Chapter 15 : The Ashes of Vallombre

The De Vallombre manor awoke each day under the golden rays of the sun, its tall windows capturing the light and sending it dancing across walls adorned with paintings and woodwork. For Elara, this place was far more than a home: it was her kingdom.

At eight years old, she lived in a world of carefree innocence, where each day brought its share of discoveries and adventures. In the mornings, she loved to wander through the vast gardens, barefoot in the grass still damp with dew. She chased butterflies, climbed fruit trees, or watched the tireless buzzing of bees around the rose bushes.

"Elara, get down from there before you break your neck!" her older sister, Élise, would often shout when she saw her perched on a branch.

She would then burst into laughter, leap to the ground with the agility of a cat, and run to the small pond where the carp, accustomed to her presence, would almost beg for breadcrumbs.

When the sun rose higher, she would return to the manor, often covered in dirt from head to toe, which drew resigned sighs from Marie, one of the maids who looked after her. Marie would scold her gently while brushing the dirt off her clothes, but her smile always betrayed her affection.

Lunch was a sacred moment. The entire family gathered in the grand dining room around the long oak table. Elara's father, a tall and imposing yet benevolent elf, presided with his dignified air, while her mother, Emma, showered everyone with tender glances.

"And you, my treasure, what did you do this morning?" she would often ask Elara while serving her a slice of pie.

Elara would then recount her exploits with boundless energy, while her siblings laughed or rolled their eyes. Her parents, however, seemed delighted to see their youngest so full of life.

In the afternoons, Elara loved to venture into the library, a vast room where the scent of leather and ancient paper enveloped her. Though still young, she enjoyed diving into atlases and fairy tales, imagining herself as an explorer or a knight. Sometimes, her mother would join her with a book in hand, sitting beside her to read aloud. These simple yet precious moments were her favorites.

When evening came, she would often slip into the kitchens. There, the cooks, always amused by her curiosity, would give her bits of raw dough or still-warm cookies. She loved listening to their chatter, their bursts of laughter, and even their light-hearted arguments. To her, everything in the manor—from the gilded living room to the clatter of dishes in the kitchens—formed a perfect world.

It was a sweet life, marked by the small joys of everyday routines. She was surrounded by love, protected, and her biggest worry was getting caught when she stole apples from the orchard.

***

The sun slipped gently through the stained-glass windows of the grand parlor, casting colorful reflections on the walls adorned with ancient paintings. The De Vallombre manor, with its imposing towers and sculpted gardens, seemed to house a perfect existence. For Elara, eight years old, a whirlwind of blue hair and boundless energy, all of this was part of the familiar backdrop of her childhood, a life marked by sunny days and adventures in the forgotten corners of the estate.

Elara, focused on her adventures, felt on top of the world. Her existence was a patchwork of carefree days, punctuated by games with her siblings, shared sweetness with her family, and enveloping hugs from her mother. The De Vallombre manor, with its winding corridors and hidden rooms, was her world, and in that world, there was only happiness and safety.

That morning, Elara had spent hours in the gardens watching ants build their empire at the foot of an ancient oak tree. Upon returning, she found her mother in the small winter parlor, bathed in the golden sunlight filtering through the tall windows. The delicate Lady Emma, her mother, was embroidering a handkerchief while Elara enthusiastically recounted her morning discoveries.

"And then, Mom, I found a nest! Three eggs inside, so tiny and blue! Do you think they'll hatch soon?" Elara asked excitedly.

Her mother looked up from her work and smiled tenderly. "Perhaps, my treasure. But you must promise not to get too close. The mother bird might get scared and abandon her little ones."

Elara nodded seriously. She adored these moments when she felt unique and precious in her mother's eyes. But just as she was about to continue her story, the door burst open. A young maid hurried in, holding a wobbly tray on which porcelain cups teetered.

"Madam… I'm sorry… the tea… it's not ready yet… I…"

Emma calmly set her embroidery on the side table and stood with icy elegance. "Not ready?" she repeated in a calm but razor-sharp voice.

The maid stammered an awkward excuse, but before she could finish, Emma stepped forward swiftly and snatched the tray from her hands. The cups clinked dangerously as they clashed. Then, without warning, she struck the young elf's cheek with the back of her hand. The sharp sound echoed through the room like a thunderclap.

Elara froze. It felt as though time had stopped. Her sweet, loving mother had transformed before her eyes. Her heart tightened as she watched the maid stagger under the blow before bowing her head and murmuring muffled apologies.

"Get out!" Emma ordered coldly.

The young woman obeyed in silence, leaving behind a heavy, oppressive quiet. Emma then turned to Elara with a restored smile, as if nothing had happened.

"Where were we? Ah yes, the thrush eggs! Will you show me the nest tomorrow?"

Elara, chilled, felt a cold shiver run down her spine. That image, that scene which had no place in her happy world, struck her like a punch. Her mother, this woman so gentle and loving, so beautiful, had behaved like a ferocious beast.

She didn't understand. Her mind, which until then had known only tenderness and love, faltered. She had seen scenes from the servants' daily lives, always with respect, and occasionally with a hint of wariness. But now, something fundamental, something cruel, had shattered.

