Perido's lips moved carefully, shaping each word with deliberate precision.
*"How should I address you?"*
Marin smiled. "Hmm. I'd very much like to become Perido's governess—but I'd like to hear your opinion first. Would you be willing to let me teach you?"
*"I don't mind."*
"Then will you call me 'Teacher Marin'?"
Perido stepped closer, his small hands folding together against his chest. His dark eyes—so like the Duke's—held a flicker of something cautious and hopeful.
*"Yes, Teacher Marin."*
He paused. His gaze drifted past her shoulder to where Daya stood frozen, watching.
Then, as though summoning every ounce of courage in his small body, he turned back to Marin and moved his lips with careful, deliberate clarity:
*"But, Teacher... could you please give something to Daya—my older sister—for me?"*
"Of course. What do you want to tell her?"
Perido stared at Daya. His eyes grew bright with unshed tears, and his lips trembled slightly before he began:
*"Tell her I'm sorry I didn't answer the door that day—when she called for me. I couldn't. Because of the promise I made to Mother."*
His small chest heaved.
*"Please tell Daya I'm very sorry. I wanted to say this earlier, but I couldn't. Tell her I'm sorry."*
---
Daya's gaze swung to Marin, desperate and pleading. Beside her, Garnet had gone rigid—she couldn't read lips, but she understood enough to know something profound was happening.
Marin drew a slow breath and translated, her voice barely wavering:
"Perido says he's sorry he didn't answer the door the day you called for him. He couldn't—because of the promise he made to your mother. He asks you to please tell him you understand. He wanted to say this sooner, but he couldn't find a way. He asks you to tell him he's sorry."
She didn't know what day Perido meant, or what had happened behind that closed door. But the thought of this small child carrying such guilt in silence—unable to speak, unable to explain, unable to ask for forgiveness—made her heart clench like a fist.
"Perido..."
Daya's voice cracked. Tears spilled down her cheeks before she could stop them, and she pressed a trembling hand over her mouth.
"*Daya.*"
Garnet rushed to her sister's side, alarmed. She didn't fully understand Perido's words, but seeing Daya—always composed, always steady—suddenly breaking down shook her to the core.
Perido's lips moved again, small and urgent:
*"Sister, I'm sorry."*
"He says: 'Sister, I'm sorry.'"
Daya dropped to her knees and pulled Perido into her arms, holding him so tightly it seemed she was afraid he might disappear.
"No, Perido." Her voice was ragged, thick with tears. "You did everything right. You were *wonderful*. You don't need to apologize to me—do you understand? *Never.*"
Perido clung to her, his thin shoulders shaking. His lips moved against her collar:
*"Do you forgive me?"*
"He asks: 'Do you forgive me?'"
The words struck Daya like a blade to the chest.
"*Forgiveness?*" She pulled back just enough to cup his face in her hands, her own tears falling freely onto his cheeks. "There's nothing to forgive. I'm so *proud* of you, Perido—for keeping your promise to Mother. Everything is fine between us. *Everything.* Do you hear me?"
And finally—*finally*—the dam broke.
Perido buried his face against her chest and sobbed. Not the quiet, strangled sounds he'd made before, but real tears—loud and messy and desperately needed.
Garnet stood apart, watching. Her lip caught between her teeth, her eyes burning. She turned away sharply, but not before Marin saw her shoulders shake.
---
By the time Perido's sobs faded into hiccupping breaths, his small body had gone limp with exhaustion.
"Perido," Marin said gently, crouching beside him, "shall we climb onto the bed and rest for a little while?"
He nodded weakly. His eyes—red-rimmed and swollen from crying—were heavy with drowsiness, but he didn't close them. *Couldn't* close them, perhaps. As though he feared what sleep might bring.
Marin retrieved the fairy tale book from where she'd set it down and approached the bed.
Perido watched her with tired curiosity as she settled into the chair beside him.
"Today is your first day of lessons," she said softly, "so your teacher is going to read you a story. How does that sound?"
*"Fine."*
She turned to the two young women still standing near the door.
"Young ladies—will you sit on the sofa and listen with us?"
Daya didn't hesitate. "Yes."
She crossed to the long sofa beneath the window and settled into its cushions, then looked back at Garnet, who lingered near the wall with her arms crossed.
"Garnet. Sit."
"Why should I—"
"Do you want to leave Perido alone?"
Garnet's jaw tightened. For a moment, rebellion flickered in her golden eyes.
Then she exhaled sharply and dropped onto the sofa beside her sister.
"...Fine."
---
Once everyone was settled, Marin opened the book and began to read.
Her voice flowed like warm honey—slow, unhurried, measured in rhythm and cadence.
*"Once upon a time, there lived two sisters who were very close. They were like twins: they laughed together, cried together, and were angry together.*
*One day, the elder said, 'I shall marry a handsome prince from the neighboring kingdom.'*
*To which the younger replied, 'But you've never even seen him. How do you know he's handsome?'*
*The elder laughed. 'He's a prince from a neighboring kingdom—of course he is.'"*
Marin smiled faintly at the absurd logic and continued reading.
