The morning room felt vast and strange, its high ceilings echoing with an emptiness that hadn't been there when every corner was filled with family. Three days after the birthday, the house still bore the lingering, weary traces of celebration. The floating lights had dimmed significantly, their magical glow thinning into a soft, ghostly shimmer that barely brushed the dark wood of the ceiling.
Streamers of silk and paper drooped along the wainscoting like tired vines, fine layers of dust already clinging to their once-vibrant colours. On the mantelpiece, a few enchanted figures lingered, their movements sluggish, jerky, and hesitant, as if the clockwork of their magical energy was finally running out.
Morwenna sat in her high chair, the wood cool against her legs, while Cinder remained curled on her lap. The fennec fox had long since outgrown the space, yet neither of them seemed to mind the awkward, heavy sprawl of limbs. He had tucked himself into a tight, shivering ball of fur, his large ears flattened against his head and his russet tail curled snugly around his black nose.
She ate her porridge with a deliberate, slow focus, taking one measured spoonful at a time. Her green eyes traced the subtle shifts of the quiet room, watching the shadows lengthen and retreat across the stone floor.
Aldric sat opposite her, his steam-wreathed cup of tea cooling beside a heavy, leather-bound book, though he didn't actually read. Instead, he watched the way she observed the stillness, as though she were taking an inventory of the room itself.
"You are very quiet this morning," he said, his voice low and steady in the morning hush.
Morwenna looked up, her silver spoon suspended mid-air. A small drop of milk fell back into the bowl with a tiny splash. She swallowed the bite she had been chewing. "Thinking."
"About what?"
She gestured with her spoon towards the length of the long oak table and the many empty chairs. "They were full."
"Yesterday they were full. Today some are still asleep. And some..." He paused, the grey steam from his tea curling between them like a mist. "Some have to leave soon."
Morwenna's spoon froze halfway to her mouth. Her eyes widened, the green of her irises darkening. "Leave?"
"Your grandmother and I," Aldric explained. "We have business to attend to. We can't stay forever."
She set the spoon against the porcelain rim of her bowl with a soft, final click. Her small face tightened, her expression morphing into a mask of intense, toddler concentration.
"When?"
"This afternoon."
Her gaze flickered between the empty expanse of the table, her half-eaten porridge, and Cinder's sleeping form, before returning to Aldric's face.
"Why?"
Aldric set his book aside and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the polished table to meet her eyes at her own level.
"Do you know why your father is Head of House?"
Morwenna gave a quick, sharp nod. "Dada in charge."
"Yes. He leads the Keith family. He makes the decisions, signs the important papers, and talks to the other families. But there are things he can't do alone. There are people to meet, distant places to visit, and old agreements to check. That's what your grandmother and I do. We help."
Morwenna considered this information, her brow furrowed at the complexity of the adult words.
"Help where?"
"Different places. We travel. We meet with people. We make sure everything's ready for when you are older."
"For me?"
Aldric smiled then, a genuine, warm smile that crinkled the skin at the corners of his eyes and lit his entire face.
"Yes, little one. For you. For your future. So when you are ready, everything will be in place."
Morwenna was silent for a long moment, her small fingers twitching against Cinder's fur. Then she lifted two fingers, holding them up steady and deliberate.
"Two," she said firmly. "I'm two."
"I know."
"Gran-ma in France. Gran-pere in France. Vivi gone soon. You too." She counted each name on her fingers, the numbers getting tangled in her grip, but the meaning remained perfectly clear. "Everyone going."
Aldric reached across the table and took her small hand in his. His own palm was large and warm, the skin weathered by years and magic but entirely gentle.
"Not everyone. Your parents are here. Saoirse is here for a little longer. And we'll come back. We promised your father we would, and we keep our promises."
Morwenna gazed down at their joined hands, the contrast of size striking in the morning light. "Promise?"
"Promise."
She nodded sharply, a decisive movement of her white curls, then picked up her spoon and returned to her porridge.
Aldric watched her a while longer, the room settling into a quiet hush between them, before picking up his book and pretending to read.
Seraphina found them in the library an hour later, the room smelling of old leather and the faint, sweet scent of beeswax polish.
Morwenna had managed to pull a heavy, oversized book from the lowest shelf. It was one of the ancient bestiaries, its vellum pages filled with hand-painted illustrations of creatures she had never seen. She sat on the thick Persian rug with the volume spread open in her lap, her small legs disappearing beneath the wide covers.
