Lament for My First Life

A Flower for a Little Dove

"Ohh, the little cutie is back!"

The garden filled once again with the delighted voices of noblewomen as Xylenne reappeared among them, her small blue dress fluttering in the breeze. The crowd of lace, jewels, and perfume parted slightly as she curtsied politely, her tiny hands clasped in front of her like a perfect little lady.

"Oh, she's just adorable!" one of the women gushed.

"Such poise for her age," another whispered behind a fan.

"A true Winter child through and through," said a third with a proud nod.

Xylenne smiled softly, tilting her head as her cheeks flushed pink, the kind of blush that wasn't entirely genuine but convincing enough to make hearts melt. From a few tables away, Sylvareaen Orthis sat stiffly in his chair, a cup of untouched tea before him. His crimson eyes, sharp and unreadable, were fixed squarely on her.

He's glaring again... Xylenne thought, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. Strange boy. He's been doing that all day.

She shifted her gaze back to the ladies around her, maintaining her childish smile. Maybe that's just his resting face. Besides, he did help me earlier... so I guess he's not all bad. Still, her mind was far from the innocence of her expression.

Now that Lady Orthis seems interested, I might have another adoption candidate, she thought, keeping her composure. But I can't rely on one option. I need more, more noble families, more chances. I can't afford to let fate corner me again. "Look!" she said suddenly, spinning in place and letting her skirt twirl gracefully. "My maids picked this dress out for me!" The noblewomen clapped and cooed, their smiles softening at the sight.

"She's like a little doll!"

"So polite! How precious!"

"Such lovely blue eyes, they sparkle like sapphires!"

Xylenne laughed sweetly, tilting her head. "I've always wanted a mommy and daddy," she said softly, lowering her gaze. "I miss my mommy and daddy though..." Her tone was innocent. her face, the perfect mix of sweetness and sorrow. The reaction was instant. The women gasped softly, hearts aching at the sight of the delicate little girl.

"She's so brave for her age," one whispered.

"That poor child," another said, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.

Got them, Xylenne thought inwardly, though guilt prickled faintly in her chest. If I must act, then I'll act. My survival depends on it.

Later, as the sun dipped below the horizon and guests began to depart, the once-lively garden grew quiet. Carriages lined the cobblestone path, the air filled with the soft sounds of farewells and hooves against stone. Xylenne stood near a marble fountain, her small hands folded before her as she watched the nobles leave. Her eyes flickered toward the path, half-expecting a familiar messy-haired man to appear. But Zephyros never came. Just as she turned to head inside, she felt a small tug on her wrist. "Ah—?" she gasped, spinning around.

Standing there was Sylvareaen, his face pink, his red eyes darting anywhere but hers. In his hand, he held a tiny white flower, its petals trembling slightly from how tightly he was clutching it. "S-sorry!" he blurted, voice cracking slightly. "I—I picked this flower in the garden!" He held it out awkwardly, his fingers trembling. Xylenne blinked, stunned for a moment.

If only this boy knew he's giving this flower to a seven-year-old with the mind of a nineteen-year-old, she thought, fighting the urge to laugh. Still, her heart softened a little. "Thank you," she said warmly, taking the little flower from his hand. "O-oh! Yeah— You're welcome!" Sylvareaen stammered, bowing quickly before turning and dashing off toward his mother's carriage, his red ears visible even from behind.

Xylenne watched him go, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. How adorable, she thought quietly, clutching the small flower in her hand. Later that night, the moon hung high above the Winter Estate. The halls were silent, the candles dim. In the grand library, Xylenne sat cross-legged on the floor beside a towering shelf. She opened a thick old book, one far too heavy for her small hands, and gently pressed the tiny flower between the pages.

The faint scent of the petals lingered for a moment before fading into the smell of parchment and ink. Her deep blue eyes softened as she stared at the empty space in front of her. "Why hasn't Zephyros come back..." she whispered. The loneliness in her voice broke the quiet stillness of the library.

Her small hand lingered on the closed book, fingertips brushing against its leather cover. "Out of all the people today..." she murmured, her voice trembling slightly. "The one I wanted to see the most was him." A quiet sigh escaped her lips. The candlelight flickered gently beside her, casting long shadows across the floor.

In that vast, silent room, Xylenne, a little girl with the mind of a grown woman, sat alone with her thoughts and the fragile flower of a boy's shy affection pressed between the pages of her secret resolve. The night carried on, quiet and still. And the little dove, even amidst her plans and wisdom, still longed for one simple thing, to be loved again.