Elaria's POV
The day had been long, cruel, and relentless. From the first pale light of dawn, I had run errands for Lady Virelle, carried heavy baskets of water from the well, dusted rooms that seemed to grow filthier the moment I left, and polished the silver until my fingers ached.
Every task was measured against the sharp gaze of my stepmother, and every minor misstep magnified into proof of my inadequacy.
By the time the sun began to sink behind the distant hills, I was bone-weary and hollow, my hands blistered and my back stiff. And yet, the day's trials were far from over.
A single, careless slip one empty tray left unattended for but a moment was enough to draw Lady Virelle's wrath. Her voice cut through the kitchen like a blade.
"Elaria! Step forth."
I rose immediately, my stomach knotting with dread. Lyssara sat nearby, pretending to read, but I knew her eyes followed my every trembling movement.
Lady Virelle's expression was a mask of indignation. "Do you take pleasure in incompetence?" she demanded, her tone echoing in the kitchen like distant thunder. "A minor mistake today could have cost us greatly!"
"I… I did not mean to ..." I began, but she silenced me with a sharp motion.
"Silence!" she snapped. "Kneel. And you shall remain there until the servants finish their work. Perhaps that will teach you the value of diligence."
My knees pressed into the cold stone floor, and the sting of shame pressed deep into my chest. Lyssara's barely concealed smirk glimmered in the fading light, and I could almost hear her thoughts: Finally, the girl is reminded of her place.
For what felt like hours, I remained kneeling, silent and small, my hands resting limply on my lap. I could feel the weight of hopelessness pressing on me, a stone tied around my heart.
And then, without thinking, my voice rose soft at first, trembling, almost a whisper:
A song of sorrow. A song of longing. A song meant only for the empty corners of the world that would hear me, but never judge me.
The notes slipped past the walls of the kitchen, drifting into the garden. My eyes closed as I let the melody flow, shaped by grief, endurance, and the tiniest spark of hope.
And then I noticed it a small, brown bird perched upon the sill of the open window, tilting its head as though listening intently. Its tiny chest rose and fell in time with my song, and a curious calm spread through me.
The bird did not flinch. It did not flee. It stayed, captivated by something invisible that I alone seemed to wield. My voice, though fragile, had a power I could not yet understand.
For a moment, I dared to imagine that the song could reach beyond the walls, beyond Lady Virelle's fury, beyond even the small world I had been confined to.
Lyssara's voice shattered the fragile peace. "Are you attempting to soothe the stones now, sister? Or do you believe the birds will defend you?" Her laughter was sharp and elegant, like the clinking of crystal.
I opened my eyes, realizing the bird had not fled. It regarded Lyssara with no fear, only unwavering attention. The bird chirped softly, as if acknowledging the truth that Lyssara could never grasp: my voice belonged to no one but itself, and perhaps, to something far greater.
Lady Virelle's frown deepened, sensing the subtle shift, though she could not name it. "Enough!" she commanded. "Your song is frivolous, meaningless. Remember your place!"
But as she swept from the room with Lyssara in tow, the bird remained. And in that lingering note, carried by the wind into the fading light, I felt a whisper of something I could not yet name: a connection to the world that listened, waiting for a voice worthy of it.
For the first time that day, hope stirred a quiet, fragile thing but a thing that refused to be silenced.
And so, even beneath the weight of cruelty, I sang once more.
The notes lingered in the evening air, trembling like dew upon the leaves. The bird perched on the sill chirped softly, as if responding to a conversation only it could understand. I felt my chest lighten, though just slightly, the song having carried some of the weight I had borne all day.
But peace was fleeting.
A rustle in the shadows heralded Lyssara's approach. She stepped lightly, her posture perfect, her eyes gleaming with that same sharp malice that had haunted me since childhood.
"You sing too well for one so… insignificant," she said, her voice smooth, almost musical in itself, but laced with venom. "Do you imagine the world applauds your misery? That anyone notices your little attempts at beauty?"
I lowered my gaze, unwilling to meet hers, and whispered, "It is not for the world…"
Lyssara's laugh was soft, chilling. "Not for the world? Oh, how noble. Perhaps the trees, then, have honored your lament. Or the wind carried it, like a loyal servant?" She stepped closer, and I felt her shadow fall over me, large and oppressive. "You are like a moth, Elaria flitting about, pretending your glow matters, while all around you burns in sunlight far brighter than your dim spark."
I clenched my fists, the ache in my chest deepening. The bird chirped once, sharply, flitting to the edge of the sill, as though warning her off. Lyssara's eyes flicked to it, and for a brief moment, something akin to fear or perhaps irritation crossed her face.
"I tire of your theatrics," Lyssara said finally, straightening. "Come, let us return to the house before Mother discovers you dawdling in the woods again. She grows less patient with each passing day, and you would do well to remember your place."
I rose reluctantly, my knees stiff, feeling the echo of the song still trembling in my chest. The bird watched silently, tilting its head, and then, with a graceful flutter, it vanished into the trees. Even its departure seemed to take a fragment of the calm with it.
Back in the house, Lady Virelle awaited, her eyes narrowed, her expression carved from stone. "So," she began, her voice cold and deliberate, "you think to wander and waste the day, all the while delighting in some… song?"
"Yes, Stepmother," I said softly, bowing my head.
"Softly?" she repeated, the word dripping like poison. "Do you dare speak to me with such timidity? Or do you fancy hiding behind murmurs and tunes that carry no weight?"
I swallowed the lump in my throat. "I… I only sought… to calm myself."
"Calm yourself?" Lady Virelle's lips curled, a cruel imitation of amusement. "You think this world bends to your whim? That a soft melody will erase your incompetence?"
I could not respond. Words failed me. Only the memory of the bird lingered, a fragile warmth against the cold that filled the kitchen.
Lyssara, standing nearby, allowed herself a small, satisfied smirk. "Perhaps the bird appreciates your little efforts," she said lightly. "But birds are not rulers, Elaria. Do not imagine yourself anything more than what you are: a shadow beneath my light."
The words pierced sharper than any punishment. I bowed again, silent, swallowing back tears that threatened to betray me. Yet beneath the weight of cruelty, a tiny ember glimmered in my chest a stubborn pulse of something unyielding.
Even here, beneath the gaze of Lady Virelle, under the mocking shadow of Lyssara, I felt the lingering power of the song. Though unseen and unheard by those who sought to diminish me, it had reached life itself: the trees, the wind, the creature who had listened.
And for the first time, I understood even in the smallest moments, my voice held a force the world could not touch.
The thought comforted me. It was fragile, faint but it was mine. And perhaps, just perhaps, it was enough to endure another day.