As she spoke, she held a single wish in her heart: *Let them sleep soundly. Let there be no nightmares tonight.*
*"...At the end of countless adventures, the eldest sister finally met the prince. Her younger sister stood faithfully at her side. The prince, as expected, was extraordinarily handsome. He cast a warm glance—and extended his hand to the younger sister standing beside her."*
Marin's eyes widened.
*Wait. Why is this fairy tale suddenly turning into a melodrama?*
She skimmed ahead quickly, her pulse quickening. She'd grabbed the book expecting to read only the opening chapters—something soothing, something gentle.
The rest of the plot would *not* promote peaceful sleep.
She closed the book quietly.
When she looked up from the pages, Perido lay motionless in the bed. His breathing had deepened into the slow, even rhythm of true sleep.
Marin rose carefully and drew the blanket up to his chin, tucking it gently around his thin shoulders.
Then she turned.
On the sofa, Daya and Garnet had succumbed as well. They leaned against each other—Daya's head resting on Garnet's shoulder, Garnet's cheek pressed against her sister's hair. Their faces, slack with exhaustion, looked younger in sleep. More vulnerable.
Marin retrieved a second blanket from the foot of the bed and draped it over them both, one after the other.
As she tucked the wool around Garnet's shoulders, her gaze lingered on the dull pallor of their skin, the bruise-dark shadows beneath their eyes.
*The older sisters have been running themselves into the ground trying to care for their brother.*
She didn't fully understand where her strange ability came from—this gift that had surfaced alongside memories of another life. But during her nights reading to the Duke, she had begun to notice a pattern: whenever she read aloud and *wished* for him to fall into deep, restful sleep, he actually slept more soundly.
*I've become a human sleeping potion*, she thought wryly.
This time, she had wished for all three of them—not just Perido, but his exhausted sisters too. That was why she'd suggested the sofa: it looked comfortable enough for dozing, and positioned them close enough to hear her voice.
Putting all three on one bed would have worked better, logistically speaking.
But that would have been *weird*.
---
The door flew open.
"Garnet! Daya! Huh—?"
Rubiena froze in the doorway, her honey-blonde curls bouncing with the sudden stop. Her light green eyes went wide—first at the sight of everyone asleep, then at the sight of Marin standing over Daya with a blanket in her hands.
"*Shh.*"
Marin pressed a finger to her lips and gestured toward the corridor.
Rubiena nodded sharply, eyes still huge, and backed out on silent feet.
Marin followed, easing the door shut behind her with barely a click.
In the hallway, she took Rubiena's hand, and together they walked toward the stairs.
After a few steps, Marin noticed the girl staring up at her with an intensity that bordered on awe.
"Ruby," she asked gently, glancing down, "why are you looking at me like that?"
"Teacher Marin."
"Mm?"
Rubiena tugged at her sleeve, beckoning her to lean down. Marin obliged, bending slightly.
The girl cupped her hands around her mouth and whispered directly into Marin's ear:
"*Are you a sorceress?*"
Despite herself, Marin laughed—soft and warm.
"No. Sorcerers don't exist."
*This world has monsters*, she thought, *but no wizards. Only alchemists, who craft peculiar things. No elves. No dragons either.*
*Pity, really.*
"Then how did you put everyone to sleep?"
Rubiena's question was perfectly innocent—the kind only a child could ask.
"Why do you assume *I* put them to sleep?"
Marin gazed down at her with gentle amusement.
*Most people would simply think three exhausted people happened to fall asleep at the same time.*
"Because Perido hasn't been sleeping," Rubiena said matter-of-factly. "And neither have Daya or Garnet. For all three of them to fall asleep at once..." Her eyes sparkled with imagination. "That's like *magic*."
"Perido fell asleep because someone read him a story," Marin said. "And your sisters were simply very, very tired."
"You read Perido a fairy tale?"
"Mm."
Rubiena's face, which had been glowing with wonder, suddenly dimmed. A shadow passed over her features like a cloud crossing the sun.
"That's what Mother used to do..."
Marin's heart clenched. Gently, without thinking, she reached out and wrapped an arm around the girl's narrow shoulders.
"Ruby," she said softly, "would you like me to read you a story too?"
Rubiena's head snapped up. "You'd read to *me*?"
"Of course."
"But I'm not as little as Perido anymore..."
A blush crept across her cheeks, and she shifted shyly from foot to foot.
"I love fairy tales too," Marin said simply. "Shall we go to your room?"
"*Yes!*"
The shadow lifted. Rubiena beamed—dimples and all—and practically bounced on her heels.
*She doesn't need to be put to sleep*, Marin thought, smiling. *She just needs someone to share a good story with.*
*And that's enough to make her day a little brighter.*