The mirror stood taller than she did.
Morwenna balanced on the velvet-topped ottoman in her socks, studying the girl in the glass. The girl wore pale blue denim shorts that stopped just above her knees. The fabric felt stiff and unfamiliar against her skin, missing the soft whisper of silk or the quiet comfort of worn wool she was used to. Her shirt was a crisp white, a small cartoon fox printed over her chest. It's Cinder again, down to the tiny painted collar.
Her trainers were already on, the laces tied into a double bow that had taken three careful attempts to get right.
She lifted a hand to her hair. Her mother had brushed it smooth so it lay against her shoulders, fine and white as spun glass. A green silk ribbon held it back, the color echoing the fox's collar in the picture.
"You look cute," Jane said behind her.
Morwenna glanced up at her mother's reflection. Jane wore dark grey trousers, neatly fitted, with a soft jumper the color of winter berries. Her red hair fell loose, tucked behind her ears so that the delicate Veela points showed through. She looked nothing like the woman who wore flowing silk robes with silver combs threaded through her hair.
"What is cute?"
"It means you look nice. Pleasant. Someone people like to look at."
Morwenna turned back to the mirror. She shifted sideways, watching how the denim sat against her legs and how the cotton shirt hung loose over her frame. She smoothed the front with both palms, then let her hands fall to her sides.
"Ready," she said.
Cinder waited by the door. His ears were pricked forward and his tail gave a single sharp wag.
"Stay," she told him.
The fox's ears flattened at once.
"I will come back."
He sat immediately, though his amber eyes followed her every move as she stepped off the ottoman.
She followed her mother down the stairs. The entrance hall was already bright, grey morning light spilling through the tall windows. It caught the fountain's moving water and scattered across the marble floor in shifting, dancing reflections.
Her footsteps sounded different in trainers. It's a soft scuff against stone instead of the light slap of bare feet or the hush of slippers. She heard Saoirse before she saw her, her voice carrying from near the great doors.
"We have packed enough for a small army. Tilly's offended we didn't take more."
Jack answered, but his voice was too low to make out the words.
Morwenna reached the last step and paused. Her father stood near the doors in dark grey trousers and a navy jumper. His hair was neat, and the silver at his temples caught the morning light.
Aldric and Seraphina stood beside him in their usual robes, deep green for him and dark grey for her. Saoirse leaned against the wall with her arms crossed. She had a long coat thrown over her clothes, the collar turned up against the draft.
"Look at you," Saoirse said, a grin pulling at her mouth. "All dressed for the outside."
Morwenna stopped in front of her. "You are not coming?"
"I will come as far as the border. After that, I have things to do." Saoirse crouched and adjusted Morwenna's collar again, though Jane had already set it perfectly. "Someone has to make sure you don't get lost before you even leave."
"I won't get lost."
"No. You won't." Saoirse's hand lingered on her shoulder, warm and steady, then she straightened.
Aldric stepped forward. He took in the shirt, the shorts, and the carefully tied laces, then knelt until they were level.
"You will see things today you have only seen in books," he said. "The world is larger than this manor. It's larger than you have imagined."
Morwenna nodded, her throat tightening as she swallowed.
"Remember what you are," he said. "But remember where you are as well. You are a visitor there. Be curious. Be careful."
"I will."
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. His hand felt warm and rough against her cheek.
Seraphina came next. She didn't kneel, only reached out to smooth Morwenna's hair back from her face.
"Your grandmother in France will want to hear everything," she said. "Every detail. So pay attention."
Morwenna nodded again.
Seraphina's hand fell away, and she stepped back into the hall's quiet shadow.
Saoirse pushed the heavy door open.
Cold air rushed in, carrying the scent of damp earth and woodsmoke. The sky lingered on the edge of night, the last stars fading above the dark silhouettes of the trees. The carriage waited on the gravel. The thestrals stood motionless, their skeletal frames and folded wings barely visible in the dim light.
Jack lifted Morwenna into the carriage. The seat beneath her was soft, dark leather, and the windows were tinted. Jane followed, settling beside her, and Saoirse climbed in last, taking the bench across from them.
The door closed with a solid, final thunk.
The carriage rolled forward.
Morwenna leaned close to the glass. The manor still stood behind them, grey stone and dark windows, its towers cutting into the paling sky. She had seen it from outside before, from the gardens, the Quidditch pitch, and the lake's edge. But this felt different. The carriage was carrying her away. The windows framed it smaller, and the world beyond began to slide past.
The gravel drive narrowed into a forest track. Trees pressed in on either side, their branches knitting together overhead. Light slipped through in thin, silver strands. She watched them pass, one after another. There were too many to follow and too many to count.