Cinder was sprawled in a bright patch of sunlight beside her, his russet fur glowing against the deep blues of the carpet. Morwenna pointed at each detailed picture and whispered a series of sibilant sounds. Cinder's large ears twitched and rotated in rhythmic response to the soft Parseltongue.
Seraphina lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching the scene in quiet contemplation.
"She is telling him what they are," Aldric said from a nearby armchair, his own book resting facedown on his knee. "Or perhaps what she thinks they are. I'm not entirely sure which."
"Does he understand?" Seraphina asked softly.
"The fox? He probably understands more than we do."
Seraphina crossed the room slowly, her silk skirts whispering against the floorboards. She lowered herself to the rug beside Morwenna with careful, deliberate movements to avoid disturbing the toddler's focus.
Morwenna looked up, her green eyes bright. "Gran-ma."
"Hello, my love." Seraphina brushed a light, fleeting hand through the girl's white curls. "What are you reading?"
Morwenna turned the heavy book so Seraphina could see the current page. A strange creature stared back from the parchment, its body covered in too many legs and wings sprouting from impossible places. Its eyes were painted in a vivid, unsettling crimson that seemed to catch the light.
"Bug," Morwenna said firmly.
"That's a very big bug."
"Big bug." Morwenna nodded with absolute certainty. She studied the painted monster for a moment longer, then looked up at Seraphina's face. "Real?"
"Very real. But they don't live here, darling. They live far away, in hot places. Jungles."
Morwenna considered this new information, tilting her head to the side. "Hot."
"Yes."
"Like summer?"
"A little like summer. But more."
The child seemed to file this fact away in some internal cabinet. She turned the thick page to reveal a magnificent serpent coiled tightly around a flowering tree, its scales picked out in gold leaf with meticulous, shimmering care.
Morwenna hissed softly at the painted snake, the sounds forming distinct, rhythmic words.
Seraphina watched her closely, fascinated by the ease of the transition. "What did you say?"
Morwenna met her gaze with wide eyes. "Told him sleep."
"You talk to the picture?"
"Mm." Morwenna nodded. She regarded Seraphina with sudden curiosity, her small brow furrowing. "You talk sss?"
Seraphina shook her head. "I can't, my love. I never learned how."
Morwenna's frown deepened. "Gran-da talk sss."
"Yes. Your grandfather does. He was born with that gift. I wasn't."
Morwenna considered the idea that some people possessed certain powers while others didn't. She glanced at the gold-scaled serpent once more, then back at her grandmother. Her small, dimpled hand reached out to pat Seraphina's hand gently.
"That's okay."
Seraphina felt a sudden, sharp pressure in her chest—a tightening that made her breath catch for a fleeting second. She covered Morwenna's tiny hand with her own palm.
"Thank you, little one."
Morwenna gave a decisive nod and turned another page.
Lunch followed shortly after, bringing the family together once more. Jack and Jane, Aldric and Seraphina, and finally Saoirse arrived at the last possible moment, her hair still damp from a quick shower. The French side of the family ate in the morning room, their voices rising in rapid French and occasional bursts of laughter that drifted through the thick stone walls.
Morwenna sat perched in her chair between her grandparents, eating her meal with intense focus. Occasionally, she offered tiny, shredded bites of chicken to Cinder, who accepted them from her fingers with grave, quiet dignity.
Saoirse watched the exchange, her fork paused mid-air.
"He actually eats whatever she gives him," she said, her eyebrows arching. "Even the vegetables."
"He likes her," Jack said simply.
"He likes everyone, Jack."
"No. He tolerates everyone. He likes her."
Saoirse glanced at the fennec fox, then at her niece. Morwenna was currently explaining something to Cinder in a rhythmic mix of English and Parseltongue, her little hands moving through the air to emphasise her points. Cinder's ears swiveled toward her with every sibilant syllable.
"Huh," Saoirse said.
. . .
After lunch, the remains of the meal sat cooling on the table, the scent of roasted herbs lingering in the air. Aldric stood and glanced at the grandfather clock, its steady ticking marking the final hours of their visit.
"We should pack," he said. "The carriage will be ready in two hours."
Seraphina rose from her chair, her silk skirts whispering against the wood. She paused, her gaze settling on Morwenna, who was still occupied with a stray crumb on her plate.
