The entrance hall was warm with afternoon sunlight. Dust motes drifted through the golden beams falling from the high windows, turning slowly in the still air. Somewhere deep within the manor, a clock ticked with steady precision, each heavy beat carrying faintly through the floorboards.
Morwenna's laughter echoed off the stone walls. She sat cross-legged on the cool marble floor beside Cinder, surrounded by a chaotic circle of wooden blocks painted in bright red, deep blue, and sunny yellow. Tilly had found them in one of the manor's deepest storage rooms, tucked inside a heavy trunk that hadn't been opened in decades.
Morwenna was building a tower, carefully stacking each block with quiet concentration. Cinder, meanwhile, kept knocking it over with a casual sweep of his russet tail.
"No," Morwenna protested, laughing.
Her laughter carried across the hall, passing the central fountain and reaching the portraits lining the walls. The painted figures watched with varying degrees of interest as she began rebuilding her tower, placing each block with painstaking care. The tip of her tongue poked out from the corner of her mouth as she concentrated.
Cinder watched her with patient amber eyes.
Then his tail swept through the tower again.
Tilly hovered nearby, his large ears twitching at every clatter of wood against marble. He held a silver dustpan and a small brush, although no one had asked him to clean up.
The house-elf was simply prepared for anything, his small body practically vibrating with the need to be useful. His eyes followed every block that scattered across the polished floor.
"Little miss," he said anxiously, "the fox isn't helping."
"Cinder is helping." Morwenna picked up a blue block and held it out to the fox. "See? He holds."
Cinder looked at the block, then at Morwenna, before looking back at the block again. Finally, with the solemnity of a creature accepting an important duty, he took it gently between his teeth and placed it on top of the precarious tower.
The tower held.
Morwenna clapped her hands together, delighted. Cinder's tail wagged once, twice, three times.
The tower collapsed in a heap of brightly colored blocks.
Tilly made a small, distressed sound, and the dustpan trembled in his hands.
Morwenna only laughed harder and reached for the scattered blocks, ready to start again.
. . .
The study door clicked shut.
Inside, the fire had burned low, its embers glowing orange behind the iron grate. The flames no longer leaped high.
They rested among the coals, giving off a dry, steady heat that carried the faint scents of old cedar and parchment. The mantel clock ticked quietly, marking the pauses between words.
Aldric sat in the leather armchair beside the window, the last of the afternoon sunlight falling across his hands. They rested heavily on the armrests, unmoving.
His reading glasses lay on the small table beside him, next to a stack of notes he had been reviewing: research on phoenix manifestations, findings from the library, and letters from France.
He hadn't touched any of them in an hour.
Seraphina sat beside him on the settee, her knitting needles clicking in a slow, steady rhythm. Dark green yarn, the Keith family color, passed through her fingers as she worked on a familiar pattern she had knitted countless times before. Her hands moved without needing her attention, leaving her free to watch her husband.
Across from them, Jack and Jane shared the sofa, their shoulders touching. Jack rested one hand on Jane's knee, his thumb moving in small, repetitive circles. It was a habit he had developed over the past month, a quiet way of grounding himself and reminding himself that she was there beside him.
Jane's hand rested over his, her fingers cool against his skin.
Saoirse sat on the floor with her back against the stone wall, her legs stretched toward the warmth of the hearth. A cup of tea sat beside her, untouched for the past twenty minutes. Her gaze moved between her parents and her brother, watching as they all avoided looking at the empty space in the middle of the room.
At last, Aldric set down his teacup.
The porcelain clicked against the wooden table. It was a small sound, but it cut through the quiet.
"We need to talk about what comes next."
Jane looked at him. Her complexion had improved, the gray undertone gone and the hollows beneath her eyes finally filled.
Four weeks of rest and Roxane's care had helped her recover. She still tired easily, and her hands occasionally trembled without warning, but she was beginning to feel like herself again. The life had returned to her eyes.
Jack's hand remained on her knee, his thumb continuing its slow circles.
"Morwenna is three," Aldric continued. "Her first maturity ritual is behind her, and she has recovered." He paused before adding, "But she hasn't left this manor since the day she was born."
Seraphina's knitting needles slowed, their clicking becoming more deliberate.
