Elyandra's awakening was a silent ritual, etched into her routine like the ancient runes on a stone. His eyes opened to the soft dim light of the room, the faint rays of dawn peering through the heavy curtains. Without hesitation, her body moved with an almost automatic discipline, echoing the countless days under Dalia's relentless surveillance.
First, the organization. Her silk sheets were smoothed with steady hands, each crease undone with astonishing precision for a child of her age. The pillows were arranged at a perfect angle, as Dalia had taught her, creating a sense of order that extended beyond the physical, calming the still sleepy mind. Her belongings, once scattered with the carefree of childhood, now rested in their proper places: the books lined up on the shelf, the small wooden toys neatly arranged on the dresser, the writing pens arranged by size and color in a leather case.
Then the body would awaken. Three quick laps around herself, a peculiar habit she had acquired, perhaps as a silent way of shaking off the last vestiges of sleep. Then, three quick and firm slaps on each side of the face, an abrupt awakening of the senses, a summoning of attention to the day that was beginning. There was no laziness or hesitation in his movements; every action was performed with an almost adult efficiency.
The noble robes awaited, arranged on a mahogany chair. The richly embroidered fabric, once synonymous with oppressive formality, was now handled with respectful familiarity. Every piece was dressed with methodical care: the soft linen shirt, the dark velvet doublet adorned with discreet silver threads, the long skirts that hid her legs, the soft leather boots that fitted her feet perfectly. With each piece worn, the image of the hesitant child faded away, giving way to a more composed, dignified and noble figure.
Finally, the lasso. The silk ribbon of a dark tone, a gift from Siris, an object loaded with memories and affection. Elyandra picked it up gently, her small fingers caressing the smooth texture. It was more than a hair accessory; It was a tangible link to the past, a silent reminder of the love and support that had shaped her. He brought his hands behind his head, his movements still a little clumsy from little practice, but imbued with a quiet determination. The fingers briefly tangled with the white strands of her hair, but soon the bow began to take shape, the ribbons being carefully crossed and tied. The final knot was tightened with increasing precision, securing her hair neatly and discreetly.
When she looked in the mirror for the last time, Elyandra saw a reflection that, although still childish in her features, radiated an aura of preparation and control. The hesitant girl had transformed into a resolute little noblewoman, ready to face the challenges of the day. The black bow in her hair was the anchor that bound her to the past, but her eyes, fixed on the future, shone with a quiet determination. She was ready. Ready for the tests. Ready for whatever the day had in store for her. Little Valemortis, forged in pain and discipline, was finally ready to take flight.
As she crossed the threshold of her room, Elyandra entered the silent corridors of the Valemortis mansion, an air of solemnity hovering over the environment, dense with the aura of the family's ancestral nobility. Impeccably dressed maids strategically positioned along the way, like silent sentinels, they waited discreetly. Their movements were synchronized and almost imperceptible, ready to meet any need, a testament to the impeccable organization that ruled the house.
With each step Elyandra took, the same whispered phrase, loaded with respect and a touch of affection, echoed through the corridors: "Congratulations, Lady Elyandra." The words were uttered with genuine reverence, and Elyandra, with surprising grace for her age, responded to each greeting with a soft "Thank you" and a slight nod. Her childlike purity, combined with the growing nobility in her gestures and the undeniable sweetness of her countenance of a child who turned nine that day, seemed to melt the hearts of the servants. Their gazes followed her with a mixture of admiration and tenderness, as if they saw in her not only the heiress Valemortis, but also a delicate flower blooming amid the severity of her lineage. The atmosphere, despite the solemnity, was permeated by a subtle current of affection for the little noblewoman on her special day.
Elyandra's birthday unfolded like a richly embroidered tapestry, each moment woven with the threads of tradition and noble expectation. The morning started with a breakfast.
A dark ebony table, adorned with delicate white floral embroidery, was filled with delicacies: fresh, crispy breads, vibrantly colored berry jams, thin slices of cured ham, mild, aromatic cheeses, and a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice, shining like liquid gold. A small honey cake decorated with berries fluttered softly, Elyandra sat down at the table, watching the profusion of food with a childlike calm, savoring each bite with almost solemn attention. Her posture at the table was impeccable, her back straight, her elbows away from her body, every movement calculated and elegant, the image of a little lady in the making. The few maids who served her moved with discretion and efficiency, their gazes charged with a mixture of respect and tenderness for the birthday girl. Elyandra, in turn, thanked each servant with a soft smile and a polite "thank you", captivating everyone with her precocious grace.
The morning continued with a visit to the mansion's library, a vast hall filled with stately bookshelves filled with books bound in aged leather. The librarian, a gray-haired, gentle-eyed lady, awaited her with a selection of illustrated manuscripts and classic tales, handpicked for her age. Elyandra flipped through the pages curiously, her delicate fingers tracing the intricate engravings, absorbing the stories with an intellectual eagerness that astonished everyone around her. She would ask insightful questions, demonstrating an understanding beyond her nine years, leaving the librarian enthralled with her intelligence and thirst for knowledge. Her presence in the library was that of a little scholar, immersed in a world of words and stories, radiating an aura of seriousness and contemplation.
