Jane remained in the nursery long after Morwenna's eyes had drifted shut.
The fire crackled softly in the hearth, sending tiny sparks against the iron grate. Cinder's tail gave a single, muffled thump against the blanket before the room settled into heavy silence.
Morwenna's face looked almost ghostly against the white pillow. Her skin was pale, and her breathing remained shallow. At the corner of her mouth, a faint pink stain lingered where the blood had been wiped away.
Jane didn't move. She remained seated in the chair beside the bed, her hands folded in her lap and her eyes never leaving her daughter's face.
Eventually, she stood. Her legs felt stiff and heavy from the tension of the day. She walked toward the door, then looked back one final time to make sure Morwenna was still resting comfortably.
Only then did she step into the corridor.
. . .
The morning room was quiet when Jane entered.
Jack stood by the window, while Aldric sat with both hands resting flat on his thighs. Seraphina and Saoirse looked up as soon as she came in. Tilly appeared briefly with a cup of tea before quietly disappearing again.
Jane wrapped her fingers around the ceramic cup. Its warmth helped steady her trembling hands.
For a long time, no one spoke. The only sound was the rhythmic ticking of the hall clock.
Saoirse eventually broke the silence. Her voice was quiet, stripped of its usual playfulness.
"Is coughing up blood like that a normal sign of incompatibility?"
Jane took a slow sip of tea. The liquid was scalding and burned her tongue, but she swallowed it anyway.
"No. Usually, they only experience dizziness or discomfort. In most cases, the worst reaction is vomiting."
The room fell profoundly silent.
Jane placed her cup on the table. The ceramic clicked sharply against the wood.
They all knew the statistics. They had all read the grim historical records of the Alberich.
Those children had died young, and the second maturity had always been a threshold that very few managed to cross. But until now, those had been nothing more than abstract figures. Names written on yellowed pages, accompanied by words such as delicate and fragile. They had carried little meaning beyond the written records.
Now, those words had weight.
If vomiting was usually the worst reaction, then coughing up blood was something entirely different. How far beyond the normal range was it? How much worse could it become?
Aldric drew a long, unsteady breath.
"At least we know the Ash Phoenix is incompatible with her. This is better than remaining ignorant. It's certainly better than attempting it during the second bath, only to discover the rejection then."
"Morwenna is strong," Seraphina whispered. "She will survive."
Jack crossed the room and sat on the arm of Jane's chair. He placed one hand firmly over hers. His fingers were warm and steady.
Jane turned her palm beneath his and held on tightly.
. . .
The days that followed blurred into a quiet, slow-moving haze.
March gradually gave way to April. The snow melted, and green shoots began appearing near the lake. Morwenna slept frequently and ate very little, but little by little, she began moving around the manor again.
She spent long hours in the library with Cinder resting in her lap, watching dust dance through the golden sunlight. Her family allowed her to recover at her own pace, asking no unnecessary questions.
. . .
The Floo flared repeatedly over the following days, filling the entrance hall with bursts of emerald light.
Luelle arrived first, her red coat vivid against the gray stone, followed closely by Raphaël. They found Morwenna on the staircase.
Luelle spotted her and immediately offered a wide, warm smile.
« Ma puce. »
Morwenna descended the remaining steps slowly, one small hand gliding along the banister. Luelle crouched and opened her arms. Morwenna walked straight into her embrace, burying her face against her aunt's shoulder.
« Tu as grandi. » (You have grown taller.) Luelle murmured into her hair.
Morwenna didn't answer. She simply held on.
Raphaël placed a warm hand on her head, his palm steady and comforting.
« Bonjour, petite. »
« Bonjour, Raph. »
. . .
Celestine and Lucien arrived a week later.
Celestine stepped through the Floo with her back straight, but her expression softened the moment she spotted the little girl.
