Aurora's POV
The first thing I remember about my mother was her warmth. But that memory was faint, like a flicker in the dark. She died the night Lucien and I were born. The maids told me she had beautiful hair like spun silver, and eyes the color of dusk skies, but I don't remember her face. I only know what loneliness feels like.
The Valemont estate was a grand, sprawling place. Marble floors that reflected the cold light of chandeliers, long, empty corridors where our footsteps echoed like distant memories. My father, the great head of the Valemont family, married several women after my mother's death. Each one colder than the last.
They hated Lucien and me. We were reminders of a woman who had left a scar on this house, a woman they couldn't replace. My half-siblings followed their mothers' examples. They saw us as insects — dirty, weak, unworthy.
I remember rainy afternoons where Lucien and I would hide under the old oak tree in the garden, our small hands muddy, our clothes wet. It was the only place no one could find us. The rain would soak through our clothes, but at least out there, no one called us names or hit us for being born.
Aurelius… or Ariel, as we called him when we were little. He was the only one who didn't treat us like ghosts. I was five when he first sneaked us pieces of cake during one of those suffocating dinners we weren't allowed to join. He wiped Lucien's tears when he fell, and when I had bruises, he'd hand me little ointment jars without a word.
I still remember sitting beside him on the balcony one evening, watching the sun set behind the hills. The sky was ablaze with gold and crimson. I asked him if we could live in the sky where no one could reach us. He smiled, a rare thing, and told me, "One day, you'll be stronger than them, Aurora."
But days like that were rare.
Inside the house, the servants barely acknowledged us. If they did, it was to scold or shove us aside. Meals were small, sometimes skipped. The other children pulled our hair, broke Lucien's toys, laughed when I cried.
I used to envy the sunlight that poured into the tall windows, wishing I could melt into it and disappear.
Our father — he was never really a father. His eyes were like glass. Cold, unseeing. He spoke to us only in orders, or not at all. I don't remember him ever calling me by my name. To him, we were accidents, mistakes.
The worst day came after our sixth birthday. No celebration, of course. Lucien and I sat by ourselves under the same old oak tree. That night, I couldn't sleep. I wandered through the halls, the marble cold beneath my feet.
I saw him then — our father. In a dark room, speaking with strange men in black suits. Their voices low, faces harsh. And one man, standing out, with bright dyed red hair. He looked cruel, something in his grin made my stomach churn.
I stepped closer, but the red-haired man noticed. He picked me up roughly, carrying me into the room.
"Who's this?" he asked.
My father barely looked at me. "Nobody," he said.
It felt like ice through my chest.
The man dropped me, his boot hitting my side. Pain exploded, but I didn't scream. I bit my lip, tasting blood. My father turned away.
I crawled back to my room that night, clutching my bruised side, my heart breaking into so many pieces I couldn't gather them.
That was the moment I knew. In this house, I was no one.
But Lucien… he was the only light I had. His tiny hand gripping mine in the dark, his giggles when I made funny faces. We promised to run away together someday. Far from this place.
And then there was Ariel. No matter how broken I felt, he made it bearable. Not kind, not soft, but there. Always there.
That's how it was — a life of surviving, hiding, holding on to scraps of warmth where we could.
I learned to keep quiet, to lower my gaze, to endure. Rainy days were my favorite. No one looked for us in the garden then. The air smelled of earth, and the world felt clean.
Even now, lying here in the dark, I can still hear Lucien's laugh, feel Ariel's steady hand on my shoulder, see the way the sunlight turned the garden gold.
Even in this broken, empty house… we had each other.
For a while.
It was one of those rare, quiet afternoons. The kind where the sun filtered softly through the tall, arched windows of the Valemont estate, making everything glow gold like it wasn't a prison of cruelty and cold hearts.
I was sitting by the old fountain in the courtyard, the one that barely worked anymore because no one bothered to maintain it. Lucien ran around in circles, pretending he was some kind of knight, his wooden stick sword clashing against imaginary enemies.
"Look, Aurora! I defeated the bad guys!" Lucien shouted, puffing his little chest out, his brown hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. His blue eyes sparkled, the kind of light I wished he'd never lose.
I smiled, despite the ache in my chest. "Good job, Sir Lucien. Now you've saved the whole kingdom."
He plopped down next to me, panting. "You're the princess, right?"
"Of course I am," I said with a tiny smirk.
He leaned against my shoulder, his tiny frame warm beside mine. "Ariel says one day he's gonna take us far away. Somewhere better. Somewhere with no bad people."
I swallowed hard, glancing up at the sky, painted soft orange as the sun started dipping low. "Yeah," I whispered. "One day."
Lucien looked up at me. "Do you think Mama's watching us? From the sky?"
I froze a little, biting the inside of my cheek. The thought of Mama… it hurt. More than I let him see.
"I think… I think she is," I said softly, brushing his messy hair back. "And she's proud of you."
He grinned wide, the gap in his teeth showing. "Of us, too! Right?"