The carriage turned.
The trees thinned, and the sky opened.
The gate lay ahead. It was still distant, a dark line against the pale horizon. She had seen it before from the creature meadow, a shape at the edge of sight. She had never been this close.
It rose as they approached. It was black iron, tall and unyielding, with the Keith crest set at its heart. Oak and serpent intertwined. She had traced that same pattern on her father's signet ring countless times.
It was larger than she had imagined.
It was larger than anything she had ever seen from afar.
The carriage slowed.
The gate stood directly before them. Black iron bars sealed the road, and the serpent's eye caught the thin morning light. Stone pillars rose on either side, worn with age, with moss creeping along their bases. The wards hummed so low it settled into her teeth. It was a faint vibration she couldn't ignore.
Jack leaned forward. "Morwenna."
She pulled her gaze from the window.
"In the outside world, people will know you as Nimue. That's the name we use there. Not Morwenna."
She repeated it quietly, testing the shape of it in her mind. "Nimue."
Jack smiled. "Yes."
Jane reached across and rested a hand on her knee. "Only for now. When we are home, you are Morwenna again."
She nodded. Her eyes dropped to her hands. They were still her hands. They would look no different as Nimue. They would feel the same. Nothing about her had changed.
She was still herself.
She was Nimue now.
The gate opened.
It swung inward, slow and heavy, the iron grinding in a long, low groan.
The carriage moved forward. The gate slipped behind them, and when she turned to look, it was already gone from sight.
The world changed.
She couldn't see how it happened. The road remained gravel. Trees still lined the edges. The sky stayed a dull grey. Yet something had shifted beneath it all. The air felt lighter. Sounds sharpened, separating from one another. She could hear birds, real birds, not the ones that lived within the manor's crafted garden.
She pressed her hand to the glass. Cold seeped through, sharp against her skin. No frost spread across the pane. No magic stirred in answer.
"It's all right," Jane said. "It's only different."
Nimue looked at her mother, then turned back to the window. The carriage continued on. The trees grew thinner, the road wider, and the light strengthened. The sun was rising. She caught a glimpse of it through the branches, a thin line of orange that slowly washed the grey sky with gold.
She watched the world pass by.
Saoirse pulled a wooden box from beneath the seat. Tilly had packed it, the lid tied tight with string. Inside were fresh bread rolls, a small pot of butter, slices of cold meat, and a flask of tea that sent up steam as Jane poured it into cups.
Nimue ate a roll spread with butter. She sipped the tea from a small cup, her gaze never leaving the window.
"What are we doing today?" she asked.
Jane wiped a trace of butter from her fingers. "We will go to the bookshop first, the one we told you about. Then we will visit the pediatrician. After that, the park."
Nimue tilted her head. "What is a pediatrician?"
Jane paused, then smiled faintly. "Dr. Meadows is one. She is a doctor for children. She checks that they are growing well and staying healthy."
Nimue rested a hand lightly against her ribs. "I'm growing."
"She will check anyway. She listens to your heart, checks your breathing, and makes sure everything's working as it should."
Nimue lowered her gaze to her hands. "Does it hurt?"
"No. They only look and listen. Sometimes they use tools, but it doesn't hurt."
She considered that. She remembered her great-grandmother's hands against her chest, feeling her pulse and pressing along her ribs. That had never hurt.
"Okay."
"Then the park," Jack said. "Saoirse told you about the swings."
Nimue's fingers tightened slightly around her cup. "The ones that go high."
"Those ones."
The carriage began to slow. Saoirse glanced out the window. "We are almost there."
Nimue pressed her face to the glass. The road had changed again. No longer gravel, it stretched smooth and dark, marked with painted lines. She had seen pictures. She knew what it was. A road. A real one, meant for cars.
But no cars passed. It lay empty between wide fields of brown and gold. The sun had risen fully now, and the sky was washed into a pale, watery blue.
The carriage came to a stop.
Jack opened the door. Cold air rushed in, lighter than the manor's heavy chill. It carried the scent of damp soil, crushed grass, and a faint thread of smoke from a distant chimney. He stepped down, then turned and offered his hand.
Nimue took it and climbed out. Her shoes met the ground. The gravel felt the same as it always had. She stood there, looking around.
There was nothing. Only the road, the open fields, and the pale sky.
Jack released her hand and moved to the front where the thestrals waited, their breath fogging in the cold. He spoke to them in a low voice, with words too soft for her to catch.
"This is where I leave you," Saoirse said.
