After dinner, Caelum brought me back to my room like he always did—unhurried, arms secure around me, voice low and steady. He didn't ask if I was tired. He didn't say anything about my mood. He just carried me. As if that was enough.
When we entered my room, the lamps were already dimmed. The curtains had been drawn, the bed prepared. The soft, ivory sheets were turned down just a little, like they were waiting only for me. The air smelled faintly of chamomile.
Caelum set me down gently on the mattress and knelt beside the bed. He tucked the blankets around me, not too tight, but just enough that the warmth stayed close to my body. He brushed my bangs away from my forehead and kissed me there—softly, without hesitation. Like it was natural. Like it had always been this way.
"Goodnight, little star," he whispered.
I didn't answer. Just looked at him.But he didn't seem to mind.He smiled and left the room, closing the door behind him with the care of someone who never slams anything. And just like that… I was alone again. I didn't sleep. I couldn't.
I laid still, under silk sheets that felt too smooth, in a bed that felt too large, surrounded by a silence that felt too kind. And I thought. About today. About yesterday. About two days ago, and every day before that.
I thought about the look in Caelum's eyes when I cried. The way his arms wrapped around me like I was something that mattered. The way he hadn't pulled away when I whispered "Daddy." It was too much. Too soft. Too warm. Too dangerous.
Something inside me had changed. I felt it. Not just in the way I looked at people, but in the way I reacted to things. My body had begun doing things without asking permission. My hands reached for Caelum's. My arms clung to him without fear. My voice whispered things I had never allowed myself to say aloud.
It felt like my skin was learning a new language. And I didn't trust it. I used to be so good at silence. Back at the Orphanage, I never made mistakes. I never cried. Never shouted. Never asked. I was "the doll.", "The creepy one.", "The quiet boy with the moon hair and empty eyes." I wore those titles like a second skin. Not because I liked them. But because they made me untouchable. Predictable. Safe.
I sat still. I stayed quiet. I watched everything, memorized everything, catalogued people's habits like maps drawn on the back of my hand. I could tell when Matron was in a bad mood by the sound of her shoes on the stone floor. I knew when bread was taken from the pantry. I knew how to breathe in a room without anyone noticing I was there.
That was how I survived. That was how I existed. Not with joy. Not with play. Just with calculation. But now… my body had started to disobey me. I felt things I didn't understand. My heart ached when Caelum left a room. My arms reached for him without planning to.
My throat tightened when I remembered Evelune. When I thought of her tiny hands wrapped in mine. When I remembered how she used to kick the blanket off her feet in her sleep. It was like I had been hollow for so long… and now something was filling the emptiness. And I wasn't sure I wanted it. Because if I felt—truly felt—then I could hurt again.
I had learned how to mimic emotion. How to make the right face. How to cry without tears. How to smile just wide enough that adults didn't ask questions. I could cry if it helped. I could bleed if the moment called for it. I could say "thank you" with a perfect bow even if my stomach twisted.
But this… this wasn't pretending. This was real. This was raw. And I didn't know how to protect myself from it. Maybe I was broken. Maybe the caretakers were right when they whispered it behind my back. "That boy isn't right.", "He's cold. Not like the others.", "He watches like he's older than us all."
Maybe I wasn't a child at all. At least not in the way they expected me to be. Children are supposed to laugh. To play. To cry when they fall and smile without reason. Children don't learn to read by watching someone teach another kid. Children don't learn to tie knots just by observing a maid's hands. Children don't memorize the sound of every footstep in a hallway.
But I did. Because I wasn't allowed to be a child. Or maybe… I never was one to begin with. I remember Matron once saying that I must've been a changeling. That no human child could look the way I did and not make a sound when beaten. She said it with a smile like it was a joke. But I heard her. I always did. Maybe she was right. Maybe I was cursed. Or worse—maybe I was just wrong. Something created without the right pieces.
I wonder… Would Caelum still keep me if he knew? If he knew how much of what I showed him today wasn't performance—but panic? If he knew I didn't understand the things I felt, but did them anyway because my body no longer obeyed the mask?
Would he still love me? Did he love me? Or did he love the idea of me? His half-brother. His lost sibling. His little prince, so perfectly wounded, so fragile and soft. What if I wasn't that? What if I wasn't anyone at all?
What if I was only the emotionless baby left in the snow? Only the child who stared instead of cried? Only the boy who let a cat be his best friend because people couldn't be trusted? What if he saw through the face I had built—the one I'd worn since the day I was born, or maybe even before that?
What then? Would he recoil? Would he send me back? Would he walk out of the room and leave me curled on the floor with no voice left in my throat? Or worse… would he pretend? Pretend he still cared. Pretend I still mattered. Pretend I was still whole. Until the day he didn't anymore.
I turned over in bed. The sheets whispered beneath me. I pulled the covers tighter. My face pressed into the pillow. I tried not to think anymore. But the thoughts had mouths now. They whispered even when I closed my eyes.
"You don't deserve this."
"You're broken."
"You fooled him today, but you won't fool him forever."
"They'll all find out."
"You're still alone."
I curled deeper into the blanket, biting the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood. I didn't cry. Not this time. Because I was done crying. Because I had made a decision. I would never show my weak side again. I would smile when needed. I would laugh when expected. I would play the part. Because I could do that. I had always done that.
And if I had to learn to feel behind glass, so no one could see the cracks— Then so be it. I would be perfect. Even if it hurt. Even if it meant pretending that the part of me Caelum held in his arms today had never existed at all.