Lament for My First Life

Decisions to be Made

The morning began like any other, soft light spilling across the white curtains, the scent of soap and lavender drifting through the air.

A maid stood behind Xylenne, carefully brushing through her long white hair. The brush glided smoothly, catching the morning sun as it passed. Xylenne sat still on the stool, her small hands resting in her lap, eyes focused on the floor. She was quiet, too quiet.

Her mind wasn't on the mirror or the ribbons or the neat braids the maid was weaving into her hair. It was on the sound that had just begun echoing faintly from the hallway. At first it was muffled. Then it grew sharper. Voices, men's voices, carrying anger and frustration.

"Father, she's a genius, a prodigy in the making! I need to send her to the Royal Academy!" The voice was unmistakable. Her uncle, Zephyros.

Xylenne's heart skipped.

"She's only seven," came her grandfather's voice, stern and firm. "She most likely made everything up to seem smart. The child just lost her parents, Zephyros, don't make things harder for her." "No," Zephyros shot back, his voice burning with conviction. "This child corrected my work! I gave her a test, and she answered everything perfectly! A child her age shouldn't even understand a fraction of it! I've never seen anything like her before!"

"No, and that is final!" her grandfather barked. His tone was colder now, firm with authority. "She's too young for the Royal Academy. Just because you lost your daughter doesn't mean you can latch onto someone else's." There was a pause. Then, Zephyros's voice came again, quieter this time, but shaking. "She's my brother's daughter... you know that. And frankly, I don't trust Lady Varra. My wife, gods rest her soul, never held our daughter so carelessly the way Varra does with hers."

"You can't hate your brother for remarrying," her grandfather countered sharply. "And you can't dislike Lady Varra just because she wasn't his first choice."

There was a thud, a chair scraping.

"Lady Varra would ruin Xylenne," Zephyros said, anger cracking through his calm façade. "She'd destroy her mind. We're looking at a child who could put royal scholars to shame, Father! She deserves better than to rot in that woman's house!"

"Enough!"

Her grandfather's voice was final, cutting like a blade. "Lady Varra and your brother have already decided to adopt her. She will have a baby sister, a stable home, and live like a child should, not forced to read and study like a machine! You'll only strain her, make her think she must be the best just to be loved."

Xylenne froze. The brush slipped from the maid's hand, clattering to the floor. Her mind spun. No... no, not again... That name, Lady Varra. The sound of it made her blood turn cold. The tears came before she could stop them. Her hands clenched into fists, tiny knuckles white as bone. Then she jumped off the stool. "L-Lady Xylenne!" the maid cried, startled. But the child was already running.

Her bare feet slapped against the polished floor as she burst through the doorway and into the hall. "I DON'T WANT TO GO WITH LADY VARRA!" she shouted, voice cracking with panic and fury. "SHE'S A DEMON!" Her cry echoed through the corridor, sharp and raw.

Down the hall, both men turned toward her—the tall, gray-haired figure of her grandfather and the dark, restless form of her uncle.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. "I—I can't go back to that life!" she sobbed. "No! I won't!" Her grandfather's expression softened, though his eyes were full of pity. "Xylenne," he said gently, "this isn't something you understand yet. I'm doing what's best for you."

"NO! I REFUSE!" she screamed, stamping her little foot. "I'll bite her—I'll do it!"

Zephyros blinked, caught between surprise and heartache. Her grandfather sighed heavily, pressing a hand to his forehead. "No other relatives can take you, Xylenne. The others are too old, or have no children. Lady Varra's family is the only one fit to raise you."

"I'll run away!" Xylenne shouted, her voice trembling with desperation. "I'll run away and never come back! Just find someone else—I hate Lady Varra!"

"Father," Zephyros said quietly, stepping closer. "Please... can't you find somebody else? Give it more time?"

"I haven't much time left, boy," her grandfather said tiredly. His eyes looked older than ever. "My health fades each season. I can't delay this any longer."

Xylenne's lip trembled. "No... please..." Her grandfather turned away, shoulders heavy. Xylenne's small fists shook at her sides. Why won't they listen? I can't let it happen again. I can't let them send me there! Then, unable to hold it back any longer, she screamed, high and broken, then turned and ran, tears blurring her vision.

Her footsteps echoed down the corridor, each one lighter, faster, until she disappeared around the corner, her sobs trailing behind her like a fragile melody. "Father," Zephyros said quietly after a moment, his tone trembling between anger and despair. "You're making a mistake."

But the old man only sighed. "You'll understand one day." The library doors creaked closed again, leaving the hall empty but for the echo of a child's crying.