« Ma chérie. »
Lucien followed behind her. His presence seemed to fill the entrance hall with a quiet, melodic warmth. He didn't speak immediately. He simply looked at Morwenna, his eyes carrying a world of unspoken meaning.
Morwenna went to Celestine first, pressing her face against her grandmother's coat and breathing in the familiar scent of lavender and old parchment.
« Tu as été très courageuse. » (You have been very brave.) Celestine said, gently stroking the back of her head.
Morwenna nodded against the thick wool.
Lucien waited until she turned toward him. Then he touched his ear and hers in their familiar greeting.
« Tu as grandi. » (You have grown.) His voice carried its usual melodic lilt.
« Un peu. »
His mouth curved into a gentle smile.
« Un peu. »
. . .
Viviane arrived on the twenty-first.
She stepped through the Floo wearing immaculate traveling robes, her gaze steady and unreadable. She didn't kneel or lower herself. Instead, she simply stopped before Morwenna and opened her arms, offering a solid presence for the little girl to approach.
« Mon trésor. »
Morwenna went to her immediately, slipping both arms around Viviane's waist.
Viviane's hands settled on her shoulders, firm and reassuring. She held the girl in place rather than pulling her closer.
"I'm here," she said. "I will stay until it's over."
. . .
Elara arrived the very next day.
She stepped out of the green flames and surveyed the entrance hall with her careful gray eyes until she spotted Morwenna standing beside the fountain.
« Bonjour, petite. »
« Bonjour. »
Elara knelt and gently touched the silver bracelet on the girl's wrist.
« Il te reconnaît. Il tiendra bon. » (It recognizes you. It will hold.) she said softly.
Morwenna looked down at the bracelet. The protective script was too fine for her to read, but she could feel the steady, rhythmic hum beneath the silver surface.
"Thank you."
Elara rose without another word. Her quiet presence was a promise of protection in itself.
. . .
Seraphina came to the nursery on the twenty-third.
She knocked once before opening the door. Morwenna was sitting upright against the headboard, with a book open in her lap. Cinder lay curled at her feet.
Her hair had changed considerably over the past two months. What had once been entirely snowy white was now predominantly deep black. The color had spread gradually from the roots, moving farther down the strands with each passing day. Only the remaining white sections, including the bright streak near her temple, still stood out against the darkening hair.
Seraphina crossed the room and sat on the edge of the mattress. She kept both hands behind her back.
"I have something for you," she said.
Morwenna looked at her hands.
"The snake?"
Seraphina brought it out.
It was a long green snake, carefully stitched from soft, luxurious velvet. Its scales were worked into the fabric in subtle patterns, while its rounded head had a gentle shape and two small black buttons for eyes. Its body was thick and pleasantly heavy, made to be wrapped around someone's arms. It was almost as long as Morwenna herself.
Morwenna took it from her grandmother, her fingers immediately tracing the soft velvet.
"It's very long."
"You said you wanted a long one," Seraphina replied.
Morwenna pulled it against her chest. The velvet body curved around her ribs like a second spine. She pressed her face into its soft fabric.
« Merci, Gran-ma. »
Seraphina reached out and touched her hair, her hand light and affectionate.
"You can hug it whenever you need to. The snake isn't alone anymore."
Morwenna looked down at the toy and gently tightened her arms around it.
Seraphina smiled.
"You are welcome, little one."
She left the room, closing the door with a soft click.
Morwenna lay down with the snake pressed against her side. Cinder leaned forward to sniff the velvet, sneezed once, and settled against her other side.
That night, she slept with the toy pressed close to her heart.
She dreamed of green scales and dark water. She dreamed of something ancient and patient, waiting in the depths.
At some point in the middle of the night, she woke briefly. The room was perfectly still. The snake remained in her arms, and she closed her eyes again, allowing herself to return to her dreams.
. . .
The manor gradually filled with voices and hurried footsteps.
The morning room echoed with overlapping conversations. House-elves moved through the corridors carrying trays of fresh bread and polished silver. Morwenna remained in the nursery, where the thick wooden door softened the commotion into a distant hum.
