Everything's alright

The door closed.

It didn't slam. It didn't echo. It simply clicked shut with a quiet finality that cut deeper than any shouted insult ever could.

And then Lara was gone.

The balcony was still.

The gardens below whispered in the wind, unaware of the silence now sitting heavy on the stone. Somewhere in the courtyard, a nightbird called. A soft, solitary note.

Sarisa didn't move.

She stood where Lara had left her—arms limp at her sides, breath uneven. Her chest ached. Her eyes burned.

She had stood through storms. Debated generals. Outmaneuvered ministers twice her age. She had kept her spine straight when soldiers died at her command and smiled politely through every court meeting her mother weaponized against her.

But this—

This was different.

This was the kind of wound you didn't see until it bled into everything else.

She's gone.

And worse—

She left angry.

Sarisa's hands trembled.

She clenched them into fists.

Not to stay strong.

But to hold herself together.

Because if she didn't, she might shatter.

Not all at once.

But slowly.

Quietly.

The kind of shattering that took years to notice and even longer to repair.

She took a breath. Shallow. Tight.

Her mouth moved soundlessly around words she didn't dare say aloud.

I didn't want this.

You were never a duty to me.

I wanted you to stay.

But it was too late now.

And perhaps it always had been.

A soft knock broke the silence.

Then the door creaked open.

Sarisa didn't turn. She already knew who it was.

Small feet padded across the stone. A familiar warmth brushed her side.

And then Aliyah was there—wrapping both arms around her waist, cheek pressed into the soaked silk of Sarisa's gown.

Sarisa blinked, and the first tear escaped.

Just one.

She didn't wipe it away.

"Hi, Mama," Aliyah said softly.

Sarisa didn't trust her voice. She placed one hand on the girl's back and breathed in her scent—ash and soap, wind and childhood.

Aliyah's fingers gripped tighter.

"I heard yelling," she whispered.

Sarisa closed her eyes.

"It's alright," she managed. "Everything's alright."

Aliyah didn't answer. Just stayed.

And Sarisa—fragile and aching—leaned down and pressed a kiss to her hair.

"Come," she whispered. "It's late."

Aliyah nodded.

They walked in silence back to the children's wing. Kaelith was already tucked into bed when they entered, her wild hair half-dried and tangled, her stuffed dragon clutched tightly under one arm.

"I saved your spot," Kaelith mumbled sleepily.

Aliyah climbed into the bed beside her.

The girls shared one most nights. It had become a quiet rebellion no one had the heart to stop.

Sarisa crossed the room to the bookshelf, selected a worn leather-bound volume with golden stars across the spine, and sat beside them with practiced grace.

Her voice remained steady, though her throat burned.

She read.

A story about a fox who stole the moon. About trickery and laughter and a final, unexpected kindness.

Kaelith drifted first—her breathing deep and even, dragon still clutched like a shield.

But Aliyah stayed awake.

Sarisa could feel her gaze even before the page turned.

When the story ended, Sarisa closed the book slowly.

Aliyah rolled onto her side, red eyes wide in the low candlelight.

"Mama?" she whispered.

Sarisa tucked the blanket under her chin.

"Yes, little flame?"

"…Did you and Mama Lara fight?"

The question was gentle.

But it hit like a knife.

Sarisa hesitated.

Just long enough for Aliyah to notice.

Her little brows furrowed.

"Are you mad at each other?"

Sarisa smoothed a hand over her daughter's curls.

"It's just… grown-up things."

Aliyah didn't respond right away.

Then: "Are grown-up things always this sad?"

Sarisa's throat tightened.

She didn't have an answer.

So she just leaned down and kissed Aliyah's temple.

"No," she said softly. "Sometimes they're very happy."

Aliyah's voice was almost a whisper. "Will she come back tomorrow?"

Sarisa's hand paused mid-stroke.

"I don't know."

That answer was honest.

And that honesty hurt worse than any lie ever could.

Aliyah nestled closer to Kaelith and closed her eyes.

Sarisa stayed.

Long after the candle burned low.

Long after the wind had quieted outside.

She stayed and watched them breathe.

And wondered how love could feel so full and so empty at once.