Rain fell in heavy sheets, drenching the mourners gathered at the Everhart estate cemetery. The skies wept as if mourning alongside the family, casting the funeral in a somber gray light. Two caskets, adorned with the Everhart crest, were slowly lowered into the earth.
Evelyne clung to her sister Cristina's hand, her silver eyes glistening with tears that refused to fall. She had cried enough in the days following the tragedy, but now, standing at the graves of her parents, she felt hollow. Beside her, Cristina stood with her usual composure, her black dress soaked through, yet her trembling hand revealed the storm of emotions she kept hidden.
Servants, even those who had served the family for only a short time, filled the cemetery. To them, Edmund and Viviana had been the ideal nobles-kind and fair, treating their staff as more than mere commoners. Their deaths had left a hole in many hearts.
As the priest concluded the final rites, Evelyne's knees threatened to buckle. Memories of her father teaching her the intricacies of trade and her mother's soothing melodies flooded her mind, leaving her struggling to breathe. Cristina's grip on her hand tightened, grounding her in the present.
When they returned home, the estate felt unbearably quiet. The familiar sounds of their father's teachings, the clink of teacups during early morning discussions, and the hum of their mother's harp were replaced by a deafening silence. Evelyne wandered aimlessly through the halls, haunted by their absence. Cristina, ever the composed elder sister, busied herself with ensuring the household ran smoothly, her grief masked by a facade of strength.
But beneath Cristina's calm exterior was a relentless restlessness. She threw herself into work, meeting with the estate's remaining staff, and confronting the debts left behind by their father's failed project.
Evelyne, unwilling to be idle, found herself retreating to their father's study. She sifted through ledgers and documents, her once-delicate hands now ink-stained. She spent hours poring over the estate's financial records. She thought, if she could fix the crumbling accounts, perhaps she could quiet the ache of loss that lingered in every corner of the estate–or at least keep it at bay a little longer.
One evening, as Evelyne worked by the dim light of the mana-lamp, Cristina appeared at the door, her face drawn with concern. "You've been here all day," she said softly.
Evelyne didn't look up. "There's too much to do. The debtors are already growing impatient, Cristina. If I don't–"
Cristina stepped forward and interrupted her by placing a firm hand on Evelyne's shoulder. "It's okay, don't worry too much," she said. Her voice was gentle but resolute. "I'm handling the negotiations. Rest, Evelyne. If you keep pushing yourself like this, you'll collapse-and then there'd be no use. Don't you think so?"
Evelyne hesitated, the weight of her sister's words sinking in. Finally, she nodded, pushing back her chair with a sigh. "Okay, just for tonight."
Cristina's lips curved into a faint smile.
That night, Evelyne fell into a restless sleep. The silence of the estate pressed down on her like a physical weight, and exhaustion eventually claimed her.
But in the stillness, another tragedy took shape.
Evelyne woke to the sound of Cristina's frantic voice, cutting through the silence of the night. A faint, acrid smell lingered in the air, unnoticed at first but heavy with the promise of something undone.
"Evelyne, wake up!"
She sat up, her heart racing before she could fully understand what was happening. "Cristina?" she asked, groggy and disoriented.
Cristina burst into the room, her silver hair disheveled and streaked with blood. Her torn dress and frantic expression sent a jolt of fear through Evelyne.
"There's no time!" Cristina pulled her from the bed, her grip firm with desperation.
"What's going on?" Evelyne asked, but her question was drowned out by a distant roar. She froze as she recognized the sound-angry voices mixed with the crackling of fire.
"Where's my money?!"
"You swindled us!"
"Burn the estate!"
The mob's cries grew louder, sending a chill down Evelyne's spine. "Cristina, what's happening?"
Cristina avoided her question, dragging Evelyne down the hallway. Her movements were urgent, her breaths quick and shallow.
"Cristina!" Evelyne gasped, struggling to keep up. "What are people shouting outside? Who are they?"
Cristina stopped abruptly, her back to Evelyne. When she turned, her trembling shoulders revealed the weight of her words.
"I'll explain later," Cristina said, her voice barely above a whisper. But Evelyne saw the flicker of doubt in her sister's eye.
They rounded a corner, and the smell of fire grew stronger. Smoke clouded the air, stinging Evelyne's eyes. Flickering flames cast eerie shadows on the walls as the shouts of the mob grew deafening.
"Swindlers!"
"Burn it all!"
Evelyne's stomach churned. "Investors?, money lenders?" Evelyne didn't need any answers now, she understood what was happening.
The mob's anger was palpable, their fury fed by the recent explosion that had claimed the lives of many workers. Evelyne's father's ambitious project, fueled by the money of merchants and nobles, had resulted in catastrophic failure.