"Will you help me pack, my love?"
Morwenna looked up, her green eyes bright. "Help?"
"Yes. I need someone to make sure I don't forget anything important."
Morwenna considered that for a heartbeat, her small face solemn. Then she slid from her chair, her boots hitting the rug with a soft thud. She took Seraphina's hand, her small fingers disappearing into her grandmother's palm, and followed her towards the stairs.
Aldric watched them go, his expression softening as they disappeared around the landing.
"She is going to be something," he said quietly, the words barely carrying across the room.
Jack stepped beside him, his expression unreadable as he watched the empty staircase. "Yes."
"You know what I mean, Jack. Not just powerful. Something else entirely."
"I know."
Aldric studied his son for a moment, noting the slight silver at his temples and the weight he carried so steadily.
"You are doing well with her."
Jack said nothing, his gaze fixed on a point far beyond the manor walls.
"She is lucky," Aldric continued. "To have parents who see her. Who aren't afraid of what she might become."
Jack remained silent for a long moment, the air between them still. Then he asked, "Are you afraid?"
Aldric considered that. His gaze lingered on the upper floor where his wife and granddaughter were now moving about.
"No," he said at last. "I'm not afraid. I'm curious. I want to see what she does. How far she goes." His voice lowered to a conspiratorial murmur. "How far she takes us."
Upstairs, Seraphina sat on the edge of the large bed. A heavy trunk of dark leather and brass sat open on the floor, its velvet lining catching the light. Clothes were already folded in neat, fragrant piles nearby.
Morwenna stood in the middle of the room, turning slowly as she took in the unfamiliar state of the suite.
"Where is your stuff?" she asked.
Seraphina gestured to the various piles. "There. I only need to put them in the trunk."
Morwenna walked to the nearest heap of fabric. She looked at the dark, fine materials, then at the open trunk, then back again.
"In there?"
"Yes."
She picked up a folded robe made of heavy dark green wool. It was threaded with silver embroidery that shimmered like frost. Carrying it carefully with both hands, as though it were a fragile bird, she dropped it into the trunk.
"Good," she said, her voice full of satisfaction.
Seraphina smiled. "Very good. Thank you."
Morwenna went back for another piece, then another. Each time she carried the items with immense care, her small face set in a mask of serious concentration. When the last pile was gone, she looked up at her grandmother.
"More?"
"That's all the clothes. Now I need the things on the dresser."
Morwenna crossed to the mahogany dresser. A silver-backed brush, a small jewellery box, and a photograph in a heavy silver frame sat there. She studied each item for a moment before picking it up.
The brush went in first. Then the jewellery box, which she carried with extra care to ensure nothing rattled inside. Finally, she picked up the photograph. She paused, her thumb brushing the glass. Jack and Jane stood there, caught in a frozen moment from their wedding day, smiling at each other as though the rest of the world had ceased to exist.
"Mama," Morwenna said. "Dada."
"Yes. That was their wedding day."
Morwenna traced the frame's ornate edge before placing it gently on top of the green robe.
"All done," she said.
Seraphina looked at the trunk. Everything was inside—not neat by her usual standards, but entirely complete. She looked at her granddaughter, the white hair bright in the afternoon light and those green eyes waiting for approval.
"Perfect," she said. "You are very good at this."
Morwenna nodded once. "I know."
Seraphina laughed softly, the sound clear and surprising.
"I'm going to miss you (tu vas me manquer)," she said, the French sentiment slipping in naturally.
Morwenna crossed the room and climbed onto the bed beside her. She leaned into Seraphina's side, seeking the familiar warmth.
"Come back," she said.
"Soon. I promise."
They sat like that for a while, watching the packed trunk and the golden afternoon light spilling through the window to pool on the rug.
Aldric found them there an hour later.
He paused in the doorway, watching his wife and granddaughter. Cinder had followed them upstairs at some point and now lay curled at the foot of the bed, his amber eyes half-closed.
Seraphina looked up and smiled at her husband.
"All packed?" he asked.
"With assistance." She nodded towards Morwenna. "She is very efficient."
Aldric crossed the room and sat on the other side of Morwenna. She looked up at him, her scowl softened by sleepiness.
"All done," she said.
"So I hear."
"You going now?"
"Soon. The carriage will be here shortly."
Morwenna studied him for a long moment, as if memorising his face. Then she reached up and placed her small, warm hand against his cheek.
