Splintered trust and shattered hope. Why is it that nothing I do ever makes a-
“Young Mistress Tharvethien. Your presence is required in the Lord’s study.”
The voice was cold, derisive. An undertone that did not match the respectful words spoken. Oraeliya stiffened, fingers stilling over the flower she had previously been fiddling with.
A summon from her father was never a good thing. She had learned that quite early on. Those who caught his attention, suffered.
(Though that never stopped her from trying.)
“Right. I’ll be there,” she mumbled, head lowered. The servant sneered, turning away with an imperceptible scoff.
Not quiet enough. It was still heard.
Oraeliya watched her leave. Shadows loomed, the impeccable walls of the manor surrounded by equally perfect fields.
Not a single hair out of place. Except, her gaze dropped back down, the flower.
Not for long. She knew that come morning, this flower would have ceased to exist. It was the way. It had always been. It would be better… if she took it with her? Her eyes darted around, scanning for any stray, curious glances.
She found none.
And so, she tentatively pushed her hand into the dirt. Her fingers curved, nudging at the soil’s surface on the other side. She took to mind the fragile roots of the plant, careful in her movements, in order to not harm it more than strictly necessary.
A soft, ephemeral smile flitted across her countenance, a tiny joy that instantly vanished in the face of Cieran Tharvethien.
Her elder brother.
“What are you doing?”
It was not a question. Not really.
He knew what she was doing. Had witnessed the entire process. Had chosen not to announce himself until this very moment, when Oraeliya, forgetting where and who she was, let herself feel a brief moment of respite.
Of hope.
“C-Cieran,” she stuttered out.
She had not expected to see him here. In fact, none of her siblings usually ever hung around this area. These bounds, further away from the main estate, bordering the dark woods and mountains, was considered beneath them.
Instead, they roamed the inner grounds, dallying around the drawing rooms, libraries or fountains if they felt like basking in the sunlight.
“W-what are y-you doing here?”
Cieran scowled, a dark thundercloud of gloom and doom. A muscle spasmed, twitching as he stared pointedly at her filthy hands, cradling a dirty, common weed.
Her fingers curled - a reflex. She forced herself to abort the motion, knowing all it would do was further irritate her brother.
“What else? Father called for us, and it is just you left,” he hissed. In other words, he specifically came looking for her.
Her already pale complexion whitened even further. “I- I got the news mere seconds ago…”
“And yet here you are, digging up trash! I suppose you simply cannot help it. Reminds you of yourself?”
Oraeliya flinched. The words, though harsh, remained true. Silent, meek, she did not move from her spot.
Cieran’s gaze flickered towards her dress, stained from the dust and miscellaneous particles of the ground. “Revolting. Unfortunately, father will be even more displeased should we take more time. Now come.”
She nodded, rising slowly.
“And get rid of that godforsaken plant!”
It was like the flower knew what was coming. Its petals wilted, drooping - crinkled, brown, dying.
Under the piercing eyes of her brother, she tilted her palm, letting it fall to the ground. A mangled mess of leaves, stems, and fading yellow.
So weightless it had not even disturbed the air.
Yes, she thought sorrowfully, she should have known nothing good could have risen from her actions.
Even a flower was not allowed to bloom.
(Why would she be any different?)
Her footsteps were light, soundless next to the reverberating echoes of her brother’s strides. Servants and aides scurried past, heads bowed in fear, busy with their own respective tasks.
You could never tell that she was a Tharvethien. Not physically, no, lookwise she was as Tharvethien as one could get.
It was the demeanor, the aura, bearing and presence that a Tharvethien commanded. Something she failed spectacularly at.
A fact her sister made a pastime of pointing out.
She did not know why father had called for all of them. Usually, it was Andreas, or Cieran. Rarely, he might ask for Ochyllia. But never her. And never all of them.
She kept her mouth shut. It was easier, less painful this way.
(Though sometimes, she made mistakes. Let impulse take over, syllables spilling before she could think it over and realise how-)
They halted in front of a set of double doors. Opulent, grand, intimidating. The very embodiment of the Tharvethien name.
Cieran stepped forward, guards pulling open the doors before he could voice his demand. He strolled confidently into the room, not an ounce of hesitation, contrary to Oraeliya, who instinctively shrank back from the feeling of eyes.
There.
At the very end of the room, an imposing silhouette bracketed by the throne-like chair, and dark, mahogany desk, sat Kaelum Tharvethien.
Her father.
Kaelum’s gaze was frigid. Not angry, not forgiving, it just …was. Somehow, that made it worse.
“Oh my. How nice of you, sister, to finally grace us with your presence,” came the breezy giggles of a sardonic young woman.
Ochyllia was beautiful. Hair like spun silk, skin radiant as a polished statue, identical in every aspect to Oraeliya herself. Apart from the eyes. While Ochyllia’s resembled the serrated, jagged edges of a raw tanzanite, Oraeliya’s were fractured topazes, all refracting light and shattered pieces.
“Ochyllia.”
