Chapter Text
16 Midyear 4E 203
Grelod’s nasal, shrill voice echoed through the small, dirty orphanage, chastising one poor boy under her unfortunate care. It sounded like she’d found an apple he had been hiding. A solid THWAP followed by a cry as Grelod hit him on the bottom. Stealing food, she accused. The boy stifled his sobs, knowing she would beat him more and harder if he cried too loud or long. Grelod’s abuse had gotten worse since Aventus had run away.
From her bed in the far corner, Kirsli watched through the veil of hair covering her face. She did not want to draw Grelod’s ire yet. She knew her moment was coming all too soon. It was her name day. Or what she had always been told was her name day… before she ended up in Honorhall. Kirsli shook her head, remembering. It was only supposed to be for a little while, her stepfather had told her when he dropped her off. He and her mother were headed to Whiterun Hold in search of work. That was ten years ago. They never came back. Had it all been lies? Had they tossed her aside like the garbage, just as Grelod always said?
It was all too overwhelming as Grelod stormed her way. “Get up, you lazy bag of bones. Do you think you are going to lay around in bed today?”
Kirsli scrambled off the bed, barely catching the blue dress and brown boots the old woman threw at her.
“Get dressed,” Grelod ordered. “Today is your last day here. You have seen eighteen naming days. It’s time for you to go out into that wide, horrible world out there and no longer be my problem. One less mouth for me to feed.”
Grelod’s assistant, Constance Michel, joined them. “Should we not let her eat something before you shove her out the door?” Constance turned a sympathetic eye to Kirsli. Riften was not for the faint at heart. The city was foul and corrupt, practically run by the Thieves’ Guild.
“Do not tell me how to run my orphanage, Constance. I have had enough of your constant coddling of these guttersnipes. Nobody wants them, that’s why they are here. It is time for her to go, and whether you like it or not, she is going.” Grelod’s face turned a mottled shade of red. She swung her attention back to her young charge. “Now you, get dressed. And do not be all day. I have things to do.”
The old headmistress marched away, returning momentarily to throw a small leather knapsack at Kirsli. Constance stepped closer to the younger girl, lowering her voice. “Remember what we talked about, yes?”
Kirsli picked up the knapsack. She had had it with her when her stepfather dropped her off. Now, she would be leaving here with it. She quickly removed the linen gown she’d slept in and stuffed it in the knapsack. Then she pulled the blue dress with a brown corset over her head. Constance helped her adjust it. Her fingers shook slightly as she pulled on the knee-high brown boots.
“Yes, I remember. You said to stay out of the Ratway, most of all.” Kirsli licked her lips, glancing around the room she’d called home for the last ten years. Uneasiness settled in the pit of her stomach. She had been dreading this day and had even counted the days. It surprised her that Old Grelod hadn’t forced her out early, especially since Aventus ran away and another orphan had been added.
“You’ll need to find work. Try to ask around the shops to see if any of them need an extra hand. Haelga at the Bunkhouse provides beds for most of the workers in the city. If that fails, remember what I taught you about alchemy and ingredients. They are everywhere. Flowers, butterfly wings, certain bird’s eggs, plants, fungi. Depending on what it is, they can be sold to the alchemist down in the canal for a decent price. Wood can be chopped for the local sawmill, or crops can be picked for the farms, though those are outside the city walls. I just don’t want to see a sweet girl like you end up prey for the Thieves’ Guild. Or worse,” Constance smoothed a lock of red hair away from Kirsli's face. She lowered her voice and handed her a small burlap bag. “This is for you. It’s not much, but I managed to grab a loaf of bread, a small wheel of cheese, and a few apples. There are also some cotton strips in there for when you have your menses. I had hoped to grab a potion or two, but Grelod must have hidden them.”
Kirsli reached beneath her bed and lifted a broken floorboard to reveal a secret stash. She flashed a watery smile at Constance, then stuffed it in her knapsack. She was trying to be brave. “Thank you for everything.” She briefly hugged her. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop fidgeting. Nervous energy had taken over. She dashed about the room, hugging the other children before Grelod could stop her.
Then it was time to go.
The old headmistress, known by all as Grelod the Kind, dragged her to the door and promptly pushed her out into the rain. “Good riddance, girl!” Grelod sneered just before slamming the heavy doors behind her.
