[Author Notes:I write in first perspective, so sometimes I would switch between perspective of Ragna’s family, hope you don’t mind.]
If something strange about me stood out, noticing it would be easier than swatting a fly.
Because of that, I became more and more cautious. I was afraid of being killed.
I didn’t believe I knew this family well enough to understand how they might think or react. Having already died once, I was terrified of dying again over something foolish. I didn’t want to leave behind even a single reason that might put my life at risk.
Just like that, almost three weeks had passed.
Once I finished dressing, I wrapped Ragna tightly, making it impossible for him to move, and secured him in my wrapper sash on my back.
I used it as a cradle, the way I always did, so I could work freely without needing both hands or wasting too much strength. It was time to make breakfast before John began another busy day, and if I was lucky, I could finish a little of my own work before finally feeding Ragna.
I stepped out of the small bedroom and moved toward the dining room. Just before I crossed the doorway, I heard it—a light, childish sob coming from the right corner of the room. My heart skipped, and I quickened my pace.
The dining room was small, built with brick walls like the rest of the house. A square wooden table, finely trimmed, sat at the center with four wooden chairs surrounding it. Cabinets and cupboards lined one side of the room. As I took it all in, my eyes landed on the source of the sobbing.
Ada.
"Ada?"
I asked, struggling to keep my voice calm.
"What in God’s name happened? Why are you crying?"
She paused, her face wet with tears and snorts, then turned to me with a dejected look.
"Mother... it’s nothing,"
She stuttered, forcing a weak smile.
"I just hurt my leg, that’s all."
I already knew better. Worry gripped me, and I knelt immediately to inspect her, afraid to find a bruise or something worse.
"But, mothe—"
She tried to speak, but my voice stopped her.
"I know it was those villagers again," I said a bit angrily.
"Was it because they called your brother a demon?"
I tried to stay calm, but tears betrayed my eyes, gathering at the corners of my eyes. Ada nodded slightly, and I gently wiped her face clean.
"Silly girl,"
I said, pulling her into my arms.
"They’re just lying. They’re bad people. If he were truly a demon, he would have taken our souls while we slept. But look—we’re still here."
Ada and her younger sister Belle were all I had left after the tragedy years ago. Holding her like that, I wiped my own tears away and breathed deeply.
Behind me, I felt Ragna stir. I could sense his little body tense against my back, as if he understood more than he should. When he let out a soft babble, Ada and I both turned. His tiny hands reached forward, trying to touch her.
I carefully removed him from my back and lifted him toward Ada. He made little raspberry sounds, his lips trembling with effort, and used his tiny fingers to clumsily wipe the remaining tears from her cheeks.
Ada burst into a small giggle.
"You see,"
I said, smiling at her.
"Your brother loves you very much."
I patted her head and sent her to open the windows to let the morning light in while I prepared breakfast.
As I worked, I placed vegetables on the wooden cabinet and chopped them finely with my knife—waterleaf, pumpkin leaves, and a few others. I poured water into a copper pot shaped like a small cauldron. With Ada’s help, I set up the charcoal stove in the shallow pit and lit the fire.
Ragna watched quietly, his eyes following every movement. Ada, on the other hand, watched me with pure admiration.
"You are so amazing, Mother!" she said, her eyes shining.
Her words filled me with warmth.
"When will I ever be as good as you?"
She asked eagerly.
"When you become a grown woman,"
I replied with a smile—though inside, I added silently, after many years of cooking and chopping every single day.