She lay on the bed with the velvet snake curled beside her, watching the golden April sunlight slowly move across the ceiling beams.
Her body still felt strangely heavy, as though the chill of the long winter hadn't completely left her bones. She had little strength for questions about her appetite or sleep, and she preferred the quiet of her own room.
She spent the hours tracing the stitched scales of the toy and listening to Cinder breathe at her feet.
The manor was bustling, but her room remained a quiet island of peace.
. . .
The twenty-fifth arrived beneath a cold, gray sky.
Morwenna woke to pale light filtering through the curtains. She remained perfectly still for a while, listening to the sounds of the house.
It was a strange kind of quiet. Not the silence of a sleeping household, but the heavy, expectant stillness of people waiting for something.
Tomorrow was her birthday.
Eventually, she sat up. The velvet snake slid from her arms and landed on the bed. She retrieved it and carefully placed it on her pillow before getting dressed.
She put on her trousers and jumper, then tied her hair with the blue ribbon. The bow sat slightly crooked against her head, but she didn't bother to straighten it.
When she made her way downstairs, she found the kitchen warm and filled with the smell of toasted bread. Jane stood by the stove, while Jack sat nearby with a cup of tea, his expression difficult to read. Saoirse was still fast asleep on the settee in the adjoining room.
"Good morning," Morwenna said as she climbed onto a chair.
"Good morning, sweetheart." Jane turned toward her with a gentle smile.
The day passed slowly, filled with an unusual sense of anticipation.
Outside the nursery, the manor remained busy. Voices overlapped in the morning room, while hurried footsteps echoed through the corridors. House-elves carried trays of fresh bread and polished silver, making preparations for the family gathering.
Morwenna stayed tucked away in her room. The thick wooden door muted the commotion until it became little more than a distant hum.
She lay on her bed with the velvet snake curled beside her, watching the golden April light move across the ceiling beams.
Her body still felt heavy, as though the cold of winter had settled deep within her bones. She didn't have the energy to answer questions about whether she had eaten enough or slept well. She preferred the stillness of her own company.
For most of the afternoon, she traced the stitched scales of the toy and listened to the steady sound of Cinder breathing at her feet.
The manor was full of activity, but her room remained peaceful.
Eventually, the sun sank below the horizon, and stars appeared across the clear spring sky.
Later that evening, the Floo flared to life in the sitting room, where the family had gathered. Emerald flames surged upward, illuminating the room.
Morwenna lay curled on the settee between Jane and Jack, her eyes heavy as she leaned slightly against her mother's side.
The flames parted.
Roxane stepped through wearing deep indigo traveling robes. She brushed a trace of ash from her sleeve as she straightened. Her dark hair was pinned into its usual elegant twist, and her green eyes swept across the room once before settling on the little girl.
« Ma petite. »
Morwenna sat a little straighter.
« Grand-mère. »
"You have grown," Roxane observed, her gaze taking in every detail.
"I'm still four."
"Not for much longer."
Roxane leaned down and kissed her forehead before straightening again.
"Tomorrow."
Morwenna nodded.
Roxane reached out and touched her cheek, her palm warm against the cool air.
"You will survive this."
Morwenna leaned into her grandmother's hand, finding a strange strength in the woman's absolute certainty.
"I know."
. . .
Later that night, Morwenna lay in bed once more, watching the shadows dance across the ceiling in the firelight.
The velvet snake rested against her side, its soft body a comforting weight. Cinder lay curled at her feet.
Tomorrow, she would be five.
She didn't know what the second bath would bring, but she knew it would hurt.
She pressed her palm against the velvet head of the toy, feeling its steady presence beside her.
"I'm not alone," she whispered into the darkness. "You aren't alone either."
The room remained quiet. The fire crackled softly in the hearth.
At last, Morwenna closed her eyes.
===
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