Kirsli shivered as she gazed at the seedy city through the curtain of pouring rain. To her right sat Mistveil Keep, the seat of power for Jarl Laila Law-Giver. Beyond the keep were the large houses owned by some of the more prominent citizens of the city. The Black-Briars. The Snow-Shods. The market stretched out in front of her across the canal, where various vendors hawked their wares. Patrons browsed their goods and meandered from stall to stall. Fear gripped her, holding her tight, leaving her unable to move. She had never been so close to so many people before. The orphanage had been such an insular little place. Only a few people visited, and the ones who had found themselves discouraged by Grelod.
Her heart pounded like a drum in her chest.
A passing guard who had watched Grelod shove her out into her rain strolled by and prodded her with the hilt of his sword. “No lollygaggin’,” he drolly quipped, shoving her away from the orphanage. “Move along, girl.”
She let out a small squeak, bolting away from him. Unease lent mobility to her paralyzed limbs. She ran unthinkingly, ending up near a small graveyard. Her heart pounded in her ears. She dashed beneath an archway to escape the pouring rain. Just what was she going to do? She had no coin, nowhere to sleep at night, and only a tiny food sack. How would she survive long enough to find work?
A tear slipped down her face.
What was she to do?
☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆
Kirsli spent the night huddling in a corner under an archway beneath the Temple of Mara. She stared wide-eyed into the darkness, unable to close her eyes as every noise sent them flying back open again. She curled up as tight as she could, trying to avoid the scurrying rats that came too close to her, drawn in by the scent of food and her fear. She had never been so cold in her life or so hungry. Grelod hadn’t fed them much at the orphanage, but it was more than what she had now. She had allowed herself a few bites of bread and a tiny chunk of cheese. Her food had to last until she could find a job.
The rains ceased sometime near dawn. When the sun rose over Lake Honrich and its warmth washed over the rain-soaked earth, it was like a renewal. The air was crisp and fresh if you weren’t standing downwind of the smelter.
The market stirred as the vendors opened their stalls for another day’s business. Determined not to get scared again, Kirsli forced herself from her hiding spot. Her back ached in protest as she righted herself. Tonight, she’d have to find a different, more comfortable spot to rest, maybe even sleep, if lucky. She slowly crossed the courtyard before the Temple of Mara, turning back to look at it. A modest structure stood before her, its walls made of rough-hewn timber and adorned with simple carvings. Despite being dedicated to one of the Nine Divines, there were no grand displays or opulent decorations. Instead, a sense of humble reverence radiated from the building as if it held a sacred secret within its unassuming exterior. She would have expected something grander, but maybe it wasn’t because it was in Riften. If it were grand, the Guild would pick it clean. Or maybe they already had? That wasn’t a comforting thought. Kirsli shivered as she came to a bridge that crossed over into the market.
The vendors' cacophonous cries assailed her. Each one seemed to speak at once in hopes of outdoing the other.
“Buy armor and live to tell about it.”
“Beautiful baubles and gleaming gemstones over here!”
“Rare trinkets and the finest oddities from Morrowind!”
“See into other people’s thoughts or learn a library’s worth of knowledge with a bottle of my genuine Falmer Blood Elixir, only twenty septims a bottle.”
Though she had no money to spend, she timidly joined the other browsers, perusing various goods on display. She took her time. She didn’t have anywhere to go or anywhere she had to be. Her tummy rumbled as she neared the food cart vendor. She briefly made eye contact with the female Dunmer merchant before moving away quickly. The temptation to grab something and run was too great. She doubted any of these merchants needed to hire help, so she would have to check at the Bee and Barb. She also knew of the Bunkhouse and the Meadery. Riften was also home to a fishery and general goods store. Hopefully, someone would be willing to take her on. She wasn’t afraid of hard work. Grelod had beaten that into her.
Kirsli crossed through the market, passing by the redheaded man selling the Falmer Blood potions. Something she’d never heard of. What was Falmer Blood, and why would anyone drink it? The redheaded man stepped into her path, blocking her way, “A little light on coin, eh now, lass? Maybe you’d like a taste?”
She backed up in dismay, “No, I don’t want any of that.” Then she scrambled away as fast as her feet could carry her.
The blacksmith, Balimund, who had been watching from his forge, shook his head and walked into the market. “Leave the girl alone, Brynjolf. She’s too young for the likes of you to get hold of.”