Afternoon tea was a more formal event, held in one of the mansion's reception halls. The table was set with an impeccable white linen tablecloth, on which rested delicate porcelain cups, gleaming silver plates, and a variety of fine sweets and savouries: small cucumber and salmon sandwiches, warm scones accompanied by jam and cream, miniature cakes confectioned in soft colors. Some ladies of the local nobility, friends of the Valemortis family, had been invited to celebrate Elyandra's birthday. The little noblewoman behaved with admirable composure, holding polite conversations, answering questions intelligently, and displaying impeccable etiquette. Her presence was that of a graceful hostess, despite her young age, captivating guests with her childlike charm and surprising resourcefulness. She radiated an aura of sweetness and innocence, but behind her golden eyes shone a spark of intelligence and determination that did not go unnoticed by the most attentive observers.
In the late afternoon, as the sun began to paint the sky with shades of orange and pink, Elyandra met her mother in one of the mansion's inner courtyards. The garden was an oasis of tranquility, with babbling fountains, colorful flowers, and the soothing aroma of aromatic herbs hanging in the air. Lady Valemortis sat on a stone bench under the shade of a flowering wisteria, a dark-bound book open in her hands. Her expression was serene and absorbed in reading, oblivious to the movement around her. Elyandra approached in silence, her footsteps light on the gravel of the path. Her presence there emanated a respectful stillness, a childish hesitation to interrupt her mother's moment. The soft afternoon light bathed both figures, creating a scene of intimacy and contemplation amidst the grandeur of the noble mansion.
Lady Valemortis was engrossed in the sugary universe of her novel. The pages yellowed by time glided under his delicate fingers as his eyes danced across the printed lines. The plot, predictable in its clichés of love and overcoming, enveloped her in a bubble of sweetness. Shy smiles formed on her rosy lips in anticipation of a romantic encounter, her eyes sparkled with surprise at a dramatic twist, and a soft blush colored her pale cheeks in the most passionate scenes. Each word was absorbed with an almost childlike intensity, as if she herself lived the emotions of the characters. His elegant posture on the stone bench, the way he held the book with his hands adorned by discreet rings, the serenity in his expression... Everything about her exuded the grace and composure of a true lady. A lady so immersed in her literary world that she didn't even notice the small figure of Elyandra sitting silently next to her, waiting with childlike but surprisingly respectful patience for her mother to emerge from that universe of dreams.
"It was a very interesting adventure," Lady Valemortis pointed out, lowering the book and holding it gently in her lap. His voice was melodious and soft, adorned with a touch of refinement. "The lovers' journey was, as always, fraught with obstacles and misunderstandings, but the ultimate triumph of love... It's always so rewarding. Lady Beatrice's writing, while sometimes somewhat predictable in its tropes, possesses an undeniable ability to touch the heart. The dialogues, so charged with emotion, even if they occasionally border on excessive sentimentality. But, overall, a charming plot. Yes, a great plot to spend the afternoon.
Elyandra, who had listened intently in silence, nodded with a slight nod.
"I suppose so, Mom.
The instant the final words about the novel left Lady Valemortis's lips, her eyes rested on Elyandra, as if they saw her for the first time, although the little one had been there for some time. There was no startle or exaggerated surprise, just a serene acknowledgment and a tender smile that lit up her delicate face.
"Elyandra, my love, happy birthday." She reverberated, her voice now charged with a genuine maternal warmth. She put the book aside and leaned forward, wrapping her daughter in a soft, gentle embrace, a gesture that, though brief, conveyed all her affection.
As they parted, Lady Valemortis held Elyandra's shoulders, her violet eyes fixed on her daughter's gold.
"How has your day been so far, dear?" I hope everything is to your liking. Tell me, was the breakfast delicious? And the visit to the library? Did you like the books that Mrs. Agnes prepared for you?
Elyandra replied with restrained enthusiasm, her eyes shining as she shared the details of her day.
"Yes, Mom." The cake was delicious, and the books were fascinating. The story of the princess who learned to use the stars as a guide was especially interesting. And the afternoon tea was very enjoyable, Lady Beatrice and Lady Eleanor told me funny stories about their own childhoods.
They both talked in a soft, elegant tone, each sentence carefully constructed, each gesture imbued with impeccable etiquette. It was an affectionate exchange between mother and daughter, but framed by the formality inherent in their position and education. There was affection in the looks and tenderness in the words, but always maintaining the composure and distinction of his noble lineage.