"Come back," she said.
Aldric covered her hand with his own weathered palm. "We will."
"Promise."
"Promise."
Satisfied with the vow, she leaned back against Seraphina.
They stayed that way until Tilly appeared at the door to announce that the carriage was ready in the drive.
The entrance hall was full of people.
Jane's family had gathered to see the Keiths off. Celestine stood with Lucien, her posture flawless and her expression composed. Raphael and Luelle lingered nearby, their eyes kind. Elara stood slightly apart from the others, her gaze fixed on Morwenna.
Viviane was there as well. She knelt when Morwenna came down the stairs, her arms open wide. Morwenna walked into them without hesitation, breathing in the scent of floral perfume.
Aldric and Seraphina waited by the front door, their heavy travelling cloaks on and their small trunk sitting beside them.
Jack stood with his father. They spoke quietly, their voices too low for anyone else to catch. At the end of their conversation, they clasped hands firmly, then Aldric drew his son into a brief, firm embrace.
Jane hugged Seraphina, holding her for a moment before letting go.
Saoirse hugged them both, made them promise to write, and threatened to visit them unannounced if they didn't.
Then it was Morwenna's turn.
She approached slowly, with Cinder trotting at her heels.
Aldric knelt first, studying her with steady, serious eyes that matched her own.
"You be good for your parents," he said.
Morwenna nodded.
"And listen to Saoirse sometimes. Not all the time. Just sometimes."
Saoirse made a soft noise of protest somewhere behind them, but Morwenna almost smiled.
Aldric reached into his pocket and brought out something small. It's a carved wooden serpent, smaller than the one she already had, the wood dark and smooth to the touch.
"For when you miss us," he said. "Put it under your pillow. It'll help you dream of good things."
Morwenna took it with both hands, her fingers tracing the delicate carving.
"Sss," she said.
"Yes."
She looked up at him. "Thank you."
Aldric kissed her forehead, then stood up.
Seraphina knelt in his place. She touched Morwenna's hair and her cheek, her fingers lingering over the small hand holding the new serpent.
"Little one," she said softly, "you are the best thing that's happened to this family in a very long time. Don't ever forget that."
Morwenna met her gaze with those ancient, knowing green eyes.
"I remember," she said.
Seraphina kissed her forehead, then rose and took Aldric's hand.
They walked to the door together. The trunk followed after them. The door opened, letting in a sudden breath of cool April air. Then they stepped through and onto the drive.
Morwenna watched them go, standing very still. Cinder pressed against her legs, his fur warm against her skin, while the small serpent remained clutched tightly in her hand.
The door closed with a heavy, final thud.
She didn't move.
Jane came to kneel beside her. She said nothing, offering no platitudes. She simply waited.
After a long moment, Morwenna leaned against her mother, just once, just for a second.
Then she straightened her back.
"Gran-ma and Gran-da coming back," she said. It's not a question, but a statement of fact.
"Yes," Jane said. "They promised."
Morwenna nodded. Then she turned and walked towards the stairs, with Cinder following closely behind.
At the bottom step, she paused. She looked back at the door, at the exact place where they had stood moments before.
"Bye," she said quietly.
Then she climbed the stairs and disappeared from view.
. . .
That evening, the house felt fundamentally different.
Jane's family had retreated to their own rooms. The morning room stood empty and silent. The library held only Jack, who sat reading by the fire's dying light.
Saoirse found Jane in the kitchen.
Jane stood at the counter, doing nothing. She was staring at nothing in particular, her hands resting flat on the cool stone surface.
Saoirse leaned against the doorframe, her posture relaxed. "You okay?"
Jane didn't answer at once. Then, she spoke softly. "She didn't cry."
"Morwenna?"
"She watched them leave. She didn't cry. She just stood there. Then she said they were coming back and went upstairs."
Saoirse crossed the room and leaned against the counter beside her.
"She is two," she said. "Two-year-olds cry when they don't get the right colour cup. She didn't cry when her grandparents left. That's trust. That's love. She wasn't scared. She knew they meant it."
Jane was quiet for a long time, the only sound the distant wind outside.
"When's you get so smart?"
Saoirse grinned, her eyes bright. "Always been smart. You just never listen."
Jane laughed, a small and tired sound, but entirely real.
They stood together in the quiet kitchen and let the silence hold what needed holding.