***

After the incident in the parlor, something changed in Elara. It wasn't visible from the outside, but inside her, a crack had formed. Once the shock passed, she tried to resume her routines: her escapades in the gardens, her hours in the library, her visits to the kitchen. Yet, everything felt different.

She had always seen the manor as a harmonious place, a refuge where every stone and every smile seemed designed to protect her. But now, her gaze lingered on details she had never noticed before, as if a veil had been lifted.

She first noticed the maids. The way they averted their eyes in the presence of her mother or father. Their eagerness to slip away after completing their tasks, as if they feared being noticed. She also saw their hands, rough and marked, betraying hours of labor.

One morning, while wandering the gardens, she overheard a conversation. Marie, the maid who often looked after her, was speaking in hushed tones with a gardener.

"If I make another mistake, she threatened to fire me… How will I feed my children if I lose my job?"

The tone was filled with worry, and those words stayed etched in Elara's mind. She had never thought that the adults who worked around her, who cleaned her clothes and served her meals, could live in fear.

Another day, in the library, she heard a dull thud followed by a muffled cry. Peeking out of the room, she saw her father standing in the hallway, gripping a young valet's shoulder firmly.

"Next time you break a vase, it'll come out of your wages!" he growled coldly.

Elara stayed hidden behind the door, her breath short. Why had she never seen this before? Violence wasn't just a sudden explosion, like her mother's in the parlor. It was subtle, sometimes disguised as authoritative orders, icy glares, or murmured threats.

Even at the dinner table, she began to notice things. When a dish wasn't perfectly cooked, her mother would frown and demand it be remade immediately. The servants would then scurry about in nervous silence. Elara saw for the first time the tension in their movements, the fear in their gestures.

And then, there was that small red mark on Marie's cheek one morning.

"What happened to you?" she asked innocently.

Marie averted her eyes.

"It's nothing, I fell," she replied with a forced smile.

But Elara knew she was lying.

At night, lying in bed, Elara wondered how she could have been so blind. Was it because she was a child? Because she had always been shielded from such things? Or was it because she herself was part of this family that imposed its will, often at the expense of others?

She caught herself wondering if her mother, so gentle with her, had always been this way with the servants. Perhaps she had never changed. Perhaps it was Elara who was finally seeing the truth.

Elara's world was crumbling bit by bit, and with it, her innocence. What she had believed to be a paradise was merely a facade, a theater where roles had to be played to perfection. But behind the curtain, there was only inequality, fear, and injustices she could no longer ignore.

Over the weeks, Elara began to see that the violence wasn't exclusive to her parents. Her siblings, whom she had always admired for their poise and confidence, also behaved with a harshness that left her uneasy.

One day, she accompanied Amélie, her older sister, to the stables. Amélie often supervised the care of her horses, her favorites. Everything seemed normal until a clumsy stable boy stumbled while cleaning one of the animal's hooves.

"Be careful!" she snapped sharply, her face suddenly hard. "I won't tolerate you injuring my horse with your incompetence."

The boy, barely older than Elara, stammered apologies, his cheeks red. Amélie seemed unmoved by his embarrassment. She turned on her heel without another word, as if the other's humiliation were natural.

Elara stayed back, her heart heavy. Was this the same Amélie who told her stories at night when she had trouble sleeping? The one who laughed with her when they stole apples from the kitchen?

Then it was Édouard, her older brother, who troubled her. One afternoon in the gardens, Édouard was laughing with family friends, a circle of older teenagers. Elara, curious, had approached, hoping to listen to their conversations.

But she saw Édouard grab a maid by the arm, interrupting her work.

"You could at least smile when you walk past us," he quipped sarcastically.

The maid smiled timidly, a forced smile that didn't reach her eyes, before hurrying away. Édouard and his friends burst into laughter. Elara, however, felt like an outsider to the scene. Why did her brother, so brilliant and charming, behave this way?

And yet, she said nothing.

She said nothing when her other sister, Marguerite, scolded a maid because a ribbon wasn't properly ironed. She said nothing when she heard Édouard treat a valet as if he were mere furniture. She watched everything, absorbed everything, but remained silent.

At first, she wanted to believe it was nothing. That these were mistakes, isolated moments, lapses. But deep down, she knew it wasn't true. Her siblings, like her parents, carried within them that same icy superiority toward those they deemed inferior.

So, why say nothing?

Because she was afraid. Not just of their reaction, but also of losing what she loved. She knew that if she dared to oppose them, she would no longer be seen as the beloved little sister, but as an intruder, a traitor. She knew those hard looks, those judgmental eyes they reserved for others, for those who didn't fit their rules.

And Elara didn't want to see those eyes turned on her.

She wanted to keep seeing the love in her mother's gaze, the complicity in her sisters' smiles, the admiring affection of her brother. So she did what she knew best: she played the role expected of her.

She smiled, laughed, acted obedient. She closed her eyes to what she saw, pretending to be blind.

Every evening, however, when she was alone in her room, she felt the weight of this charade pressing on her. She wondered how long she could keep this up. How long she could hide this truth she didn't want to face: she was different.

But for now, she chose silence. Because breaking this facade meant risking the loss of the love she cherished. And that, Elara wasn't ready to sacrifice yet.