voice as fragile as a cicada's wing, "Do I really have to go? I can stay here, I promise I won't bother Mr. Black, I'll just stay in the attic..."
Mrs. Hondly turned, the sound of her dress rustling dryly. She stepped closer, the strong scent of rose perfume overpowering Rubie's ragged breathing. She placed her lace-gloved hands on her daughter's shoulders, but the touch lacked any maternal warmth.
"Rubie, my dear," her voice was soothing yet commanding, "Mr. Black is a nobleman. A perfect marriage cannot possibly accommodate a grown-up girl like you so soon. People will whisper about my past. The Alps are beautiful; the air there will be good for your pale complexion."
"But I don't want to go!" — For the first time in her life, Rubie managed to utter a defiant word. Her voice rose slightly, but immediately trembled and faltered. — "They say it's just snow and wolves all year round. Mom... you're abandoning me, aren't you?"
Rubie's bright blue eyes, once as radiant as the sun, were now clouded with a hazy mist of despair. She stared straight at her mother, hoping to find a hint of hesitation, a touch of regret. But there was none.
Mrs. Hondly's gaze hardened. She released Rubie's shoulders, her feigned gentleness vanishing, replaced by the rigidity of a woman determined to sacrifice everything to enter high society.
"Enough! Stop the act, Rubie!" — she snarled — "I've arranged a decent place for you up there. The villagers will take care of you. When things are settled with Mr. Black, I will… perhaps I will bring you back. Now, get in the carriage immediately!"
Rubie recoiled, shaking her head frantically. Her long, curly blonde hair fell down, obscuring her tear-streaked face. She wanted to scream, to run away from this house, but her feet felt as if they were nailed to the floor. Her inherent timidity prevented her from uttering a sharper word of protest. She could only stand there, sobbing in utter helplessness.
Mrs. Hondly's patience was wearing thin. She stepped forward and grabbed Rubie's wrist.
"Go!"
She dragged her down the long corridor, ignoring Rubie's stumbles on the expensive carpets. The little girl's sobs echoed throughout the mansion, but the servants averted their gazes. They knew that in this world, a child's voice was worth less than a noble marriage contract.
Outside, the dark carriage awaited. It looked more like a mobile coffin than a means of transportation. As the carriage door closed, Rubie pressed her face against the window, watching the house recede further and further into the distance through her tear-filled eyes.
The carriage rolled away from the tranquil suburbs, leaving behind the verdant expanse of the plains. Rubie sat huddled in the corner, her thin shoulders still trembling with each jolt of the wooden wheels on the dirt road. In that cramped space, the smell of old leather mingled with the lingering scent of expensive tobacco on her mother's cloak, creating a suffocating atmosphere.
Mrs. Hondly sat opposite her, her eyes half-closed, her expression calm as if she had just completed a successful business deal, not banished her only daughter to the remote mountains. Her silence was more terrifying than any scolding. It was like a thick wall of ice, separating Rubie from the warm world she once knew.
Rubie pressed her forehead against the icy window of the carriage. She tried to count the slender pine trees that whizzed past to forget the pang of pain in her chest. The higher they went, the green of the leaves darkened, turning into a grim, menacing gray.
Then, at a sharp bend in the road, Rubie gasped softly.
In the distance, rising above the gray clouds of the setting sun, the first peaks of the Alps appeared. They were not like what she had imagined from books. They were towering limestone giants, their heads crowned with layers of pristine, eternal white snow. In the weak twilight, these snow-capped peaks did not sparkle like diamonds but took on a cold, blinding white, a stark contrast to the deep blue of her eyes.
"The Alps..." Rubie whispered, her breath blurring a small section of the window.
With trembling fingers, she traced a meaningless circle in the mist. Those mountain peaks looked so solitary. They had stood there for centuries, enduring blizzards without a roof over their heads. A strange sense of empathy arose within the little girl. She felt like a snowflake being tossed about by the wind, unsure where it would land in this vast, white expanse.
"Now that you're here, behave yourself," Mrs. Hondly suddenly opened her eyes, her voice dry as falling leaves. "Don't make that face as if I'm taking you to your execution. Mr. Black will soon send someone to check on you. If you cause trouble, I'm not sure you'll have a home to live in."