Brynjolf grinned, “That’s up to her, not you.”
Balimund glared at the thief and returned to his forge. He had orders to complete, and he knew it did him no good to put his nose where it didn’t belong. It infuriated him when the Guild preyed upon the innocent, turning them into thieves or worse. More than one of the orphans had left Honorhall only to become a criminal. He had spared Asbjorn when he had taken him under his wing as his apprentice. It would be a shame if that happened to this girl.
☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆
Kirsli stopped running when she reached the town wall. It put her behind Haelga’s Bunkhouse. She didn’t know who that man was nor what he wanted, but something told her it wasn’t anything good. Her stomach growled loudly. She sank to her knees, trying to hold back the tears. She was hungry. She was scared. And she wished she wasn’t all alone. But wishing for something wouldn’t make it happen. She had to make it happen. She had to have the courage to do that. She wiped her face and forced herself to her feet. Mud stained her dress, but she had no way to clean it and no other dress to change into. It would have to do.
Gathering herself, she walked around the front of the Bunkhouse and opened the door. A woman with blonde hair stood at the counter while a girl a few years older than Kirsli swept the taproom floor. Kirsli approached the counter, “Hello, I’m Kirsli. I used to live at Honorhall. Constance said I might be able to find a bed here while I look for work.”
Haelga’s brow furrowed, “Constance told you that, did she? So am I to assume you don’t have any money right now?”
Kirsli shook her head, “I have to find work.”
“This is not a charity. I can only accept paying customers. Besides, the Bunkhouse has no vacancy. There’s always Beggar’s Row, down in the canal.” Haelga retorted snidely.
“You wouldn’t happen to be hiring. I can cook. I can clean. I can do laundry.” Kirsli replied.
“If you’re looking for work, sweetheart, I’ll put you to work… in my bed.” A male Dunmer called out as he obscenely grabbed his crotch.
Kirsli flushed bright red, looking away from him. The girl already sweeping the floor hissed at him, chastising him to mind his manners.
Haelga shook her head, “I already have a worker for that. You’ll have to look elsewhere. Sorry.”
“Thank you,” Kirsli mumbled, heading for the door. She could look forward to no bed for the night and no job. Her next stop was the Bee & Barb. The Argonian innkeeper laughed in her face when she asked about a job and demanded ten septims a night for a room. She inquired at the Meadery next, only to be tossed out by Maven Black Briar’s bodyguard.
Bolli, the owner of the Fishery, expressed his regret that he couldn’t hire her or anyone else until the contract went through for Markarth. He explained that without the Silver-Bloods' official seal and investment in the Fishery, he wouldn't be able to afford the expansion he’d planned, and his current workers would continue to work extra. As a last-ditch effort, he offered Kirsli payment, modest, but honest, if she would be willing to act as a courier and hand-deliver the contract to Kleppr at the Silver-Blood Inn in Markarth. The trip, however, was long and perilous, cutting across half of Skyrim’s wilds, and Kirsli, with no horse, no coin for carriage fare, and no intention of wandering into Forsworn territory alone, had to decline with a heavy heart. Bolli nodded in understanding, though disappointment was plain on his weathered face.
Her luck remained nonexistent. She wandered around the city's perimeter, picking alchemy ingredients as Constance suggested. She found different kinds of mountain flowers, nightshade, lavender, and butterfly wings and hastily plucked a deathbell from someone’s garden. She knew it was wrong, but she was hungry.
Descending to the lower walkway next to the canal, she walked around until she found Elgrim’s Elixirs. This had to be the alchemist, she thought, as she opened the heavy door and entered. She was greeted by a friendly older woman, “Hello, dear. What can we do for you today?”
Unsure of how to go about it, as she’d never bartered before, she laid out the ingredients she’d found on the counter in front of her. “I’d like to sell these, if possible.”
“You gathered these yourself, child.”
Kirsli nodded her head. “I need to buy food. Grelod threw me out of Honorhall because I’m of age now. I don’t know what else to do.” Tears nearly flooded Kirsli’s eyes.
“What’s your name, dearie?”
She sniffled, “Kirsli.”
The older woman reached out, tucked her hand under Kirsli’s chin, and raised it so she could look into her eyes, “Kirsli… that is a pretty name. You are a pretty girl, too. I am Hafjorg. My husband is Elgrim. Let me see what you have here. There is a deathbell, nightshade, lavender, red, blue, and purple mountain flowers, and blue butterfly wings, monarch butterfly wings. It's a decent selection. I can offer you 20 septims for all of it.”
