The forest stills around her when she slowly blink awake, mossy earth damp against her cheeks and the cool morning air caressing her skin. She doesn’t know how she got here—her mind is an empty slate, the past a forgotten dream. A trickle of dew slides down the trunk beside her, and the distant call of a bird carries through the trees.
Her body feels stiff, muscles protesting as she pushes herself upright. The forest is ancient here, the undergrowth thick with ferns and creeping vines, great oaks arching above like the hands of forgotten gods. Somewhere close, water burbles over stone, soft and constant. Her fingers press into the damp soil, seeking stability. The cold air bites at her exposed skin because she’s wearing only a thin white dress, stained with mud and grass.
She glances down, fingers brushing the unfamiliar fabric. She has no memory of ever owning such a dress. No memory of falling asleep beneath the trees. No memory at all. And yet her muscles seem to know this place, as if her body remembers something her mind cannot. With effort, she rises and start to walk. As she walked, branches tug at her hair, thorny vines scratch her already bleeding legs as she pushes forward. And before she know, forest begins to thin, light peeking in between the tree.
Then, suddenly—an open sky.
She steps into a wide meadow bathed in morning pale blue light. The grass waves in the breeze, soft golden hues rolling like the sea. Wildflowers bloom in scattered patches, and the sky stretches endlessly above her, pale blue and gentle.
“Wow… amazing…”
The sound of hooves breaks her awe.
A small carriage is approaching along a dirt path that cuts through the field. As it draws closer, it slows, and then stops entirely. The driver—a woman in a lavender dress and white shawl—leans forward, her eyes narrowing beneath the brim of her hat.
“Oh my,” the woman murmurs. She steps down from the carriage, skirt sweeping through the grass, and walks slowly toward the girl.
“You there! Are you alright?” Her voice is firm but not unkind. She comes to a halt a few paces away, her eyes scanning the girl’s thin frame and muddied dress. “Are you hurt? Are you lost?”
The girl opens her mouth, but no words come. She doesn’t know how to answer.
The woman’s expression softens. “Do you know your name?”
A beat of silence. The girl shakes her head.
“No family nearby? No village?”
Again, she shakes her head. Her throat tightens. There’s a flicker of something behind her eyes—shadows, maybe, or dreams—but it slips away too fast to grasp.
The woman exhales, then removes her shawl and drapes it over the girl’s shoulders. “Poor thing. You’re freezing.” She kneels slightly, meeting the girl’s eyes. “My name is Aria Maravelle but people call me Madam Aria. I run a home for children, an orphanage, in Yeter El. It’s not far from here. If you’ll let me, I can take you somewhere safe. Somewhere warm.”
The girl hesitates, bare feet curling against the grass. She doesn’t trust this stranger. But her legs are shaking, her skin cold, and her stomach hollow.
So she nods.
Madam Aria smiles gently. “Good. Let’s get you out of the wind, little one.”
The carriage jolted over a stone in the road, Madam Aria’s body lurching forward. Her plump fingers caught the edge of the seat just in time to steady herself, and she let out a short, breathless laugh. “Oh, we’ll have to smooth those roads,” she mused, as though the kingdom’s infrastructure were her personal concern.
She settled back into her seat with practiced grace, smoothing the folds of her lavender dress. The fabric was well-worn and there is mud all over it but the design was spotless—every seam perfectly aligned, every button fastened with care. Even amid the bumps and jostles of the journey, Madam Aria maintained the polished order of a woman long accustomed to dictating the lives of others.
The silence in the carriage thickened, pressing against the space like a low fog. As the distant crackle of gunfire faded into the evening air, Madam Aria turned her gaze toward the girl beside her. Her brow furrowed slightly as she observed the child’s reaction. There was something calculating in her eyes—an evaluation in progress, as though she were tallying traits and assigning values behind that calm expression.
“War has always been with us, hasn’t it?” she said at last, her tone light, almost casual, as if commenting on the changing weather. She tugged at the fingers of her gloves, adjusting their fit with slow precision. “But it never touches the right people... so long as they behave themselves.”
She smiled then—cool, measured, and utterly composed.
The journey passed more quickly than expected, thanks to Madam’s endless stories about the children in her care. Her voice was animated, her words laced with affection, and she seemed delighted when the girl—at last—mustered the strength to ask which child was the smartest.
“Oh, that would be Ariadhna,” Madam said, eyes lighting up. “She was only six when she solved a mathematics problem so difficult, even most adults would’ve struggled with it!”
She went on, now fully in her own bubbles. “And then there’s Anez, a quiet boy who spends nearly all his time locked away in the library, reading books about the stars and medicine. Astronomy, mostly.”
