The morning after another grueling session of laundry by the river, Vera, her body aching with a familiar weariness, set out for Lady Annelise's orphanage. Jon had grudgingly given his assent, mumbling something about "a lady's roof being better than street corners" as long as the inn's linens were prioritized. Martha had pressed a small, rough-spun cloth into her hand. "For wiping your brow, child. May this be a good turn for you."
The orphanage was situated at the far end of a sprawling, somewhat neglected piece of land, set back from the main thoroughfare. The house itself was large, its stone walls weathered but sturdy, hinting at a grander past. Though some windows were boarded and the gardens overgrown, there was an undeniable air of sanctuary about it.
Vera pushed open the slightly crooked blue door Lady Annelise had mentioned. The sound of children's distant chatter and the smell of warm bread immediately enveloped her, a stark contrast to the grim silence of the city streets.
An older woman, her silver hair pulled back in a severe bun, her face lined but her eyes sharp and kind, looked up from a ledger as Vera stepped inside.
"Ah," the woman said, her voice surprisingly brisk. "You must be the girl Lady Annelise mentioned. Vera, is it? She said she was expecting a new helper to arrive today."
"Yes, Ma'am," Vera replied, trying to keep her voice steady. "Vera. Lady Annelise offered me work here."
"Good, good," the woman nodded. "I am Mistress Agnes, the head caretaker here. We can always use an extra pair of hands, especially with so many little ones underfoot these days." She gestured down a long, sunlit hallway. "Lady Annelise is in the main playroom with the children just now. She asked that I bring you to her directly."
Mistress Agnes led Vera down the corridor. The house, though showing its age, was clean, and the air, despite the number of children, held a faint scent of herbs and soap. They arrived at a large, arched doorway, and Mistress Agnes paused.
"In here, child."
Vera stepped into a vast room, its high ceilings crisscrossed with ancient wooden beams. Sunlight streamed through several tall windows, making visible countless tiny particles drifting like miniature galaxies in the shafts of light. Dozens of children, ranging in age from toddlers to perhaps ten or twelve, were seated on mismatched rugs and cushions, their faces rapt. At the center, seated in a simple wooden chair, was Lady Annelise, a leather-bound book open in her lap. Her voice, calm and melodic, filled the room as she read.
"...and so the brave little squirrel, having gathered all his nuts, knew he would be safe and warm for the winter," Lady Annelise read, her tone gentle. She paused, her gaze flicking up. Her eyes met Vera's, and a warm, welcoming smile touched her lips before she returned to her audience. "And he shared his bounty with the little field mouse who had none, because kindness, children, is the greatest treasure of all."
Vera watched, a strange ache in her chest. Lady Annelise radiated a quiet warmth, a genuine affection for these abandoned children. It was a stark contrast to the harshness Vera had experienced, a small beacon of decency in Ainsworth's darkening Eldoria.
"And that," Lady Annelise said, closing the book with a soft thud, "is the end of our story for today." A collective sigh of contentment rose from the children. "Now, who wants to help Mistress Elara set the table for luncheon?" Several small hands shot into the air.
As the children began to disperse, chattering excitedly, Lady Annelise rose and approached Vera, her smile still in place. "Vera, welcome. I am so pleased you decided to come." She gestured to a small alcove where a tray with a teapot and two cups sat. "Please, join me for a moment. A cup of tea before Mistress Agnes puts you to work?"
"Thank you, My Lady," Vera said, following her. The simple courtesy felt unfamiliar, yet deeply ingrained.
Lady Annelise poured the tea – a fragrant herbal blend. "So," she began, once they were seated, "you found us alright, then?"
"Yes, My Lady. Your directions were very clear." Vera took a sip of the tea. The warmth was comforting. The way she held the cup, her posture as she drank – it was all muscle memory from a life she was desperately trying to reconcile with this new one.
"And your name, you said it was Vera?" Lady Annelise asked gently.
"Valerie—" Vera began, then corrected herself quickly, a flush rising to her cheeks. "Vera, My Lady. My name is Vera. Thank you again, truly, for… for saving me from that man, and for this opportunity. I am very grateful."