Rubie didn't reply. She no longer had the strength to argue, nor the courage to plead. She simply stared at the snow that was gradually filling her vision. Snow began to fall, tiny, first-season snowflakes drifting lazily and clinging to the sides of the carriage.
In her timid mind, Rubie wondered: In this coldest place in the world, was there anything that could warm her already cold heart?
The carriage began to brake, the screeching of the wooden wheels on the steep stone pavement echoing sharply. A small village appeared in the valley below, hazy like a ghost in the frosty mist. And there, in the single wooden house isolated on the slope, a pair of dull white eyes silently gazed out the window, waiting for a change that fate had ordained.
The carriage shuddered and came to a halt in the small village square—which was essentially just a flat, unpaved clearing with a half-frozen stream of ice. The dry, jarring sound of the wheels stopping shattered the stillness of the highlands.
Mrs. Hondly did not disembark immediately. She dabbed her perfumed handkerchief at the tip of her nose, as if the fresh Alpine air were something poisonous to her lungs.
When the carriage door opened, a blast of icy wind rushed in, carrying the dampness of snow and the smell of decaying pine. Rubie shivered slightly, clinging tightly to the side of the carriage, her blue eyes filled with anxiety as she looked out.
From within the low-roofed wooden houses, the villagers began to emerge. They wore dark brown coarse cloth garments and thick sheepskin coats. Their faces were etched with wrinkles from the harsh weather, and their eyes held a mixture of curiosity and wariness. They had never seen such a luxurious carriage visit this remote, desolate place.
Mrs. Hondly stepped down first, her gleaming goatskin high heels sinking into the muddy, half-ice, half-earthy mire. She frowned and gestured for the coachman to lower the trunk.
"Who is the village chief?" she asked, her haughty voice echoing through the murmuring crowd.
A tall, white-bearded man stepped out. He scrutinized Mrs. Hondly from head to toe, his gaze then settling on Rubie—the small girl trembling as she stepped out of the carriage, her golden hair gleaming brightly in the fading afternoon sun.
"I am the village chief. Who are you looking for?"
"I sent a letter and gold coins earlier. This is my daughter, Rubie. She will be staying here for a while... to recuperate," Mrs. Hondly said, turning to gently push Rubie forward.
The crowd began to murmur. The women of the village huddled together, covering their mouths, but the criticisms still reached Rubie's ears:
"Good heavens, look at the girl... she's as fragile as a lily. How could she abandon her in this harsh place?"
"Look at her clothes, silk like that, and yet she leaves her daughter in that dilapidated wooden house?"
"Resting? Look at the girl's eyes, she's about to cry. She's definitely been abandoned!"
An old woman with a kind face, her hands still stained with flour, stepped forward.
She looked at Mrs. Hondly with an unyielding gaze:
"Madam, these Alps are not a place for porcelain dolls. Winter is coming, and the snow will cover the roofs. Are you going to leave your daughter here alone while you return to that warm city? Don't you feel sorry for her?"
Mrs. Hondly's face turned pale. Her lips tightened into a thin, purple line. Her city-dweller pride wouldn't allow her to argue with those she considered "crude."
"That's none of your business. I've paid for the house and the food. Your job is to make sure she doesn't starve."
With that, she turned to look at Rubie one last time—a cold look without a farewell kiss. She hurried into the carriage as if afraid the poverty of the place would infect her.
"Mother!" Rubie cried out, her feet ready to run after her, but the carriage whip swung.
The horses neighed loudly through the valley. The carriage, carrying Rubie's last hope, sped away, disappearing into the descending fog, leaving her standing alone amidst a crowd of strangers.
At that moment, the village chief sighed, placing his rough hand on the little girl's shoulder:
"Don't look anymore, little girl. Come on, I'll take you home. Inside... someone is waiting for you. He's suffering just as much as you are."
Rubie staggered after him. She didn't notice that, on the second floor of the only communal house, a window frame moved slightly. A pale, ghostly face watched her small figure in the courtyard below, its dull white eyes reflecting a strange tremor.