They had called her a curse.
A shadow. A silence best left at the edge of the manor.
But now… she was no longer hidden.
Lord Auren no longer denied her.
He didn't announce it. He didn't hold her hand in court. But his change was felt.
He walked beside her in the garden.
He ordered her a proper cloak.
He looked at her when she spoke.
And that was enough for the whispers to begin again.
Different whispers. Louder now.
The court stirred, restless.
Old men with old power whispered of danger.
"You give a ghost a voice, it will start to sing," muttered Lord Renviel, his fingers trembling on a silver goblet.
"She is not just a child. She is a symbol."
A symbol of grief. Of Elira.
Of the war they had not yet won.
Some feared her. Others feared Auren's heart softening.
But Lady Siora—his sister, the sharpest blade at court—remained silent.
Until the day she saw Lyra for the first time.
It happened by chance.
Siora was crossing the courtyard on her way to the eastern wing, when she paused near the annex garden.
Laughter echoed. Small, high, and bright.
She turned.
And saw her.
Lyra twirled in the sunlight. A crown of crushed flowers sat crooked in her tangled hair, her hands stained with earth and joy.
Siora froze.
For a breath—for a blink—she saw Elira.
Not Elira the noble wife.
But Elira the girl, her childhood friend who once ran barefoot across the riverbanks, who pressed daisies into her hair, who believed the world could be healed with gentleness.
The resemblance struck like lightning.
Not just in face, but in soul.
Siora staggered back, breath caught in her throat.
And without a word, she turned and fled to her chambers, locking the door behind her.
That night, she wept for the first time in years.
The next morning, a quiet summons was delivered to the annex.
Lyra blinked at the message.
"Me?" she asked.
Mira nodded. "Lady Siora wishes to see you."
She had never been inside the west wing.
With trembling fingers, she tucked something behind her back and walked the long stone hallway alone. She was barefoot. She always was.
The grand door opened for her.
Lady Siora stood by the window, hands clasped behind her back, expression unreadable.
Lyra stepped in, small and wide-eyed.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Siora turned and saw what Lyra had been hiding.
It was a flower. Crushed and imperfect, petals wilted from clutching.
"I brought it for you," Lyra whispered, holding it out. "You looked sad yesterday."
Siora took it with trembling fingers.
Her throat closed again.
"Thank you," she said. Her voice broke. "That was… very kind."
Then she rang a small bell.
Within moments, a tray of sweets arrived—honeyed nuts, cream cakes, warm milk.
"Would you like to eat with me?" Siora asked.
Lyra's eyes lit up. She climbed onto the low divan awkwardly, sitting cross-legged and reaching for the smallest pastry.
But before she ate, she broke it in half and offered one side to Siora.
And then to the servant.
It was nothing.
And yet… everything.
Siora sat, watching her nibble with sticky fingers, her legs swinging above the floor.
A memory bloomed again—Elira, at eight, offering her an apple with both hands, smiling through chipped teeth.
"You have her heart," Siora whispered. The words surprised her—sharp and tender at once.
Lyra looked up. "Who?"
"Someone I lost," Siora said softly. Then she placed her hand over Lyra's. "But now… maybe I have something back."
That evening, Siora went to Auren's study.
He was reading again, candlelight flickering off iron-bound tomes.
When she entered, he didn't look up. He already knew why she was there.
"She reminds you of Elira," he said.
Siora didn't deny it.
"She is Elira," she murmured, "and yet… not. She's something else. Someone new. Someone needed."
Auren looked up at that. His eyes were distant.
"She was supposed to die, Siora. When Elira did. That's what I told myself."
"And yet she didn't."
"She lived."
"And she's still living," Siora said, stepping closer. "Don't waste that again."
Her voice trembled—only slightly.
"She offered me a flower today. Said I looked sad."
She gave a breathless laugh. "Do you know how long it's been since someone saw me?"
Auren didn't answer. He only nodded once.
Slow. Heavy. Like a man waking up from too long a dream.
And like that, the tide began to shift.
Not all at once.
But where once eyes turned cold, they now looked curious.
Where once she was ignored, she was now tolerated—then greeted—then smiled at.
The steward of arms gifted her a tiny wooden sword.
The court healer checked her bruises and gave her a charm for sleep.
A tired old noble told her a joke once—and she laughed until she snorted, and everyone did too.
Some still whispered. Some still feared.
But Lyra was no longer invisible.
She had stepped out of the shadow cast by grief and into the light of her own becoming.
And unknowingly, was already beginning to change the fate of a house.