"Yeah," I chuckled quietly. "Of us too."
The wind picked up just a little, carrying the scent of the roses Aurelius secretly planted for us near the back of the garden. No one knew, except us three. He always acted so cold around the others, but with us… he was different. He was "Ariel," not Aurelius Valemont.
"Do you think Ariel will really take us away?" Lucien asked, his voice dropping to a whisper, as if afraid the walls would hear.
I hesitated. "He wants to. He promised."
"But Papa won't let us, right?"
I stared down at my hands, dirt and tiny scrapes on my pale skin. "No… Papa doesn't care what happens to us."
Lucien didn't argue — because he knew it was true. We both did.
Suddenly, a bell rang far in the house, signaling dinnertime. My stomach tightened. Dinner meant the stepmothers. The half-siblings. The glares, the whispers, the cruel games.
Lucien's face fell. "Do we have to go?"
I sighed, standing and brushing the dust off my skirt. "Yeah. If we don't, they'll get mad. And Ariel might get in trouble too."
He grabbed my hand tightly, and we walked back toward the towering estate together.
But as we passed the corner of the garden, I paused. I always did, by the little patch of white flowers we'd planted with Aurelius on our fourth birthday. It was half-withered now. Like no one cared anymore. But I did. Every single day.
I knelt down, fixing one of the fallen stems. Lucien watched me.
"I hate this place, Aurora," he said quietly.
"I know," I replied.
And in that moment, standing in the shadow of the mansion, holding my little brother's hand, I wished for nothing more than to run.
Dinner at the Valemont estate wasn't like the ones you read about in storybooks. It wasn't warm, or grand, or filled with cheerful conversation. It was cold. Silent. A battlefield dressed up in silverware and candlelight.
Lucien and I sat at the far end of the massive table. Too far for our father to even glance our way. The stepmothers sat near him, perfect hair, painted faces, and smiles that never reached their eyes. Our half-siblings, dressed like porcelain dolls, lined the table — but none of them spoke to us.
Aurelius sat near Father, like always. His expression was stone, eyes forward, barely reacting to the low murmurs of the wives as they gossiped or sneered at each other. But every so often, he would flick his gaze to Lucien and me. A tiny, unspoken check-in.
"Sit up straight, Aurora," one of the stepmothers hissed from across the table — Lady Verona, I think. I'd stopped remembering their names long ago.
I did, even though my stomach churned. The roast in front of me looked beautiful, but it might as well have been stone. I wasn't hungry. Not here.
Lucien fidgeted beside me, nervously picking at his bread.
"Eat, boy," another wife snapped. "You're embarrassing the family."
He flinched, and I instinctively reached under the table to squeeze his hand.
I hated them. All of them.
And the worst part was Father — sitting there, saying nothing. Not even acknowledging we existed.
I remember when we were younger, before Mama died. The house wasn't like this. There was laughter. Flowers. Aurelius would chase us around the halls, making Lucien giggle so hard he couldn't breathe. He used to let us climb onto his back and call him "Ariel," like a guardian knight from those old fairytales.
I missed that. I missed him.
After dinner, as the adults talked business and politics we weren't meant to hear, Lucien tugged on my sleeve. "Let's go see Ariel," he whispered.
I nodded. I wanted to, too.
We slipped away quietly, out into the courtyard. The sky was deep blue now, scattered with stars. The garden lights flickered softly.
We found Aurelius by the fountain, as always. He was leaning against the stone, staring up at the sky. His face looked older somehow in the dark. Tired.
"Ariel!" Lucien called, running up to him.
Aurelius turned, and a rare, soft smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Hey, little knight," he said, ruffling Lucien's hair.
I approached slower. "We… uh… we just wanted to… get away from them."
Aurelius sighed, glancing back at the towering estate. "I get it."
There was a long pause.
"Do you still mean it?" I asked suddenly. "About leaving. Taking us somewhere better."
His eyes flickered to mine — sharp, bright blue, so much like Lucien's.
"I mean it," he said quietly. "I just… I need to be strong enough first. I'm working on it."
I didn't know what that meant. But I wanted to believe him.
Lucien smiled, leaning against Aurelius's side. "We'll be a family. Right, Ariel?"
Aurelius rested a hand on Lucien's head. "Yeah. One day."
And for a moment — just a moment — it felt like maybe we could be.
But that moment never lasted long in this house.
A door creaked somewhere behind us, and we all stiffened. Aurelius straightened up. "You two better get to bed. Before they start looking."
I opened my mouth to protest — I didn't want to go back inside — but he gave me a look. The serious, protective kind. So I nodded.
"Good night, Ariel," Lucien chirped, and I echoed it softly.
"Night," Aurelius murmured.
We left, hand in hand, back through the shadows of the garden.
I remember thinking that night — Maybe tomorrow will be better.
But it wasn't.
It never was.
It was a quiet, golden afternoon. The kind where the light felt softer, like the sun was a little tired too.