"The rule allows her to enter the mundane world at four. That gives us a year to prepare."
Jane frowned. "Prepare for what?"
"Everything." Seraphina lowered her knitting into her lap, the dark green yarn gathering against her robes. "The mundane world is different from ours. The sounds, the lights, the people. She has never seen a car or been in a crowd. She has never met another child her own age."
"She has met children," Saoirse pointed out. "Raphaël and Luelle were here. Viviane was here, too. And I'm here."
"Those are adults, or nearly so," Seraphina replied. "She has never spent time with someone her own age who isn't part of her family."
Jane's hand tightened over Jack's knee, her nails pressing into the fabric of his trousers. He felt the pressure but didn't move.
Aldric leaned forward, and the leather chair creaked beneath him.
"Jack. Jane. I want you to go into the mundane world."
Jack looked up. "Now?"
"Tomorrow, sometime this week. Soon." Aldric's voice remained calm and firm. "Buy books. Toddler books and picture books, the kind mundane families use to teach their children. Buy toys and clothes, too. Simple things she can wear when she goes outside."
Jane nodded. She already owned ordinary clothes, including dresses, jeans, and jumpers she had bought during her trips into the mundane world over the past three years. They were things she had needed to move around unnoticed.
Morwenna however, had none of those things.
The little girl had grown up wearing silk and velvet, dressed in fine fabrics chosen by her family, the dresses Seraphina sewed, and the robes Tilly kept carefully pressed. She had never felt denim against her legs or worn shoes with laces that needed tying.
"And while you are there," Seraphina added, her gaze sharpening, "I want you to consult some specialists."
The change in the room was immediate.
Jack's hand stopped moving on Jane's knee.
"Specialists?"
"Child development experts. Pediatricians. And..." Seraphina paused, her knitting needles now completely still in her lap. "A psychologist."
Jane's jaw tightened, a muscle twitching beneath her skin.
"For Morwenna?"
"No." Seraphina's voice was firm. "For you."
Jane stared at her. Seraphina met her gaze without looking away. There was no softness in her expression now, only the quiet strength that had carried her through decades of raising children, enduring wars, and waiting for loved ones to return home.
"You watched your daughter scream for half an hour while you couldn't reach her," Seraphina said. "You gave two drops of your heart blood and nearly paid for it with your life. For the past month, you have sat beside her bed, watching her breathe."
She leaned forward slightly.
"Jane, you need someone to talk to. Both of you do."
Jack's hand moved from her knee to find hers. Jane held on. Her grip was firm enough to tell him how much she needed the contact, but he didn't pull away.
Aldric spoke again, his voice quieter now.
"Tell them a version of the truth. Nothing complicated. Explain that your daughter is sensitive and fragile, and that for health reasons, she has spent her entire life at home. She hasn't met strangers or other children. Her health has improved, and you hope to take her outside next year. Ask what we should prepare her for. Ask about child development and early education."
Jane nodded. Her face remained composed, and when she answered, her voice didn't waver.
"I can do that."
"There's something else." Aldric's voice grew heavier. "You need to tell them about the treatment."
Jack's head lifted.
"Father."
"She needs to say it, Jack." Aldric looked at his son, his expression grave. "She needs to speak about what happened to someone who can help her carry the weight of it."
Jane's fingers tightened around Jack's hand until her knuckles turned white. He stayed beside her, allowing her to hold on as tightly as she needed.
"Tell them Morwenna underwent her first treatment last month," Seraphina said, her voice softening. "Explain that the first treatment is usually gentle and the results are predictable. But something went wrong. She had a severe adverse reaction and remained awake in extreme distress for almost half an hour."
Seraphina paused, choosing her next words carefully.
"Tell them you could only watch because stopping the treatment would have made her condition worse."
Jane blinked once, then again. Her eyes remained dry. She wasn't ready to let the tears fall, not here.
Aldric continued, his voice growing heavier with every word.
"Tell them she will need the same treatment again at five, seven, eleven, and seventeen."
He took a breath, but it caught in his chest before he could fully steady it.
"In the past, most children with her condition didn't survive their second treatment. The chances are much better now, but Morwenna is different. Her case is complicated, and there are factors that increase the risks."