Kirsli looked in awe at the coins the older woman handed her. She’d never seen so many in her life. “Thank you, Hafjorg.”
“You are welcome, dearie. We won’t always be able to buy ingredients from you, but we will do what we can,” the older woman replied, sorting her purchases into the ingredient bins.
“Your shop wouldn't need any help, would it?” Kirsli inquired, hopeful.
“Sorry, dearie. Elgrim has an apprentice already, and I wonder sometimes how we even make enough money to keep the door open as it is. Times are tough right now. If there were a way I could help you, I would.” Hafjorg shook her head. She hated to see someone so young out on the streets without anywhere to go.
Kirsli tried not to feel dejected, but it was hard. “I understand. I’ll get by somehow.” She turned away, walking to the door.
Hafjorg came out from behind the counter, joining her by the door. She placed her hand on Kirsli’s shoulder. “Do yourself a favor, child. Don’t fall in with the Thieves’ Guild. No good can come of that.”
“You aren’t the first person to tell me that in the last two days. Thank you again, Hafjorg.” Her stomach rumbled loudly. “I’m going now.” She slipped out the door and up the stairs to the Bee & Barb. It was the only place she could get a hot meal. She hated the thought of going in there, but as her stomach protested again, she knew she had to.
Before entering, she stopped briefly to knock some dried mud off her dress. Once inside, she took a seat at a table. The Argonian she’d spoken to earlier, Keerava, bellowed out from behind the bar, “You better have coin, girl. There are no handouts here.”
The Argonian male, Talen-Jei, approached her table, “Tables are for paying customers.”
“I can pay. I’d like to order a meal,” she timidly replied. “What’s on the menu?”
He grinned down at her, “Depends. Are you hungry? Thirsty or both?”
“Both,” she answered as he handed a menu to her. She perused it briefly. “I’ll have the beef stew and milk to drink.”
“Milk-drinker,” he muttered under his breath as he walked away. “Coming right up.”
☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆
The stew was thick and hearty, brimming with generous chunks of potato and carrot, the beef tender and plentiful, steeped in a rich, savory broth that warmed Kirsli from the inside out. She ate slowly, savoring each mouthful like it was a luxury, because to her, it was. Every bite was sheer bliss, a small miracle in a bowl. Never in her life had she tasted anything so comforting. Back at Honorhall, Grelod’s so-called stew had been little more than gruel, thin, gray, and sad, with barely a sliver of meat and the occasional wilted vegetable, if you were lucky. This… this was food meant to be enjoyed, not endured.
When her bowl was empty and the last of the milk gone, Kirsli noticed the taproom was filling fast. The male Argonian who’d served her swung by her table and gave her a tight smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “If you’re finished, I’ll need the table. We’ve got others waiting.” His tone wasn’t cruel, just tired and maybe a little suspicious.
Kirsli rose without a word, slipping out into the cooling dusk. The breeze coming off the lake had teeth now, and she rubbed her arms as she wandered past the Bunkhouse, eyeing the shadowed corners for someplace – anyplace – better than the temple arch she’d huddled beneath the night before.
To the left of the Bunkhouse stood a house facing the lake, clearly abandoned. The front door was locked tight, but when she circled the building, she found one of the windows slightly ajar. With a careful glance over her shoulder, Kirsli slipped inside.
The place smelled of dust and damp wood. Cobwebs clung to every corner like skeletal lace. No one had lived here in ages. But it was dry. And quiet.
She left the back door, facing the lake, unlocked. If she was careful at night, she could come and go without being seen. The real prize, though, lay down a narrow creaking ladder. The basement was cold but sheltered, and tucked beneath the ladder, she found a small alcove with a storage chest and enough room for her bedroll. Hidden. Safe. For now.
Earlier, before she found the house, she'd stopped by The Pawned Prawn in hopes of securing something better to sleep on. The first thing she noticed in the shop was an urn, tall, strangely ornate, like it didn’t belong. The second was the way the couple running the place didn’t quite match: Bersi Honey-Hand had greeted her kindly, explaining the name of the shop with a little grin, while his wife muttered curses about street rats under her breath.
