"Mom..." she murmured, Liora's breath hitched as she picked up the small mirror.
It was an old, silver-framed piece, the edges slightly chipped from age, and right in the center, drawn in black paint, was a childish mustache. Her fingers traced the familiar inked lines.
"My mother used to hold this mirror up and pretend to be my father," she murmured as her memory resurfaced.
A small girl was giggling behind her hand as she watched her mother pretend to be a stern nobleman. "Look at me, Liora! Do I not look just like your father?"
Her mother had held the mirror up, her face dead serious, until she burst into laughter, pulling Liora into a hug.It had been a silly, playful moment. But now it was one of the few pieces of her past she had left.
Her throat tightened.
Mira and Lily exchanged glances.
"Madam?" Lily asked cautiously.
"I'm fine." Her voice was calm, but she was somewhere far away in her thoughts.
Lily hesitated before speaking. "That mirror... it looks old."
A soft chuckle escaped Liora's lips. "It is."
Liora swallowed back the lump in her throat, blinking rapidly to stop her tears from falling.
"It's perfect," she said, her voice soft but filled with emotion.
She set the mirror down gently and picked up the letters, her fingers shaking slightly as she unfolded the first one.
The ink was faded, the edges slightly torn. Those letters were in her mother's handwriting.
Liora pressed her lips together, gripping the paper tightly.
"Madam, is that..." Mira hesitated.
Liora nodded. "It's from my mother."
Mira and Lily didn't speak. "It must have meant a lot to?"
"..." Liors did not answer them; they simply watched as Liora looked at those letters. It was something good that happened for her the first time in days. Liora felt like she had something real. Something that still belonged to her.
Even in this unfamiliar place, even under the fate she never chose, she still had this, her mother's memory. After that, she placed the mirror back into the box and then took out the hairpin in it. Liora sat still, her fingers brushing over the delicate rose-shaped hairpin. The tiny beads that once adorned its petals had fallen, leaving behind faint marks where they had been. It wasn't perfect anymore; time had taken its toll, but to Liora, it was still beautiful.
Mira and Lily leaned in slightly to look at the hairpin Liora held in her hand, both of them eyeing it with clear disapproval.
"Madam," Mira started hesitantly, her lips pressing together as if she were choosing her words carefully: "There are many hairpins gifted by Queen Dowager. If this one doesn't look good, we can use a finer piece."
Lily nodded in agreement, her expression soft and harmless, as they both just wanted good for their madam. "Yes, Madam. This one looks a little... worn."
Liora's grip on the pin tightened, lowering her misty eyes She held it close to her chest.
"No piece will ever be more beautiful than this one," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Hoarse and trembling, she swallowed hard; her chest ached.
"This too belonged to my mother," she continued, her fingers running over the smooth metal. "She wore this the day she went out with my father." A sharp breath hitched in her throat, cutting her words short.
Lily leaned forward. "And then what, Madam?"
Liora's lips parted, her heartbeat hammering in her ears.
She repeated the sentence again, this time slower, almost like she was speaking to herself.
"She wore this on the day my mother and father went out."
Her hands suddenly froze with a thought so startling and so obvious that it crashed into her like a wave.
"Then... why is it here? Why is this hairpin in this box?" This time she spoke loudly, her fingers curled tightly around the pin, and so tightly around the pin that it dug into her palm, turning her knuckles white.
Her aunt and uncle had always told her that her parents never came back the day they disappeared, that they left and never returned. But if her mother had been wearing this hairpin when she left that day...Then how had it ended up in this box?
"No…" Liora shot up from her seat so fast that the wooden chair scraped against the floor, startling Mira and Lily.
"Madam?" they called for her,
But Liora didn't hear them. Her heartbeat was deafening; she turned sharply; her feet were already moving before she could think.
She marched towards the door.
"Madam, wait!" Lily called, her voice rising in panic as she hurried after her.
It was dark outside, the house was quiet, and most of the servants had gone to bed but Liora didn't care; she needed to know, she needed answers.
As she reached the door, Lily ran ahead and grabbed her arm.
"Madam, it's past midnight!" Lily pleaded, her grip tightening. "You can't go out!"
Liora's breath was ragged. Her mind was racing.
"Lily, let go," she whispered.
But Lily shook her head, her own face tight with worry.
"Please, Madam," she said, her voice almost desperate. "Where will you go? It's dangerous at night!"
Mira, catching up, stepped in front of the door, blocking Liora's way.
"Madam, listen to us," she urged. "You're shaking. You're not thinking clearly."
Liora gritted her teeth; they were right; she was indeed shaking and was barely breathing.
But she couldn't ignore this.
Her fingers loosened slightly around the pin, but she didn't let go.
"Then what do I do?" she asked, her voice breaking, her eyes burning.
"What do I do with this?"... Unable to answer the question, Mira and Lily kept looking at her; they had very little idea about Liora's family, so they were not sure why their madam was behaving like this.
After a while,
Mira and Lily had coaxed her into finishing a bowl of soup; Liora sat on the edge of her bed, light from the lamp casting soft shadows on the walls. Mira had placed the wooden box on the table aside, while Lily had handed her the soup with quiet insistence.
"Here, Madam, you must eat as much as you can; you do not look well, Let me Refill the bowl.", Lily handed her bowl filled with soup for the second time.
Liora had taken slow, distracted sips; her eyes were never leaving the box. The questions swirling in her mind had dulled her appetite, but the warmth of the soup had at least steadied her trembling hands and growling stomach.
She thought back to the day her aunt and uncle had taken her in. Before the accident, they hadn't lived with her family. They had their own home, their own lives. But after her parents disappeared, they had moved in with their daughter, although her grandmother was staying with Liora from the beginning, and this was why her grandmother was close to her. And then there was her brother; she barely remembered him. A faint, blurry image of a boy with warm eyes before he went missing,
Liora swallowed the last of the soup, which was against her appetite.
"Madam," Mira had said softly, "Please don't leave your room tonight. As a concubine, you're not allowed to leave without permission. It's against the rules."
Liora had nodded, offering a small, reassuring smile.
"I won't."
After getting a satisfied answer from Liora, they had helped her change into her nightwear, smoothing the fabric over her arms with care before bidding her goodnight.
When she was alone, Liora stepped out of bed, her bare feet cool against the floor. She walked to the table, her fingers brushing against the edges of the wooden box before opening it again. The hairpin glowed under the soft light; she picked it up, tracing the missing beads and the slightly bent metal.
Then, her gaze shifted to the letters written by her mother beneath them. If she wanted to understand, she needed to start there. She took the hairpin and letters to her bed, then she gathered the letters in her lap and settled against the pillows, her fingers tightening slightly around the fragile pages.
With a slow breath, she unfolded the first one.