Lady Annelise's gaze was thoughtful. She had noticed the slip of the tongue, the almost regal way the girl held herself despite her ragged appearance and the slight hesitation before "Vera." A mannerism, a flicker of something in her bearing, that seemed out of place for a street urchin. But she brushed the fleeting thought aside. The poor child was likely still shaken.
"Think nothing of it, Vera," Lady Annelise said kindly. "No one deserves such treatment. And we are glad for the help." She took a sip of her own tea. "Would you like me to show you around the orphanage? Give you a sense of the place?"
"Yes, please, My Lady. I would like that very much."
They rose, and Lady Annelise began to walk Vera through the sprawling house. They passed dormitories with neat rows of small cots, a bustling kitchen where the smell of baking bread was strong, and a large, slightly wild garden where older children were tending to vegetable patches.
"It is… a lot of children, My Lady," Vera observed, her voice soft, looking at a group of toddlers playing with wooden blocks in a sunny courtyard.
Lady Annelise sighed, a shadow crossing her face. "Indeed. More arrive each week, it seems. So many parents… they simply cannot afford to feed their little ones anymore, not with the way things are." Her gaze drifted towards the horizon. "They leave them here, hoping… hoping they might be reclaimed when times get better. It is my greatest dream, Vera, to see these children reunited with families who can care for them again, in a kingdom that supports them."
Vera saw the passion in Lady Annelise's eyes, the deep, unwavering hope. A pang of sadness, mixed with a familiar shame, struck her. "My Lady," she ventured, her voice barely a whisper, "were there… were there also so many children starving, so many abandoned, during… during Queen Valerie's reign?"
Lady Annelise stopped by a window overlooking the city, her expression turning wistful. "Yes, child, there were always those who struggled," she admitted, her voice tinged with sadness. "Poverty is an old shadow. But… it was not like this. Not so widespread, so desperate. Queen Valerie…" A soft, almost fond smile touched Lady Annelise's lips. "I admired her greatly, you know. I often watched her from a distance during processions or public appearances. Being only from a minor noble family, our paths rarely crossed directly. But I saw her dedication. She worked tirelessly for Eldoria, especially with the constant threat from neighboring kingdoms. She understood the importance of strength, of protecting our borders."
"But," Vera pressed gently, her heart aching, "the inside… the people within those borders… were they still poor then?"
Lady Annelise nodded slowly. "Her reach… it did not, perhaps, extend to every shadowed corner. Some needs undoubtedly went unmet. But there was a sense of… hope then. A belief that things were improving, however slowly." She sighed, her gaze hardening slightly. "Now… this new King. He seems intent on undoing any good that was done. But," she caught herself, her eyes flicking towards Vera as if suddenly remembering who she was speaking to, "it is not for us to question loudly, is it?" She quickly masked her candor with a polite smile. "Forgive me, Vera. I digress."
"No, My Lady, please," Vera said quickly. "I… I appreciate your honesty. I am sorry for asking so many questions."
Lady Annelise patted her arm gently. "Not at all, child. It is natural to be curious. Now, as for your duties," she said, her tone becoming more practical. "Mistress Agnes can best instruct you on your daily responsibilities. There is mending to be done, floors to be scrubbed, little ones to be supervised. It is hard work, but vital."
"I understand, My Lady. And I am not afraid of hard work," Vera said, a new resolve settling in her.
"I can see that," Lady Annelise said with an encouraging smile. "Go find Mistress Agnes then, Vera. She will be in the kitchens, I expect. And welcome, once again, to our little haven."
"Thank you, My Lady," Vera said, offering a small, grateful curtsey.
As Lady Annelise turned and walked towards her own small study, Vera stood for a moment, the scent of baking bread and the distant laughter of children washing over her. This place, this Lady Annelise… it was a small pocket of kindness in a kingdom rapidly descending into darkness. And Vera, the Queen hidden within the peasant girl, knew that here, she might learn more than just how to mend torn clothes. She might learn how to mend a broken kingdom, one small, forgotten soul at a time, starting with her own.