(Riella & Amelia)
The halls of the manor were quiet, the only sound coming from the soft patter of their slippers brushing the polished floors. Amelia clutched Riella's hand tightly, her blue eyes wide with curiosity. They weren't supposed to be wandering at this hour, but curiosity—and something else—had drawn them from their shared chamber.
A door at the far end of the corridor. The same door she had seen the first night she tried to escape, stood slightly ajar,the faint glow of lamplight spilling into the hallway.
"Should we?" Amelia whispered.
Riella nodded. Her heart was pounding, a strange tension crawling along her skin.
Inside, they saw portraits—none large, but old, carefully preserved. One in particular made Riella stop breathing.
"That… looks like…" Amelia's voice trailed off.
Riella took slow steps forward, her eyes scanning every detail of the woman's face. It wasn't a perfect match—but the shape of her face, the full lips, the elegant posture…
"She looks like you," Amelia whispered, barely audible.
"No," Riella replied. "She looks like who I'm supposed to be."
The sound of footsteps down the hallway jolted them. They turned to each other, then quickly ducked behind the velvet curtain.
From between the folds, they saw a figure enter.
Kaien.
He stood before the same portrait, his expression unreadable, then bowed his head as if in reverence before extinguishing the lamp.
Once he left, Riella and Amelia slipped back to their room—silent the entire way. Neither girl said a word, but both knew things were no longer just whispers or dreams. They had stepped into something real.
Something long buried.
Back in their room, Riella sat on the edge of the bed, her thoughts tangled like vines. The flickering candle between them cast long shadows on the wall. Amelia lay beside her, legs tucked under a blanket, watching her friend's face with quiet concern.
"Do you think…" Amelia began, unsure how to finish the thought. "That she's your mother?"
"I don't know," Riella murmured, her fingers absently tracing the stitching on the quilt. "But the eyes… her face. It felt like looking at a ghost of myself. Like I've seen her before, in dreams I never remembered."
Amelia sat up. "We have to find out who she was."
Riella looked up. "I'm scared."
"I know. But I'm with you."
The next morning, they didn't mention it to Kael or any of the staff. They slipped out just after breakfast and made their way toward the quietest wing of the manor—the part that looked oldest, least touched.
They found a library tucked behind two carved doors. Dust covered the shelves, and the windows were veiled in heavy curtains. Riella's hand brushed across the bindings of ancient books, and something pulled her to the far wall. A shelf of records. Ledgers. Journals.
"Help me look," she whispered.
Together they flipped through papers, looking for names, faces, anything that connected to the portrait. Some were too old, some too faded. Then Riella opened a bound record with a wax seal—cracked and aged. Inside was a name she'd never heard before. But Amelia gasped.
"I've seen that name on the edge of a tapestry in the hall near the main stairs. The one with the green embroidery."
"Could it be her?" Riella asked.
"We have to keep digging."
Neither girl noticed the soft click of the door being shut gently from outside.
Someone knew they were there.