*Booooom* *Boooom* *Booooobooooom*
The starry night was replaced by a series of exploding fireworks. To the attendants, this scene was so beautiful it was almost magical.
The band played celebratory music with their flutes, the melodies cascading across the mansion and its surrounding areas. Though some cultivated their magic for battle, others found joy in applying their talents to enhance life's beauty. Tonight, sound-enhancing magic carried the harmonious tunes far beyond the limits of human hearing.
The wedding of Lord Flinn and Lady Elsie was going brilliantly. Elsie, a stunning tan-skinned woman with sparkling brown eyes and dark flowing hair, stood as the centerpiece of the celebration. She had served in the military, yet her figure had retained a soft elegance, a testament to her discipline and femininity. The heir to a vast fortune, she radiated a mix of wealth, charm, and confidence. This day, however, her beauty glowed even brighter, for her heart brimmed with joy. She had fancied Flinn long before this day, and now her prayers to the gods had been answered.
In her eyes, Flinn was always the man she had dreamed of. When she first heard of his marriage to his childhood friend, she was utterly devastated. Despite knowing his heart was spoken for, she clung to the sliver of hope that she could sway him if they met just one more time before he wed. Unfortunately, her father had sent her away to the military, insisting it was vital training for managing their family's vast holdings and workforce as the sole heir to his domain.
By the time she returned, Flinn had been granted the title of Lord, news that filled her with pride and happiness. However, the joy was short-lived. The same messenger who brought tidings of his success also bore the news of his marriage and his wife's pregnancy. Elsie's heart sank into oblivion. She knew her chances were slim.
Almost nonexistent. Almost!
Determined to leave an impression, Elsie had prepared thoughtful gifts for the couple. For Lord Flinn, she commissioned a golden miniature of the Basilisk, his first merchant ship. For his wife, she brought the finest silk garments her land had to offer, along with cupcakes she had baked herself—a personal touch to the otherwise extravagant gifts. Though Flinn showed little interest, his wife had gleefully accepted the treats, savoring them with delight. Elsie returned home, crushed but resolute. If ever Flinn needed her, she vowed she would be there.
Her chance came sooner than expected. Weeks later, she learned of the tragedy surrounding the birth of Annabeth. Flinn had lost his wife, and though she mourned his pain, she saw this as an opportunity to step into his life. Over the next four years, Elsie became his confidante and a steady presence. She offered solace to his broken heart, listening to his woes and caring for him with quiet devotion.
Eventually, her patience and resolve bore fruit. Flinn, yearning for companionship and drawn to her warmth, proposed. For Elsie, it felt like the heavens themselves had blessed her. This wedding was not just a union—it was the culmination of a dream she had carried for years, one that she had nurtured through heartbreak and persistence.
***
"I don't need that witch's food!!!" Annabeth's piercing scream echoed through the halls, her voice laced with frustration and defiance.
Lord Flinn froze, startled by his daughter's outburst. The plate of cupcakes trembled slightly in his hand as he struggled to maintain his composure. Annabeth had just turned six, and rather than softening with time, her attitude seemed to grow sharper, more cutting, especially after his marriage to Lady Elsie. This wasn't the response he had hoped for when he brought the baked treats to her room.
"Do not call your mum a witch!" Flinn snapped, his voice rising unintentionally. "And show some respect when you're talking to me!"
Annabeth's eyes flared with defiance as she folded her small arms. "She is not my mother! My mother is dead!" she shot back between her gnashed teeth, her voice cracking slightly as she glared at him.
The words hit Flinn like a hammer to the chest, leaving him momentarily speechless. Bringing up his late wife was always a knife-edge topic, but hearing it said so bluntly by his daughter struck a raw nerve. He looked down at her, his mouth opening to say something—anything—but no words came.
He swallowed hard, realization dawning on him. "I'm rushing this. Forcing her to accept Elsie so soon after marrying her... what was I thinking?" Annabeth's pain and anger were not unjustified; it had only been a few short weeks since the wedding. While it had taken Flinn years to come to terms with his wife's death and open his heart to Elsie, he was expecting his young daughter to do the same in mere days. It wasn't fair—not to Annabeth, and perhaps not even to Elsie.
Flinn sighed deeply, lowering the plate of cupcakes. "Annabeth," he started softly, but the words got caught in his throat. He couldn't think of the right thing to say, and the longer he lingered, the more his failures as a father weighed on him.