She crouched in front of Nimue, her hands settling on her shoulders. "You will be fine."
Nimue frowned. "You are not coming with us?"
"Not today. I will be here when you return." She pulled Nimue into a brief, tight embrace, quick and firm. Then she rose and walked to the front of the carriage, where the thestrals were already turning it around.
Nimue watched her go.
Jack returned to her side and held out his hand. "Ready?"
She took it.
The world folded.
It wasn't like falling. Falling she understood. She had fallen from the garden wall once, the air rushing past as the ground rose too fast to meet her. This was different. Everything closed in at once. Her chest tightened, her ears popped, and the ground vanished. Then it was there again beneath her feet, though her stomach felt as if it had been left somewhere behind.
She bent forward a little, her grip tightening around Jack's hand. She didn't let go.
"Breathe," Jane said.
She drew in a breath. The air here was different, smoother and warmer. She breathed again, and the spinning eased.
When she straightened, her stomach still felt loose and wrong, as if it hadn't fully caught up. She swallowed. The sensation lingered, but it dulled.
"That was Apparition," Jack said.
She looked at him. His face was calm and untouched, as though nothing had shifted inside him at all.
"I don't like it," she said.
Jane's mouth curved slightly. "No one does."
They stood in a narrow alley paved with old stones worn smooth by time. At one end, a wall lay thick with dormant vines. At the other, the alley opened onto a street. Cars passed beyond it. People moved along the pavement.
Nimue stepped toward the street. Her trainers struck louder against the stones. Her stomach still felt unsettled, but her legs held steady.
Jane caught her hand. "Not yet. This way."
The bookshop stood along a quieter street, tucked between a bakery and a second-hand clothing shop. A sign hung above the door. Little Readers, painted in bright red, blue, and yellow, with letters that were rounded and welcoming. A brass bell chimed as Jane pushed the door open.
Inside, the air smelled like paper. Not the dry, dust-heavy scent of the Keith library, but something new. It's clean, with ink still fresh on the page. Shelves lined every wall, reaching up to the ceiling. Lower ones stood within her reach, while higher rows waited for a ladder.
A woman stepped out from behind the counter. Her hair was short and grey, and her glasses hung from a fine silver chain. She was smiling.
"You brought her," she said.
Jane's hand settled on Nimue's shoulder. "This is Nimue."
The woman's gaze rested on her, warm and attentive.
"Hello, Nimue."
"Hello."
"You are taller than your mother said."
Nimue glanced up at Jane. Her mother's expression had softened, the smile quieter and almost private.
"I'm four," Nimue said.
The woman laughed, a gentle, genuine sound. "That explains it."
Jane's hand pressed lightly at her shoulder. "Her health is finally improving. We wanted to..." She paused, her hand still. "We wanted her to see the shop. For herself."
The woman's expression changed, softening further. She looked at Nimue again, her kindness unchanged. She didn't offer pity. She simply smiled.
"Well," she said, "since you are here, you should see the new books. We received some last week. There's one about a fox who gets lost in the city."
Nimue looked to her mother, and Jane gave a small nod.
She followed the woman to the lower shelves. The book sat at the front, its cover a bright orange, featuring a fox with large ears that reminded her of Cinder. She picked it up. The pages were thick and smooth beneath her fingers.
"Can I read it?" she asked.
"You can take it home," the woman said. "That's what bookshops are for."
Nimue looked at Jane again. Jane was watching her with something bright in her eyes.
"Thank you," Nimue said.
The woman smiled. "You are very welcome."
They bought the book. Jane paid with coins from her pocket, the kind Nimue had seen before, stamped with the Queen's face. The woman wrapped the book in brown paper and tied it neatly with string.
Nimue held it close against her chest.
Outside, the street had filled. Cars passed in steady streams, their engines low and constant, their paint catching the light. A woman pushed a pram. A man walked a dog. A child ran past, his shoes striking the pavement in quick beats while his mother called after him.
She watched everything.
Jane glanced at the small silver watch on her wrist. "We have time. Let's find somewhere to sit."
A café stood two doors down. A woman wiped the outdoor tables while folding down the chairs for the afternoon. Jane ordered tea and a small cake with pink icing. They took a table by the window, and Nimue watched the street as she ate.
A woman with a pram passed again. A man in a suit spoke into a small black rectangle. A girl sped by on a scooter, her legs pushing hard and her hair streaming behind her.
Jane rose from her seat. "I will be right back."
She crossed the café and spoke quietly to the woman behind the counter, who nodded and gestured toward a telephone mounted on the wall. Jane lifted the receiver, the coiled cord stretching as she turned slightly away. She dialled, each number clicking into place, and waited.