The comfortable silence that had settled between mother and daughter in the courtyard was broken by the contemplative stillness of Lady Valemortis. His violet eyes scanned Elyandra's figure, assessing her with a gentle intensity. The cool afternoon breeze danced through the girl's white hair, lifting it in ethereal waves that framed her childlike face, now marked by a precocious seriousness. Elyandra, for her part, enjoyed the icy touch of the wind on her skin, her eyes closed for a moment, absorbed in the sensation.
Suddenly, Lady Valemortis's delicate hand reached out, caressing Elyandra's white strands with a light, tender touch. The gesture caught the attention of the girl, who opened her eyes and stared at her mother with a silent curiosity stamped on her features. Lady Valemortis slid her hand down her daughter's arm, her fingers noticing the unexpected firmness under the thin fabric of her robes. The musculature, once fragile and delicate, now showed a surprising rigidity, a silent testimony to intense training.
A slight frown appeared on Lady Valemortis's forehead, her violet eyes charged with genuine maternal concern.
"Elyandra, dear... Are you happy with the way things go? With all this training?
Her mother's question took Elyandra by surprise. Her lips parted slightly, and she tilted her head to the side, her brow furrowed in an expression of genuine confusion. His golden eyes, once focused on the gentle breeze, now seemed lost in a whirlwind of incipient thoughts. "Happy?" echoed the word in her mind, loaded with nuances she still couldn't fully decipher. Happy with constant tiredness? Happy with familiar muscle soreness after your workout? Happy with the cuts I had to heal every day due to Dalia's psychopathy? Happy with the absence of Siris still throbbing in your chest, even if now shrouded in a layer of determination? She stared at her mother, her eyes seeking a clarity that words had not offered. The question seemed to carry a hidden weight, an underlying concern that the little noblewoman could not yet reach.
"Don't you understand, dear?" Lady Valemortis sighed, her voice charged with a soft melancholy. "A noblewoman like you... You shouldn't worry about things so... Rude. Intense physical training, combat... These are concerns for soldiers, for knights. Not for a Valemortis. Its lineage, its beauty... everything guarantees you a life of comfort and security.
Her mother's words echoed in Elyandra's mind, shedding new light on her own position.
"A high-caste noblewoman... ninety-eight percent of ancient pureblood... the countenance of a saint..." It was true. She possessed all the attributes that, theoretically, would guarantee her a serene and privileged existence. But was that the reality? No.
For Elyandra, the life of a noblewoman did not appear as a path of freedom or tranquility. On the contrary, she felt the invisible weight of a burden, a constant pressure that her old life, before the tragedy and the training, had not allowed her to fully glimpse. The incessant routine of preparation for a public life of etiquette and noble duties, the constant reminder of his preciousness, of being almost a valuable commodity that could be traded if his family's fortune faltered... all of this created in Elyandra the disturbing illusion of a rope being slowly tightened around her neck.
Each day, with each new demand, she felt the suffocation of that imaginary rope, the claustrophobia of being dominated and caged by the gears of the imperial system. In her childish but insightful mind, she envisioned a future where her decisions would not be her own, where her life would be dictated by political alliances and dynastic conveniences. The image of being bossed around, controlled, deprived of a truly free and autonomous existence, haunted her in silence. The "quiet life" her mother described sounded to Elyandra like a gilded prison, adorned with luxury but devoid of true freedom.
Elyandra looked forward, her golden eyes momentarily lost in a sea of complex thoughts, feelings too deep to be verbalized with the ease of words. There was a silent struggle within her, a fundamental disagreement with her mother's worldview. She swallowed hard, an almost imperceptible movement, before bringing her gaze back to Lady Valemortis's serene face. His own expression, despite the inner turmoil, maintained an astonishing clarity, a childlike purity that contrasted with the precocious maturity of his thoughts.
In a clear, firm voice, which echoed a newfound determination, Elyandra finally replied:
"I don't want something so simple that I can just walk with the crowd..."
Lady Valemortis's violet eyes widened slightly, capturing for a split second the depth and unexpected resolution in her daughter's gaze. In that brief instant, the mother caught a glimpse of the adult Elyandra was becoming, a soul forged in fire and determination, far beyond the apparent frailty of her nine years. A genuine smile, charged with honest admiration, bloomed on her delicate lips.
"I see," said Lady Valemortis, her voice now soft and thoughtful, devoid of any trace of her former concern. There was a new understanding in his eyes, a tacit recognition of the individuality and willpower that resided in his little Elyandra.
An atmosphere of mutual understanding seemed to envelop the courtyard. The air between mother and daughter became lighter, charged with an unusual tranquility, a quiet recognition that, despite their different perspectives, there was a deep bond that united them. Elyandra felt a strange peace coursing through her, a tacit acceptance that her mother, even without fully understanding her ways, loved her and, at that moment, respected her. They remained silent for a few precious minutes, side by side, enjoying the serenity of the afternoon, the soft murmur of the fountain, and the warmth of the sun that was beginning to fade over the horizon. It was an instant of silent connection, where words became unnecessary to express an understanding that transcended the verbal.