A fond smile crept across her face. “Sometimes I catch little Aria peeking at him from behind the shelves while he’s reading. And when I do, she dashes out in a panic and hides in the rose garden. Absolutely precious, isn’t she?”
“She sounds sweet,” the girl murmured.
“Oh, they’re all sweet! Mine are the most adorable children in the entire world,” Madam said, pausing for a moment as if lost in thought. Then, with a brightening expression, she added, “But the sweetest of them all is definitely Anastasia. She’s the youngest of my flock.”
Her voice softened, tinged with affection. “Whenever she asks for Luna Rossa with that tiny little voice of hers—oh, it’s the most precious thing you’ll ever heard.”
“Luna Rossa…?” the girl asked.
“A crescent-shaped sweet bread,” Madam explained, eyes twinkling, “filled with apples soaked in rose syrup. It’s Anastasia’s favorite. If you want to befriend her, bring her one every morning.”
She gave a knowing chuckle. “Perhaps that’s why Aldhen is the one she’s closest to.”
A spark of something—curiosity, perhaps—flickered in the girl’s mind as Madam Aria spoke of the children. Despite the void where her memories should have been, there was something in the woman’s tone that made her stomach twist with a strange, unfamiliar feeling. Madam Aria described them with such warmth, such careful affection, that for a moment it was easy to believe she truly loved them. But her words didn’t quite match the glint in her eye—the subtle, possessive edge in her voice when she spoke of the children not as individuals, but as treasured belongings.
“Tell me,” Madam Aria said, leaning forward slightly, “would you like to meet and befriend them? The children, I mean. You’ll have plenty of time once we arrive at the orphanage.”
The girl’s reply was barely a whisper, almost lost to the creaking of the carriage wheels. For a brief second, Madam Aria’s smile faltered, her expression thinning into something unreadable—then, just as quickly, she recovered. Her features softened again into a mask of gentle reassurance, but the girl didn’t miss the way her fingers curled tightly around the edge of her seat.
“Of course, of course,” Madam Aria murmured. “It can all be a bit much at first. So many new faces, so many names. But you’ll settle in soon enough. You’ll see.”
The carriage jolted again, harsher this time, and the girl was thrown sideways against the seat. Before she could right herself, Madam Aria’s hand shot out, gripping her shoulder—steadying her, yes, but with a force that bordered on possessive, like she doesn’t want someone to steal her precious gold. The pressure made the girl flinch.
“Careful now, dear,” Madam Aria said, her voice light, almost amused. “Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself before you even arrive.”
The rest of the journey passed in uneasy silence, broken only by the occasional creak of the carriage and the distant calls of birds in the trees. The girl sat stiffly, acutely aware of Madam Aria’s presence beside her—the way her gloved fingers drummed softly against her lap, the way her eyes occasionally flicked toward her, watching, measuring. Eventually, the woods began to thin. The winding dirt road gave way to a gravel path lined with slender white trees, their silver bark gleaming faintly in the afternoon light. Through the thinning canopy, rooftops appeared—peaked and slate-colored, with ivy crawling up stone walls and tall windows glinting in the sun.
“There we are,” Madam Aria said with a satisfied sigh, leaning forward to peer out the window. “Home.”
The carriage rolled to a slow halt in front of a large iron gate. Beyond it stood a sprawling manor, grand but weathered, its stones softened by time and wild roses that bloomed along the arching trellis above the entrance. A sign hung near the gate, painted in careful script:
“Maravelle House of Paradise”
Children’s voices could be faintly heard through the tall hedges—laughter, footsteps on cobblestone, the occasional call of a name.
The girl’s breath caught in her throat.
Madam Aria stepped out first, assisted by the coachman, and turned back toward the carriage. Her hand extended, gloved and expectant. “Come now, dear,” she said, her voice gentle but commanding. “It’s time to meet the others.”
Hesitation rooted the girl in place. The manor loomed large in her vision, every window like a watching eye. The gates creaked open on their own—perhaps by a servant, or perhaps they were never truly closed to begin with.
She took a deep breath before stepping down from the carriage. As expected, the pain in her legs made every movement a struggle—standing alone was agony, and walking felt nearly impossible. But Madam Aria’s warm smile, waiting patiently beside the carriage, gave her just enough strength to push through the pain. Her body screamed to surrender, to collapse back into the seat, but that smile urged her onward. With a trembling exhale, she tried to descend, gripping the edge of the carriage for support. Her fingers tightened, knuckles pale, as she shifted her weight forward.
But her legs gave out.
She lost her balance. Her vision tilted. She shut her eyes, bracing herself for the hard, cold slam of earth against skin.
But the impact never came.