"Hello, this is Jane Keith. I have an appointment for my daughter at three?"
She listened.
"Yes. We are in town now. We will be there." A brief pause. "Thank you."
She returned the receiver to its cradle and came back to the table, slipping her gloves back on as she sat.
"Dr. Meadows can see us," she said. "At three."
Nimue finished the last of the cake. The icing was very sweet, and she drank her tea to soften it.
They walked to the doctor's office. It'd once been a house, and the brass sign by the door and the small front garden were still intact. Inside, the waiting room held chairs for adults and a basket of toys in the corner. Nimue sat between her parents, her legs swinging lightly.
A nurse called their names. She was young, with her hair tied back in a ponytail, and she had an easy smile as Nimue passed her.
The examination room held a table covered in crinkled paper, a scale, and a measuring stick fixed to the wall. The nurse guided Nimue onto the scale, then had her stand straight against the marker. Numbers were written into a folder.
"Twenty-two point three kilograms. One hundred and seven centimetres."
Nimue studied the figures. She knew she was tall for her age.
"You can sit on the table," the nurse said.
Nimue climbed up.
Dr. Meadows entered a moment later, a stethoscope around her neck and a smile that was a little tired but genuine.
"Hello, Nimue. Let's have a look."
The stethoscope was cold against her chest. Nimue held still. The doctor listened to her heart, then her back, then her lungs. She checked her ears, her eyes, and her mouth. Her fingers pressed gently along Nimue's stomach, her arms, and her legs.
"Does this hurt?"
"No."
"And this?"
"No."
Dr. Meadows stepped back and made a note on her clipboard, then looked at Jane and Jack.
"She is in excellent health," she said. "Strong. Her growth is exactly where it should be. Her heart sounds good, and her lungs are clear. Whatever you have been doing, it's working."
Jane let out a long breath. Jack's hand found hers where it rested on the table.
"We wanted to ask," Jack said. "We are planning to travel this year. For her. To show her things. Her health has been complicated. But she is stable now, and we thought..."
"We want to take her places," Jane said quietly. "Let her see things. She has been..." She paused, then exhaled. "She has been inside for a long time."
Dr. Meadows nodded. "Travel would be good for her. She is healthy enough. The stimulation, new environments, and the activity are what she needs."
She looked at Nimue. "You have been very patient."
Nimue didn't answer. She had been patient because there had been nothing else to do.
She looked at her mother instead. Jane's face was faintly flushed, her eyes bright with something hopeful.
"You are going to have a wonderful year," Dr. Meadows said.
"Yes," Nimue said. "I'm."
Jane was already gathering her bag. "Thank you. For seeing us."
Dr. Meadows walked them to the door. Her hand rested on the handle, then paused.
"Mrs. Keith. The treatments. When is the next one?"
Jane's hand tightened slightly on Nimue's shoulder. "Next spring."
Dr. Meadows nodded. Her gaze returned to Nimue, something unreadable passing through her expression.
"I will see you before then. For a check-up."
"We will make an appointment."
They stepped out into the afternoon light. The park was only a few streets away.
Nimue saw the trees first. Their branches were still bare, and the grass was patchy with winter. But as they drew closer, the space opened up wider than she'd imagined. Green grass stretched toward a line of trees, with paths winding through it.
People were walking, and children were running. At the center, the playground stood bright and loud in color. Yellow, red, blue. There was a tall silver slide and swings in a long row. A round thing was spinning with children clinging to it, their hair flying.
She stopped at the gate, her hand in Jack's, and stared.
She had seen children in books and pictures, but never like this. They were moving, laughing, and real.
She pulled on Jack's hand. "Swings."
Jack smiled, but he didn't let go. "Wait."
She waited, though her legs were ready. Her whole body was ready.
Jack crouched beside her. "The rules. You stay where we can see you. If you want to go somewhere, you tell us. If someone you don't know talks to you, you come find us."
She nodded. She knew the rules. Her mother had told her again and again.
"And you have fun," Jane said.
She was already moving.
Her trainers hit the grass, and she ran. The air was warm against her face, and the ground felt soft beneath her feet. She ran straight for the swings.
One of them was empty.
She climbed onto it herself. The seat was firm beneath her legs, and the chains felt rough in her hands. She pushed. Once. Twice. The swing moved, then rose higher with each motion as she remembered Saoirse's advice.
Her legs pumped. The swing lifted.
Her stomach dropped.
She laughed.
The sound burst out of her, bright and loud, before she couldn't stop it. The girl on the swing beside her, who was older and had hair flying behind her, turned and laughed too. They swung together, higher and higher. The chains creaked, and the wind rushed past her ears.