"Cristina, we can't just leave!" Evelyne urged. "What about the others? The servants..."
Smoke stung Evelyne's eyes, blurring her vision, but Cristina's grip didn't waver. "Just trust me," Cristina said, her tone desperate.
Cristina led her to a hidden back entrance. A small carriage waited outside, its horses restless. A group of loyal servants stood nearby, their faces pale with fear. One stepped forward, handing Cristina a bundle of supplies.
Cristina shoved the bundle into Evelyne's arms, along with the Everhart family crest. "Go north. Stay hidden. Don't come back for two years."
Evelyne clutched the bundle tightly, her hands trembling. "No! I can't leave you like this. After Mother and Father's death, you're all I have left, Cristina..."
Cristina's expression hardened, though tears welled in her eyes. "I need to stay and buy you some time. So please, survive."
The mob's shouts grew louder, the glow of fire illuminating Cristina's face. She placed a trembling hand on Evelyne's cheek. "See you soon," she whispered.
Before Evelyne could protest further, Dame Isabella, her late mother's personal knight, stepped forward. She pulled Evelyne into the carriage, her grip firm but gentle.
"Cristina!" Evelyne screamed, her voice raw.
The carriage jolted forward, the horses galloping into the night. Evelyne strained against Isabella's grip, her sobs wracking her body. Through the haze of tears, she saw Cristina turn back toward the burning estate, her silver hair catching the fiery glow.
"Cristina! No!" Evelyne's cries echoed into the night, but the carriage didn't stop.
The last image burned into her mind was of her sister, standing tall amidst the smoke and fire, disappearing into the night. Then, there was only silence.
The journey northward seemed as relentless as Evelyne's sorrow. In the early days of travel, the landscape was still touched by the muted warmth of late autumn. The air was crisp, the trees dressed in shades of amber and gold, as if trying to offer some comfort amidst the weight of the loss that pressed on Evelyne's chest. But as they ventured further, the scenery grew stark, and the vivid colors of fall faded into frost-covered fields and snow-laden pines. The gentle wind of the plains soon gave way to the biting chill of winter, seeping through the walls of the carriage despite the thick furs that had been draped over her.
Evelyne sat in silence, her eyes vacant as her thoughts swirled around the memory of her burning home, the frantic warning from her sister, and the suffocating heat of the flames. She blinked against the dull light streaming through the window, her gaze falling on Hely, her old nanny sitting across from her. Hely leaned forward, pressing a warm hand to Evelyne's forehead, her wrinkled face etched with deep concern.
"My lady," Hely said softly, her voice steady yet laced with worry. "You've gone too long without rest. Please, rest even if for a few moments."
Evelyne didn't answer. She hadn't slept since she parted ways with Cristina. Her face was pale, her once-bright silver eyes dull from exhaustion. Dark shadows marked her hollow cheeks, her slender frame appearing even frailer beneath the crushing weight of grief.
The pain grew unbearable, a sharp, relentless ache blossoming in her chest as her eyes welled with unshed tears. "Nanny," she whispered, her voice trembling, "Cristina is safe... right?"
Hely hesitated, the flicker of doubt passing through her eyes before she nodded. "Of course, Lady Cristina will be fine, my lady," she replied, her voice warm but strained.
Evelyne reached for her, clinging to her as the tears finally broke free. "After my parents... Cristina is all I have left. If something were to happen to her..." she sobbed, her voice faltering. Her once-pristine composure shattered, and her sorrow poured out, a tide so overwhelming it felt as though it might drown her.
The other servants in the carriage remained silent, their faces heavy with unease, unsure how to console their young mistress. The vehicle rattled along the uneven road, the quiet of the journey broken only by Evelyne's soft, gut-wrenching sobs. It felt as though the weight of everything-the loss of her parents, the destruction of the Everhart estate-was suffocating her. The world outside was changing, hardening into a cold, unfamiliar place, just as her heart had.
Her gaze lingered on the frosted window, where barren trees blurred past, and the endless whiteness of snow stretched out before her. The world outside had become as empty as the one inside her. Yet, the comforting words of Hely gave Evelyne a small measure of solace.
Closing her eyes, she leaned back against the worn cushion of the carriage. The rhythmic sway of the journey, combined with Hely's soft hums, began to lull her into an uneasy slumber. The sounds of the world outside were muffled by the thick walls of the carriage, and for a brief moment, it was as if the pain was distant, floating just out of reach.
But as if the world were mocking her, as if the tragedies so far hadn't been cruel enough. When Evelyne woke, what she saw was more than a nightmare—carnage.