Aftermath

“Edin Hearth Mystralath! You should know better by now!” The fiery woman's fury lingers in a haunting echo off the walls of the grandiose sitting room. “I believe if my memory still serves, I recall us having a very similar discussion, not even a week ago. Edin.”
 
Aerith watches from the doorway, any trace of their ruined clothes now gone. Count and Countess Mystralath clearly not aware of their presence at this moment, as their temper boils. “Mother? Father? This was my fault-” the elder begins, crossing the room with purpose in their stride. Using their body as a barrier between their parents and Edin, Aerith continues “I tripped over a rock as we were walking downhill. I dropped my book-”
 
Their excuse falls on deaf ears, Countess Mystralath simply cups her hand to one side of Aerith's face. The anger melting away from her own expression, replaced with a sort of disapproving pity. “Aerith, dear child, I ask why the bottom of your new skirt was torn and stained?”
 
“I.. I fell into the river-” it's not a… total lie? Right?
 
Does it even matter if the Count or Countess are not buying a word of it?
 
“Aerith, dear child, are you not scheduled for the music tutor you absolutely begged us for?" Count Mystralath finally chimes in from his seat on the overstuffed couch, simply listening to everything unfold like it is nothing. “I would not want evening class time to go to waste. There are other, more important, subjects. Especially as heir to our name~” Ezra looks up from his book for the first time to make eye contact with his eldest child.
 
Aerith stiffens, regarding their father with a respectful, emotionless face. “Yes… Father.”
 
“Good. Now, run along dear.” Count Mystralath returns to his book, happy with the little he's contributed to the conversation.
 
Aerith lingers in the doorway for a moment longer. Their mouth opens for a moment, hoping to craft some brilliant excuse But their father clears his throat, a warning.
 
“Yes, Father.” Aerith bows their head and before Edin can truly process it all their quiet footsteps fade into silence.
 
 
The door is shut.
 
And Edin is left alone.
 
The suffocating silence is only broken by the quiet echo of the Countess’s heels clicking on pristine marble floorings. Edin’s attention is consumed by the intricate details of the rug below them, a small lifeline from the shame.
 
“You are too old for this.” she finally says, her voice lowers yet no relief is given. “Too old for mistakes, too old for excuses. Do you hear me?”
 
Edin nods–only once, stiff, rehearsed.
 
“Speak.” Count Mystralath chides sharply.
 
“...Yes” Edin mumbles out
 
The Count eyes the problem standing across from him, his book closes with a crisp thwap. Quickly he stands, crossing to the redhead. Before Edin can fully process it all a hand connects with their face in one swift motion. “Use your word, Edin. Muttering under your breath like a child does not serve this family.”
 
Edin clenches their eyes shut tight, wincing at his words and the pain. They blink back tears. To cry would mean showing weakness. No. Not in front of their parents. “Yes, Mother.” Their fists clench tighter, nails digging into flesh until it hurts.
 
“Until you learn, you will remain in your room.” Alina continues, beginning to pace, circling the room, circling Edin like a hawk. “No outings, no diversions. You will reflect. Perhaps solitude can teach you what your Father and I have not been able to.”
 
The Countess’s heel scrape against the floor, her pacing halting behind Edin. They dare to not look up, gaze fixed on the swirls of the rug as though the pattern.
 
“You will stay there until I decide otherwise,” such unwelcome words draped in a buttery tone. “Perhaps, you will be able to understand the honor our name brings.”
 
The Count hums an agreement, the book back in his hands still the most important to him. “Do not take our kindness for granted, child.”