That was a warning. One her sister immediately heeded.
It was funny that this was the first time she had ever seen her family in one place. And she still had no clue as to why.
Andreas was as noble as ever. As the eldest, he had a reputation to uphold. A reputation that he felt was marred by her. Oraeliya. Which was why strained tensions existed between them, and why this was probably the first time she had seen him in nearly a year.
She tried not to take it too much to heart. She knew she was a disappointment. Even her twin, often regarded as the ‘better’ one, too sometimes faced his disapproval. Such as a few moments prior. Though the reprimands Ochyllia received were far less than hers.
Something she could never understand, no matter how hard she tried.
(There was a period of time, when she tried to ‘become’ Ochyllia. It didn’t work. It didn’t matter how long she observed her, studied her, she somehow still couldn’t meet the expecta-)
“Oraeliya.”
She startled, her father’s deep rumble never ceasing to send her heart racing.
“Do you know why you are here?”
Kaelum’s stare was penetrating. It had a way of stripping you down until you were nothing. Until you felt like you were nothing.
A bug. Nuisance, useless, hindrance. That was the feeling she got from her father.
“No…” she shook her head, uneasy, inflexible movements.
Kaelum stood up, rounding the corner of the desk, stalking up to her. Oraeliya could feel sweat forming, a primal response to the threat that was coming towards her. He stopped, barely a foot away, towering above her like a vengeful god. “Today, I received a letter from the Crown Prince.”
She blinked.
Out of all things, this was not at all in any of the scenarios she had conjured up to explain this deviation.
“He requested a change in fiancée.”
Oh.
That was not entirely unexpected. She had known, for a long time, that Aleron did not like her. She still hoped, because, what was she if she could not even keep an engagement? She contributed nothing to the household, and now, even marriage was something off the table. She did not understand… She did everything. She obeyed Aleron’s every order, sent him gifts, gave him consideration, so …why?
“He said that Ochyllia would be a better match.”
Of course.
Ochyllia.
Ochyllia was smirking, that triumphant gleam in her eyes that Oraeliya had always hated, since they were little children. Ripping her gaze away, she stared blankly out the window instead.
That grabbed their attention.
“But- Father!” Ochyllia protested, protests that were seconded by an incredulous Cieran, who could not possibly fathom why his father would not agree.
“Think.” Andreas snapped, molten fury in his expression. “Where will the prestige of the Tharvethien name go if we switch a decade-long agreement because of a single complaint?!”
“The Crown Princess is still going to be a Tharvethien so I do-”
“Of course you don’t see.” Andreas features twisted in contempt. His words were sharp, merciless to the reddening hue of the growing embarrassment and indignance of Ochyllia. “We are the house of Tharvethien. We do not hand out daughters for people to pick and choose like peasants at a vegetable market.”
Cieran pursed his lips.
Ochyllia was utterly enraged. Earlier playfulness a remnant in the far, distant past. “Bu-”
“Even if Oraeliya and the Prince were to have their engagement annulled, you will never be the next bride.”
It made sense. It was all about politics and how aristocrats interacted. If Ochyllia were to replace her, it did not matter if normally, people saw her as the ‘better’ twin, because the flurries of whispers and rumours would never cease.
“Oraeliya. I will not say this twice. Either find a way to grasp the Prince’s heart or get out of this household."
Her eyes widened. She- couldn’t.
What did they think she was doing all this time? Nothing she tried had ever worked, and instead, she had to watch him drift closer to her - identical - twin, who did not do much more than smile.
How could she beat someone who could steal hearts just by smiling?
She-
“Yes father.”
Kaelum did not bother to respond. With a swish, he resumed his previous placement on the ‘throne,’ dismissing his children with nary a glance.
Ochyllia stormed out, but not before glaring daggers at her.
Oraeliya knew that for the next coming months, maybe even years, Ochyllia was not going to give her a moment of peace.
Andreas was the next to leave. He passed her, completely overlooking her as if she was not even worthy of a tiny shred of his acknowledgement.
“How disappointing.” Cieran rolled his eyes, cracking his neck. “At least it’s over.”
That left Oraeliya, alone, with her father. Bowing quickly, she hastened out of the room, thoughts whirring a million piles per second.
What was she supposed to do now?
Today was fine. An ordinary day. Mother refuses to look at me. I still cannot tell why. She is fine with sister, and sister looks the same as me. So why won’t she look at m- Father is as busy as always. I haven’t seen him in days. The same with Andreas. I wonder what they are doing all the time?
I tried to play with Cieran. He was with his friends though, so he wasn’t really very happy with my intervention. I suppose I’ll try another day.
I found a bird. It was injured. It was lying under a tree, near the edge… I know I’m not supposed to go there. But you can keep a secret, won’t you?
She is with me now. She cannot fly, I think her wing is broken. I tried to find some books, but regrettably our huge collection proves its uselessness once again. I do not understand why we have so many tomes on history, yet not even one can be spared for medicine. It is fine though. She seems happy. I’m happy too.
I think I will name her—