Still, Bersi had a bedroll in stock. Five septims, much more than she wanted to spend. She hesitated, weighing illness against hunger, both of which were becoming too familiar. Finally, she handed over the coin.
As she turned to leave, Bersi gently caught her wrist. He slipped two septims back into her palm and murmured, “Don’t say anything. I’ve heard about you. I can’t hire you, but I can help. Just... stay clear of the Guild, lass.”
Kirsli gave him a watery smile and nodded, disappearing into the twilight.
Now, curled up in the shelter of the empty house, the soft furs of the bedroll beneath her, she stared up at the wooden beams overhead. The stars were hidden from her view, but the silence felt like a blessing. Sleep didn’t come easily, there were still too many strange noises, too many what-ifs, but at least her knapsack was tucked against her chest, and she wasn’t shivering in the dirt. It wasn’t much. But it was something.
☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆
The quiet didn’t last. At some point in the night, long after her eyes had grown heavy and the weight of the day had pulled her close to sleep, a sound roused her. Sharp. Sudden. A creak from the floorboards above. Kirsli froze. She held her breath, heart thudding so loud in her ears it was all she could hear. She strained to listen. Another creak, soft, but deliberate. Not the moaning of an old house settling. This was movement.
Her fingers found the hilt of the dull iron knife she had found upstairs. It wasn’t much, a kitchen blade, but it was something. She pressed herself tighter into the alcove beneath the ladder, the shadows swallowing her whole.
Silence returned. Then another soft thump. Footsteps? She couldn’t be sure. Time dragged. Eventually, the sounds faded. Either someone had left, or they’d never come down in the first place. Either way, she didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare breathe too deeply. Not yet.
She stayed curled there until the first rays of dawn began to sneak through the gaps in the wooden slats near the ceiling. Her limbs ached, her fingers numb, but she’d survived the night. And more importantly, no one had found her.
Later, she’d wonder if it had just been the wind, or some curious animal, or maybe even her own mind conjuring ghosts from the dark. But at the time? At the time, it had felt real enough to kill her.
☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆
The chill of morning engulfed her, rousing her before the sun had fully risen. Kirsli stretched stiff limbs, wincing at the ache in her shoulders and the crick in her neck from sleeping half-curled beneath the stairs. She hadn’t meant to doze off again, but sleep had finally claimed her in short, uneasy bursts. Now, light filtered through the cracks above, dim and gray, but enough to see by.
She waited, listening. No footsteps. No voices. Just the faint lap of water from the lake outside. She rose quietly, rolling up her bedroll and slipping it back into her pack. She crept up the basement ladder with practiced care, placing her feet against the edges of each rung to muffle the creaks.
The main floor was just as she remembered, dusty, cold, and empty. Almost. Something glinted on the hearth. She crept closer. A bottle of Black-Briar Mead sat on the mantle, still half full. Dust hadn't had time to gather on the glass. Beside it, an iron dagger rested at a slight angle, blade clean, but not recently polished. The kind of weapon a traveler might leave within easy reach, just in case.
Kirsli’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t seen those the night before. Someone else had been here. She glanced toward the door that led to the rear exit, then toward the front. Still locked. No fresh footprints in the dust… but someone had passed through. Quietly. Perhaps while she slept.
She didn’t take the dagger. If it belonged to someone else, they’d miss it. And the last thing she needed was to give them a reason to look for her. Instead, she eased the back door open and slipped out into the crisp morning air. Mist curled over the lake like breath on cold glass, and the scent of pine and damp earth clung to everything.
She headed down to the lake behind the house to wash her face and rinse her mouth. Cold water shocked her fully awake, and she blinked up at the rising sun. One thing was certain now: she’d have to be more careful. Whoever shared this place might not be as generous as Bersi Honey-Hand.
☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆
Kirsli returned to the house just before dusk, having spent the day doing odd jobs where she could, staying out of sight when she couldn’t. Mostly she picked crops, leeks and potatoes, for Addvild at the Snow-Shod farm. He paid her a small wage, gave her a basket of apples and told her she could return tomorrow if she’d like.
The house looked untouched, the door exactly as she left it. Still, she paused. She couldn’t say why, exactly. A feeling, maybe. That prickle on the back of her neck like someone was watching. She shook it off. She was being paranoid. Had to be. She crept down to the basement, rolled out her bedroll again, and sat with her back to the wall. As night fell, so did her guard, if only a little. She didn’t sleep, but she rested, eyes open, knife nearby.