The fire crackled as a log shifted in the grate, sending a few sparks up the chimney. In the sudden quiet, the sound seemed unusually sharp.
Saoirse had stopped pretending to watch the flames. Her attention was fixed on her brother, taking in the tension in his jaw and the way he held Jane's hand.
"I know what you went through was traumatic," Aldric continued. "For both of you. That's why we need professionals to help you work through it. This isn't about treating Morwenna. It's about helping you."
The silence stretched.
Jane opened her mouth, closed it, then tried again.
"I can do that," she whispered.
Jack turned to look at her. His face had gone pale. The scratches she had left on his arm during the ritual had finally healed after weeks of watching them slowly fade.
Even so, he still remembered the sting and the desperation behind them, the way she had fought him because he was keeping her from reaching their daughter.
"We can do that," he said quietly.
From her place on the floor, Saoirse spoke up.
"I will stay with Morwenna. Tilly will help, too. She won't even notice you are gone."
Jane's lips curved into the faintest smile.
Aldric nodded.
"Tomorrow, then."
. . .
The next morning, Jane stood before the mirror in the master bedroom, dressed in denim jeans and a soft charcoal jumper. She had bought both during one of her trips into the mundane world years ago, but wearing them now felt strangely unfamiliar.
The denim was coarse against her legs, unlike the flowing robes and fine fabrics she had worn for so long. The jumper, on the other hand, was soft and plain, the sort of thing that allowed her to blend into a crowd.
She gathered her red hair and secured it with a simple clasp.
She looked ordinary.
Jack appeared behind her in the mirror. He wore dark trousers, a plain navy jumper, and shoes that wouldn't look out of place in the mundane world. His hair was neatly combed, and the silver streaks at his temples caught the morning light.
Jane turned to face him.
"Do I look like a mother?"
He studied her for a moment, seeing the woman he had loved for five years beneath the unfamiliar clothes.
"You look like yourself."
That was enough.
Together, they made their way to the nursery. The door stood slightly ajar, and through the gap came Morwenna's soft voice as she spoke to Cinder in Parseltongue.
Jane pushed the door open.
Morwenna sat on the floor with her bestiary open across her lap. The book was heavy for such a small child, but she held it with determined little hands. Cinder lay curled beside her, his head resting on his paws and his ears turning toward her with every syllable.
When they entered, Morwenna looked up at once.
"Maman. Dada."
Jane crossed the room and knelt beside her. The floorboards felt cold through her jeans as she leaned forward to kiss Morwenna's forehead. Her daughter's skin was warm beneath her lips, a small but precious reminder that she was here, safe and alive.
"We need to go out for a little while, petite. Saoirse will stay with you."
"Where?"
"To get you some things. Books and toys."
Morwenna considered this, her brow furrowing slightly.
"Bring back?"
"Of course."
Satisfied, Morwenna nodded and returned to her book. Her small finger traced the illustration of a serpent, and her lips moved as she quietly sounded out words Jane couldn't understand. Cinder's ears followed the rhythm of her voice.
Jane watched her daughter for another moment, taking in her snowy white hair and the small hand resting against the page. Then she rose and turned toward the door.
She didn't look back as she left the nursery.
. . .
They Apparated into a quiet alley in London.
The noise reached them first.
Cars rumbled along the streets, buses groaned as they pulled away from the curb, and the voices of thousands of people blended into a constant murmur. The squeal of brakes cut through the traffic, while the smell of exhaust mingled with the scent of hot pavement and food cooking in a nearby shop.
People moved in every direction, each focused on their own destination. Shoulders brushed past strangers, footsteps hurried over the pavement, and no one paid much attention to anyone else.
For a moment, the sheer amount of sound and movement threatened to overwhelm Jane.
She let herself take it all in, breathing slowly as she adjusted to the familiar chaos. She had made these trips dozens of times over the years, but the transition from the manor's deep, almost absolute silence to the noise of London always came as a shock.
At home, the quiet was so complete that she could hear her own heartbeat if she paid attention.
Here, she could barely hear herself think.
Still, the noise was familiar. She knew how to navigate it now, how to move through the crowds without drawing attention.
It was manageable.
Jack reached for her hand, his palm warm against hers.
"Ready?"
Jane squeezed his fingers and nodded.
===
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