10th September, 1395
My name is Ria Milford. I'm almost 32 now. Time passes too quickly.
Three years. That's how long it's been since he died. My love.
Our son turns eight today. He looks just like you.
James's birthday is today. "I need to be strong. I'm sorry, but I won't cry today. You'd understand, wouldn't you? It's his special day."
It's almost seven. He'll wake up any minute now.
I glance outside. The sun hasn't come up yet. Odd. Maybe it's just getting colder.
The kitchen smells of freshly baked cake. Sweet, warm, familiar. A smile creeps onto my lips. He'll love it.
Clara and Leor might be fussier. Last year, Clara insisted on visiting the capital for her birthday. That silk dress cost me my secret savings. But in the end, she's just like me. I want a new dress too.
Leor, though… he's different. Unsettlingly calm for a three-year-old. Always staring at the moon.
Yesterday, Clara tried to scare him with a story about a beautiful blonde woman who steals children. Leor didn't even flinch. He just said, "I liked it. Tell me more." Clara ended up scaring herself instead, crawling into my bed at night.
Maybe I'm overthinking. Maybe he's just special.
Thudding footsteps. They're awake.
James bursts out first, dark eyes bright, black hair neatly combed. He looks the most like me. Behind him, Clara stumbles out, her brownish-black hair a mess, green eyes brimming with excitement.
Behind her, three-year-old Leor stands, steadying himself by gripping Clara's dress. He still can't run properly and is likely exhausted from trying to keep up.
They're probably excited about the banquet. And about me. I finally took the day off today.
'I should give them more time when I have the chance…'
"Happy Birthday, Jamie!" I kneel and hug him tight.
"Thanks," he mutters, blushing. "You don't have to do this every year. I'm grown up now."
"Oh? So you want me to go to work instead?" I tease.
His eyes widen. "No–No! Please don't leave."
Aww, he's just too innocent for me to not mess with. I pick up James, hugging him more tightly this time.
Clara and Leor watch, unimpressed, judging me with piercing eyes for guilt-tripping their brother.
"Clara, why did you sneak out of my room last night?" I ask.
We live in a small house on the outskirts of the Lavenham Empire. Two rooms, a kitchen, a bathroom. Last night, she crawled into bed with me, terrified. Then she ran back to James's room in the middle of the night. That's more like Leor's behavior, wandering at odd hours to stare at the sky. Is he rubbing off on her?
Clara frowns. "I… I don't know. I don't remember. I just went to sleep with you and woke up with them."
"She was crying at the door. I opened it for her. She was sad, So we went back to sleep," Leor said with a child-like high-pitched voice trying to sound serious.
We all stare at Leor. Something about the way he says it unsettles me.
James rushes to Clara, shaking her shoulders. "Are you okay? Why didn't you wake me up, Leor?"
Clara hesitates, then finds an answer. "I saw a woman. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Just like the story. She was so beautiful… it was scary. I think she said something, but I can't remember."
I exhale. Just a nightmare. Nothing more.
"It's fine now," I say, patting Clara's head. "No more scary stories in this house."
She nods, gaze lowered.
James clears his throat. "Mom, did you make rabbit stew?"
I smile. "How could I not? It's your favorite. Come on, before Leor steals the cake."
I lift the cake just in time to stop Leor from sneaking a bite. Sending him a stern stare, which clearly meant 'James first'.
End POV
That evening was the last memory I had of my mother.
After the banquet, we played 'The Landlord's Game'—James's favorite. We never had that much fun again.
After her death, everything changed.
James became quieter. More withdrawn. Leor, already a quiet child, became even more distant, staring at the sky for hours.
Me? I broke. I shut down for weeks. James tried to pull me out of it, hiding his own grief to take care of us. But Leor… he was too young to understand. He just sat beside me. Silent. Or hugged me when he didn't know what else to do.
I kept having nightmares about that woman. So many that they stopped scaring me.
I tried to move on. I had to. We had to.
I wanted to be a psychiatrist. Learn more about dreams we have, and about people. Why do people do what they do?
But dreams didn't matter anymore. James took on all the responsibilities. He worked himself to exhaustion, doing odd jobs to keep us alive. Sometimes, neighbors took pity on us, hiring him, slipping him extra money, food, and even clothes.
When I grew older, I helped. I sold clothes, using the knitting skills our mother had taught me. With my earnings, we could afford meat occasionally. New clothes. Even books for Leor. He was smart. We couldn't let that go to waste.
Then one day, everything changed.
Lavenham Imperial Academy. The most prestigious institution in the empire.
It had always been a playground for nobles—until now. After multiple protests from commoners, Queen Victoria herself introduced a merit-based program, opening its gates to anyone daring enough to apply. The catch? The entrance exam was brutal, designed to weed out all but the most exceptional.
I didn't think much of it until Leor surprised us both with a simple "I am taking the exam."
He wasn't asking or anything, just telling. All we could do was to root for him.
He was seventeen when he took the exam. His competition? Scholars groomed from birth, royals trained by the finest tutors. He had no formal education—just late nights of self-study, which were also ruined because of long days of working odd jobs with James to keep us afloat. And yet, he passed.
For a commoner, getting accepted was unheard of. Graduating? That meant a future secured—guaranteed positions in civil service, the military, or any field of choice.
Even though I was really happy for him, I couldn't help but envy him… Only if I had his talent…
"Clara! Sign it already! Or did you start daydreaming like your brother?" James teased, snapping me back to reality.
I stared at the paper in my hands, my vision blurring. Tears slipped down my cheeks before I could even process them.
An admission letter.
Lavenham Imperial Academy – Department of Human Nature and Psychology.
I didn't have to spend my life just working, marrying, and having children… I could study what I loved.
My fingers trembled as I signed my name.
The next second, I lunged at James, knocking him right off his chair.
I sank into his warmth, pressing my face against his chest. He was warm—solid and strong, the kind of presence that takes away every worry and tension immediately. The kind that you could rely on no matter what.
"Ahh Clara you're breaking my ribs—Leor, she's lost it." he yelped.
His words said one thing, but his hand—calloused and rough from years of labor—patted my head with a hesitant, a little awkward, and rough, but undeniably comforting.
I just laughed, holding onto him tight.
Finally, I whispered the words I'd been meaning to say for the longest time, for the calluses on his hands from working labor jobs at the tender age of ten, His eyes, never seen without dark circles, from the sleepless nights he had because of us.
For the tired reassuring smile that never leaves his face.
"Thank you."