This time, no footsteps. No creaks. But the next morning, when she climbed to the main floor, the Black-Briar bottle was gone. The dagger was still there. Its position had changed. It now rested parallel to the edge of the mantle. Perfectly aligned. Deliberately so. Someone wanted her to know.
Her throat dried as realization set in: whoever was in this house knew she was here. And if they’d wanted her gone, they could have made that happen already. She didn't touch the blade. Instead, she left a small offering on the hearth, an apple. A silent truce. It wasn’t much but it was all she had.
That night, a second dagger appeared beside the first. Not a threat. A message.
☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆
The third night, Kirsli didn’t sleep. She sat curled in the shadows beneath the stairs, knife across her lap, her ear tuned to every creak and groan of the house. The daggers on the mantle had moved again. Not just once. Twice. Each time, placed with exacting care. And now... two of them. One pristine. One notched and old, its grip worn to smoothness.
This wasn’t coincidence. This was a message. She had no illusions about her place in the world. She was a stowaway. A stray. And someone else had claimed this place first. And they knew she was here.
The silence of the house deepened as the sky darkened. The only sound was the steady lap of water on the lake outside.
Then – a footstep. Light. Controlled.
She barely had time to register it before a voice slid through the dark.
“Sleep quietly, little shadow. You are not the one I stalk.”
Kirsli froze. The voice came from just above the ladder. Smooth. Calm. And distinctly reptilian.
Her eyes adjusted just enough to catch a shape, tall and lean, with a silhouette that curved into a crest of horns and a tail trailing behind him. Argonian. Leather armor. Black as night. The gleam of a gold eye in the dark. She gripped her knife tighter.
The Argonian didn’t move toward her. Didn’t flinch. He simply watched. Studied. “I know who you are,” he said. “And who you ran from. That name all the children fear.”
Kirsli felt her blood run cold.
“Grelod.” He said it like a curse. Or a promise.
Then, without another word, he turned and vanished into the upper floor like smoke fading in the wind.
☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆
The news hit Riften like a whisper that turned into a storm. Grelod the Kind was dead. Stabbed in the night. No sign of forced entry. No witnesses. No screams. No suspects. Just a lifeless body sprawled in her quarters at Honorhall, throat cut cleanly. Too clean for a crime of passion. Not sloppy like a thug’s work. This had been precise. Efficient. Professional.
Kirsli overheard it in fragments, dockworkers whispering over morning fish, Haelga gossiping near the Temple, even a few guards shaking their heads like it was some unsolvable mystery. Riften, for all its corruption, hadn’t seen a murder this... silent in a long while. But Kirsli knew. She said nothing. That evening, when she returned to the lake house – her quiet refuge – she saw the hearth had changed again. The two daggers were gone.
In their place sat one. A single blade, balanced on a square of black cloth. It gleamed faintly in the firelight. At first, she thought it was the same one, but this was different. Smaller. Sleeker. Meant for a smaller hand. Beneath it, carved faintly into the mantle with the tip of a blade: Now your shadows are your own.
☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆
The following day, Kirsli made her way to Honorhall Orphanage. She hadn’t planned to go. Had told herself she wouldn’t. But her feet carried her anyway. The atmosphere had changed. The air no longer choked with fear or misery. Children played in the yard. Laughed. She hadn’t heard laughter in that yard in years. Inside, she found Constance Michel, eyes red-rimmed, but smiling through it. The woman was overwhelmed, maybe even grieving in her own quiet way, but she welcomed Kirsli with open arms.
“You can visit whenever you like,” Constance said softly, squeezing her hand. “This place... it can be better now. I’ll make sure of it.”
Kirsli nodded, but said little. There were no tears. No closure. Just... quiet. Later that night, back at the house, she approached the blade on the mantle. She picked it up. It felt lighter than she expected. Balanced. It sat in her hand like it belonged there.
For a long while, she just stared at it. Then, with slow, deliberate care, she mimicked the movements she’d seen the guards use during training drills in the keep’s courtyard. Clumsy at first. Awkward. But she practiced. Again. And again. Because someone had ended Grelod's reign. Not for coin. Not for vengeance. But because a brave child dared to perform a dark ritual heard by the Void.
It gave Kirsli hope for a better future, one in which she may never fear the dark again.
☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