For a moment, the world tilted. The ground fell away, and the sky came down to meet her.
She laughed again.
She didn't know how long she stayed there. It was long enough for her hands to ache and her legs to tire.
She slowed down, letting the swing carry her gently back and forth, then jumped off when it dipped low, landing with a soft thud.
The slide was next.
It's taller than she expected. She climbed carefully, her hands gripping the rails and her feet finding each narrow step. At the top, she paused. The ground looked far away, and the children below seemed smaller.
She sat down.
She pushed off.
The wind rushed at her face. Her stomach stayed somewhere behind as she slid down fast and smooth, landing at the bottom with her heart pounding.
She went again.
And again.
A boy joined her on the ladder on her third climb. He was taller, with brown hair sticking up. He looked at her.
"You are fast," he said.
Nimue looked back. "I'm four."
"I'm five." He pointed. "Race?"
She didn't quite understand, but she followed him anyway. At the top, he counted, and they pushed off together.
She reached the bottom first.
He laughed. "Again."
They raced four times. She won all four. On the fifth, she let him win. It didn't matter.
After that, she moved on.
The round structure spun slowly at first, then faster as children pushed it. She grabbed a metal bar and held on. The world blurred—grass, sky, and trees all blending together. Her stomach flipped, but it felt different from magic. It's lighter.
She let go and dropped onto the grass, the world still turning.
She stayed there until it settled.
When she looked up, Jane was there with her hand extended.
"Tired?"
Nimue took it. Her legs felt heavy and her face was hot. Her hair had slipped loose from its ribbon.
"No," she said.
Jane smiled. "There's a restaurant. We can eat."
Nimue turned, looking back at the playground. The swings were full now, and the slide had a line. Children ran past, shouting and laughing.
"Okay," she said.
The restaurant had tables outside under an awning. The sun slanted through the gaps in the fabric. They sat at one near the edge where she could see the street and the people walking past.
She ordered pasta. It's come in a bowl with the noodles twisted in sauce. She ate it slowly, her hands still tired from the chains and her legs still heavy.
"Did you have fun?" Jack asked.
She looked at him. He was watching her, his hands around a glass of water.
"Yes."
"What did you like best?"
She thought about it. The swing going up while the sky turned sideways. The slide moving fast. The round thing spinning.
"All of it," she said.
Jane laughed. It's a real laugh, her head back and her face bright. "Good."
The sun was lower when they left. The light's gold and the shadows were long. Jane called for the check, Jack paid it, and they walked back toward the alley where they had arrived.
The alley's empty. The street's quiet. Jack held out his hand.
"Ready?"
She took it. Her stomach clenched, and she closed her eyes.
The world folded.
It wasn't like falling. Falling she understood. She had fallen from the garden wall once, the air rushing past as the ground rose too fast to meet her.
She straightened.
The carriage's there, and the thestrals were waiting.
The sun's setting behind the trees, the light appearing orange and red.
Jane lifted her into the carriage. She sat on the seat with her back against the leather and her legs stretched out. Jane sat across from her. Jack took the seat beside her and pulled the door shut.
The carriage moved.
Nimue watched the window. She saw the road, the fields, and the light fading. Her eyes were heavy. Her body's heavy. The carriage rocked slow and steady as the wheels turned. The world outside grew darker.
She leaned against her mother side. Jane's arm came around her, her hand feeling warm on Nimue's shoulder.
"Mama," she said.
"Yes?"
"I'm tired."
"I know."
The carriage moved on. The window's dark now, showing only her reflection and Jane's.
Nimue's eyes were heavy. She tried to keep them open, watching the trees pass and the stars brighten as the dark closed in. But her body's tired. The day's too big to hold all at once.
Her head dropped against Jane's shoulder. The carriage rocked. Her eyes closed.
She didn't feel the carriage slow at the gate. She didn't feel it pass through, the wards humming as they recognised her blood. She didn't feel Jane's hand on her hair, smoothing it back from her face.
She slept.
===
So… it's been less than a day, maybe just a few hours since my last note, and that irritability is already gone. My mood definitely brightened after I listened to one of those "Short story" videos in Youtube (not sure if it was actually written by AI, but the plot was kinda interesting).
Plus, I ate some spicy noodles and had some jeruk hangat (warm orange drink), and then boom, my mood got way better.
Anyway, I already went back and "fixed" the previous chapter. I think this version is a little better than the one before. You can re-read it if you want! Maybe I was just too burned out after thinking about changing my narration style and other stuff 😅