Lucien and I sat under the old oak tree in the farthest corner of the garden — the place no one else ever bothered with. I liked it there. The wind made the leaves dance, and the grass always smelled fresh, like rain even when it hadn't.
Aurelius was sitting with us, leaning back against the trunk. His dark hair caught the light, and his usual sharp expression had softened. He looked… younger, almost.
I remember Lucien's tiny hands fidgeting with a stray flower, and my own legs curled up beneath me. I liked days like this. No maids barking orders. No cruel glances from the wives. No Father.
Just us.
"Ariel," Lucien piped up, using the nickname we'd given him. "Can you tell us about Mama?"
I held my breath.
Aurelius looked at us for a moment, then smiled — a small, almost sad smile. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Yeah, I can."
He shifted, sitting up a little straighter. "Your mother… she was the kindest person I've ever met. She used to call me her 'little knight,' even though I wasn't much younger than her."
"How old was she?" I asked softly.
"She was twenty-four when you two were born," he replied, his gaze distant. "And I was twenty-one."
That surprised me. She was older than him. I didn't really understand ages much, but somehow it made her seem even stronger.
"We grew up together in this house. Well… she was more like an older little sister to me." He chuckled, eyes glinting with fondness. "She was brave. Kind. Always fighting back in small ways… even when this house tried to crush her."
I swallowed hard. I wished I could remember her.
"She didn't belong here," Aurelius went on. "Your mother was special. You know why Father married her, right?"
Lucien shook his head, his blue eyes wide.
"She was of royal blood. A real, legitimate bloodline. Descended from English royalty. The Valemonts needed that. Needed her. But she never let it change her. She didn't care about titles or power. She cared about people."
His voice cracked a little at the end, but he cleared his throat.
"I was the one who named you, Aurora," he added, looking right at me. "I picked it because it means dawn… a new beginning. I thought maybe you could be the start of something better for this house."
My throat tightened.
"And your mother named Lucien," he said, reaching over to ruffle Lucien's hair. "She said it meant 'light.' Because he was the light of her life."
Lucien beamed at that.
"I miss her," he whispered.
"Me too," I said, even though my memories were just flashes — warmth, soft hands, a lullaby I couldn't remember the words to.
Aurelius leaned his head back against the tree, staring up at the branches. "She would have loved you both. So much."
We sat there for a while in silence. The wind moved the leaves. Somewhere, a bird sang.
It felt like we belonged to something, in that moment.
Even if the world outside this little patch of shade was cruel.
I remember thinking — as long as we had each other, it wouldn't hurt as bad.
But that was before everything fell apart.
Before the men in black.
Before she vanished.
Before the quiet turned into silence.
I still go back to that memory when it gets too dark.
Under that tree.
With Lucien's hand in mine.
And Ariel watching over us.
Aurora Valemont — Age 6
It was raining that night.
Not the soft kind of rain we liked to watch from the window — no, this was the heavy, cold kind. The sky wept so hard, it made the world blur. Lucien held my hand tightly as we crept down the marble hallway, past the sleeping maids and the rooms that always smelled like perfume and secrets.
We weren't supposed to be out of bed.
But we heard the voices.
"Do you hear that?" I whispered, heart pounding.
Lucien nodded, his eyes wide with fear. "They're… they're down in the courtyard."
So we followed.
We pressed ourselves against the cold wall, peeking through the half-open balcony doors. I could smell the rain and the metal tang of something I didn't understand then.
There were men down there.
Lots of them.
Dressed in black. Faces hidden.
And Father was there.
Standing tall. Proud.
His face unreadable.
But it wasn't him that made my stomach twist.
It was… Ariel.
Aurelius.
He stood beside Father, a blade in his hand. Not a toy. Not a prop.
A real weapon.
I thought my eyes were playing tricks, but they weren't. I felt Lucien's fingers dig into mine when it happened — when Aurelius moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
The men barely had time to react before he cut them down. One by one. The sound of it was awful — wet and sharp. I wanted to close my eyes. I wanted to run. But I couldn't. We both couldn't.
Lucien was shaking, tears welling up, but he didn't look away.
Neither did I.
When it was done, the ground was wet and dark and the bodies didn't move. The rain kept falling, trying to wash it all away.
And then…
Father placed a hand on Aurelius's shoulder.
And smiled.
A proud, approving smile.
As if he'd just congratulated him on winning a game.
Aurelius — our Ariel — looked up at him with cold, empty eyes.
Not the brother who told us stories under the tree.
Not the one who named me after the dawn.
Something else.
Someone else.
Lucien let out a quiet, broken sob.
I covered his mouth, pulling him back into the shadows.
We ran.
We didn't stop.
Not until we were back in our cold, shared room, under the thin blankets.
I held him all night. Neither of us spoke.
And something inside me cracked open.
That was the night I realized…
In this house, kindness was a lie.
And even angels could have blood on their hands.
[End of Chapter 8]