The tense atmosphere lingered even after Lord Flinn left Annabeth's room. The sting of her words still clung to him, but he forced himself to focus on calming down. He knew Annabeth's anger wasn't entirely unjustified. Forcing Lady Elsie into her life, especially after her loss, was a mistake he had made in his desperation to rebuild their family. Yet, the reality was more complex than simple right or wrong. He loved Elsie, and he wanted them all to be happy together.
As he reached the kitchen, the tray of cupcakes still balanced on one hand, his mind churned with frustration and guilt. "Maybe I really have no idea how to parent her," he muttered under his breath. He popped a cupcake into his mouth, grimacing slightly as the overly sweet taste hit his tongue. Baked goods were never his thing, but he knew it wasn't about the food—it was about Elsie's feelings and Annabeth's emotional walls.
When he finally reached the dining room, Lady Elsie was seated with her own plate of cupcakes, enjoying one delicately as she flipped through a book. Her warm smile brightened as she noticed him enter.
"Did she like them?" Elsie asked, setting the book aside.
Flinn hesitated, then forced a small smile. "She ate them," he lied smoothly, though he hated the need to do so. "But I think she's more like me—milk and baked sweets aren't really her thing."
Elsie paused for a moment, then nodded knowingly, her smile softening. "I see. Well, I'll give her some space for now. Maybe something simpler next time, or maybe nothing at all for a while." Her voice carried understanding, though Flinn suspected she knew the truth. Despite that, she chose not to pry, letting the matter rest.
Her response only deepened Flinn's appreciation for her. It wasn't easy stepping into such a fragile family dynamic, and Elsie had shown nothing but patience and care. When she stood and kissed him lightly on the cheek, his heart felt lighter, even amidst the turmoil.
"Not all heroes slay monsters, I guess," he thought, watching her radiant smile as she returned to her chair. Flinn resolved to keep trying. He owed it to both Annabeth and Elsie to bridge the chasm between them. Even if he wasn't a perfect father, he would keep doing his best to make their fractured family whole.
***
For the next two weeks, Annabeth kept her distance from Lady Elsie. She ate all her meals in the solitude of her room, refusing any attempt at interaction, whether it was a greeting or a conversation from Elsie. Despite this, Elsie seemed largely unfazed, her primary focus always being on her husband. The resentment of a six-year-old girl was of little concern when she had her position secured and her life with Flinn at the forefront of her mind.
But Annabeth's anxiety only deepened as the days passed. While her magical training was progressing rapidly, she still couldn't shake her doubts about being able to prevent her father's death. She had seen it unfold in two different lives, and the details were as clear to her as the sky at noon. Her father would die around 8 am, just moments after finishing his breakfast. The poison would be undetectable, and only through her experience in the past did she come to understand that it was Lady Elsie who was behind it all.
As the days passed, Annabeth pieced together the inevitable. The poison would be in his meal. The breakfast, specifically.
The plan formed in her mind: she would prevent Flinn from eating the breakfast. She would claim that the food was poisoned and make Elsie eat it. If Elsie refused, Annabeth would have the leverage she needed to expose the truth. But if Elsie ate it and died in the same agonizing way her father had—well, that would prove everything. Lady Elsie would finally get the death she deserved, and Annabeth would finally have the chance to change her fate.
However, putting the plan into action was far more difficult than simply thinking it through. Annabeth had to be careful—she had only one chance.
She sneaked into the kitchen one morning, arriving just in time to see Elsie starting to prepare breakfast. Annabeth crept silently through the shadows, watching every movement. But despite her careful observation, she couldn't pinpoint the exact moment when the poison would be added. Elsie worked with careful precision, and although there were servants in the kitchen, she insisted on making the meal herself. It was something she had wanted to do for a long time, and now that she was married to Flinn, it seemed she would not relinquish control of it.
With a tray full of food—eggs, potatoes, gravy, and tea—Elsie made her way to the dining room, where Lord Flinn sat eagerly awaiting his breakfast. Annabeth followed behind her, her heart pounding in her chest. When Elsie set the tray down in front of Flinn, she smiled at him, about to walk away. But then she turned, and her eyes locked with Annabeth's. The little girl was standing in the doorway, an eerie grin on her face that made Elsie's heart skip a beat.
"I saw you put poison in the food," Annabeth said, her voice steady but cold, as she pointed directly at Elsie. Those fiery red eyes were glowing fiercely red.