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Chapter 7 - Fiddles and Forgotten Faces.

Lucien's mornings began before anyone else's.

The cottage still slept, bathed in soft twilight-blue, when Matron Elsbeth shook him awake. "Up, boy. The bread doesn't knead itself."

Half-dreaming, Lucien stumbled out of bed and into the kitchen. The air was already warm from the ovens, and Elsbeth stood tall and unyielding, wooden spoon like a general's baton. Holly was there too, hair tied back, expression as sharp as ever. Together, they moved through the rhythm of the morning: chopping, stirring, dusting bread with flour.

At first, Lucien struggled—dropping ladles, spilling milk, nearly setting his sleeve alight—but gradually, he found a rhythm. The sound of kneading dough, the crackle of wood in the stove, and Holly's clipped instructions carried him along.

When the food was finally set in the dining hall, a hush fell. Then, without fail, the first sweet notes of the elven fiddles drifted through the cottage. The music spiraled through the halls, gentle and lilting, coaxing the rest of the young elves awake.

Doors opened. Footsteps padded. One by one, they arrived: Finn yawning dramatically, Bell clutching her ever-present book, Aurora impeccably groomed even at dawn, Christopher smirking about something only he found funny. The fiddles were their alarm clock, their signal that another day had begun.

Lucien leaned on the counter, watching them gather. For a moment, it felt almost… normal.

---

Later that day, while scrubbing pans, Lucien felt a light tap on his shoulder. Holly stood there, arms crossed.

"You're improving," she admitted, which from her sounded like the highest praise.

Lucien grinned. "Haven't set anything on fire today."

"Yet," she muttered, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes.

They worked side by side for a while in companionable silence. Then, as they carried baskets of vegetables to the storehouse, Holly suddenly asked, "Where did you come from? Before this."

Lucien froze.

His mind reached back—yet found only fog. He remembered having a family. A mother's voice. A father's hand. Shadows of laughter, warmth, a home. But the faces? Blurred. Names? Slipping away like water through fingers.

"I… I don't know anymore," he admitted, his voice raw. "When I first got here, I thought I remembered everything. My family, my friends. Now it's like… it's all fading. Like someone erased them while I wasn't looking."

The basket shook in his hands.

Holly's gaze softened. "Don't panic. Everyone goes through it. We all arrive with holes in our memories. Some bigger than others. Eventually, you move on."

"But I don't want to move on," Lucien said. His heart pounded, fear prickling in his chest. "What if I forget them completely? What if one day I wake up and there's nothing left?"

She touched his arm lightly. "Then maybe it means you're meant for something else. That's what I tell myself."

Lucien searched her face. Holly's eyes held a quiet sadness, but also strength, as if she had long made peace with the same fear.

---

To distract him, she tugged his sleeve. "Come on. I know where we can sneak off. You need air."

They slipped out of the cottage, weaving past the bustling square, until they reached the tailor's district. Brightly colored banners hung from the eaves, threads of silver and crimson still glittering in the cold air.

But the shops were empty. Tables cleared, sewing kits packed away, bolts of fabric stacked neatly by the doors.

"Where is everyone?" Lucien asked.

"Gone to deliver their work," Holly replied. "Santa's workshop is busiest this week. Christmas is in two days, remember? The tailors always finish early and send everything for packaging."

Lucien blinked. Two days. Already?

For a moment, the whole place felt strangely hollow, like a stage abandoned after the play. He thought of his fading memories, of the faces that slipped further away with each day. His chest tightened.

But Holly nudged him with her shoulder. "Don't look so grim. Come Christmas morning, there'll be enough lights and cheer to make you forget every worry."

Lucien forced a smile. "I'll hold you to that."

Holly smirked. "You better."

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