Then a girl skipped forward with the carefree abandon of a child who had known only love and gentle laughter, her golden curls bouncing with each light step. At six, she was pure sunshine wrapped in a blue dress that had been mended with obvious care, her smile bright enough to warm the coldest heart.
"Rosalie Pennywhistle," Sheriff Shepherd announced, his gruff voice automatically gentling. "Daughter of the village baker. Parents deceased in a carriage accident. No surviving relatives capable of care."
Rosalie's sunny expression clouded with confusion. "But Mama and Papa are just sleeping, right? Like when I have bad dreams and they come back in the morning?" Her small voice held desperate hope.
The Head Priestess regarded her with uncharacteristic warmth. "Child, you have been brought here so that loving sisters might care for you."
Cathie's eyes filled with tears as she knelt before the innocent little girl. "Oh, sweetheart. Your mama and papa loved you more than all the stars in the sky. Now they're watching over you from heaven."
"But I miss their hugs," Rosalie whispered, her lower lip trembling. "Mama smelled like bread and cinnamon, and Papa made silly voices when he read me stories about princess mice."
The young handler, barely out of training, wiped his own eyes as he pressed a small cloth doll into Rosalie's hands. The doll wore a tiny apron dusted with real flour. "My little sister made this for you," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "She said every girl needs a special friend to hug." He stood awkwardly, delivered a shaky salute, then hurried from the temple before his composure could crumble entirely.
The Head Priestess gazed upon the grieving child with rare tenderness. "This innocent has known only love—we must not let that light fade," she said softly, selecting a round-faced priestess whose very presence radiated maternal warmth. "Sister, be the mother she has lost. Let her remember joy even in sorrow." The chosen priestess bowed her head and lifted the child with practiced tenderness, carrying her toward whatever small healings awaited.
After that A boy marched forward with the supreme confidence of someone who had never known anything but privilege and praise, his perfectly tailored clothes unmarked by travel or hardship. At six, he possessed the bearing of a young lord already aware of his elevated place in the world, his blonde hair precisely combed and his blue eyes bright with expectation.
"Alexander Ravencrest," Sheriff Shepherd announced with barely concealed distaste. "Son of Duke Ravencrest. Voluntarily offered to fulfill the family's traditional obligations."
Alex beamed with pride. "Papa says I'm the most important boy in our whole family! I get to do something special that will make everyone remember the Ravencrest name forever and ever!"
The Head Priestess smiled with genuine pleasure. "The noble families understand the significance of maintaining sacred traditions. You will find your time here quite... educational."
Cathie frowned at the child's innocent enthusiasm. "Alex, do you understand what kind of place this is? Did your parents explain what happens here?"
"Of course!" Alex declared with six-year-old certainty. "I'm going to learn important things and be really, really special. Papa said I was chosen because I'm the best and bravest boy in the whole duchy!"
His handler, himself of minor noble birth, knelt and pressed his own signet ring into Alex's small palm. "True nobility, young master, comes from kindness to others, not from being told you're special." He stood with military precision, delivered a salute that somehow conveyed both respect and pity, then departed with the measured step of duty fulfilled.
The Head Priestess observed the proud young noble with calculating interest. "This one believes himself above others—he must learn true service," she stated, choosing a priestess whose bearing spoke of noble birth but whose eyes held hard-earned wisdom. "Sister, teach him that privilege comes with duty, not entitlement." The selected priestess bowed her head and gestured for Alex to follow, leading the chattering boy toward whatever lessons awaited in the temple's depths.
Next a girl crept forward as if afraid her small footsteps might crack the sacred marble, her mousy brown hair falling like a protective curtain to hide her anxious face. At six, she seemed to fold in on herself, shoulders hunched against a world that had already taught her to expect disappointment rather than kindness.
"Lucy Fairchild," Sheriff Shepherd read with unusual gentleness. "Daughter of seamstress Meredith Fairchild. Mother voluntarily surrendered custody in exchange for debt forgiveness."
Lucy's small face crumpled with shame beyond her years. "Mama said maybe I could learn to be good here. That maybe I wouldn't be so much trouble if the nice ladies taught me proper." Her whisper barely carried across the marble floor.
The Head Priestess studied the cowering child with clinical assessment. "Proper guidance shapes even the most... uncertain clay."
Cathie felt her heart break as she slowly approached the frightened little girl. "Lucy, sweetheart, you're not in trouble. You're a precious little girl who deserves love and kindness."
Lucy peeked up through her hair with desperate hope. "Really? I'm not just extra mouths to feed? Mama always said I was extra, and extra things get thrown away."
"You are exactly the right amount of Lucy," Cathie said firmly, gently brushing the hair from the child's face to reveal delicate features marked by chronic worry. "And no one here will ever throw you away."
Her handler knelt to press a tiny brass thimble into Lucy's palm. "My grandmother gave this to me when I was exactly your age," he said softly. "She said it would keep my fingers safe while I learned to make beautiful things." He rose with obvious reluctance, his salute somehow gentle, and walked away with the slow step of someone leaving behind something precious.
The Head Priestess studied the cowering child with careful consideration. "This one has been made to feel worthless—she must learn her own value," she declared, selecting a small-statured priestess whose gentle movements spoke of understanding. "Sister, show her that being quiet can be a strength, not a weakness. Teach her that she belongs." The chosen priestess bowed her head and offered her hand with infinite patience, waiting until the frightened child found courage enough to take it.