The soft rustling of the wind through the curtains was the first thing she heard. Rosaline stirred slowly beneath her quilt, the morning sunlight filtering in through the gauzy fabric, painting gentle streaks of gold across her room. Her eyes blinked open, heavy and sore, the echoes of last night's tears still lingering in the corners.
For a moment, she lay there, unmoving. Wrapped in her blanket, her pillow still damp from where she'd cried herself to sleep. The ache in her chest hadn't faded..if anything, it had settled in deeper. A hollow emptiness. But this morning, it felt… different.
Not lighter.
But clearer.
Like the fog was lifting just enough to let her see the shape of her pain.
She turned onto her side and looked toward the window. The village was waking. She could hear a distant rooster, the faint clatter of wooden wheels, and the murmur of someone calling to their child. Life was still going on, even though her world had tilted.
A soft knock came at her door.
"Rosie?" her mother's voice came gently through. "Are you awake?"
Rosaline cleared her throat. "Yes, Mama."
The door creaked open. Her mother peeked inside, carrying a small wooden tray with a cup of warm tea and a plate of honeyed toast.
"I thought you might want something before you get up," her mother said softly.
Rosaline sat up slowly, her hair tangled, cheeks pale. "Thank you."
Eleanor placed the tray on the small table beside the bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress, watching her daughter with quiet concern. "How did you sleep?"
"I didn't," Rosaline admitted, lifting the cup to her lips. The tea smelled like chamomile and mint. "My thoughts wouldn't stop spinning."
"Do you want to talk more about it?" Her mother asked. She wanted to be there for her daughter, through everything.
Rosaline shook her head. "Not yet."
Eleanor nodded. "That's alright, sweetheart. Just… don't carry it alone."
"I won't," she whispered.
They sat together in silence. The quiet between them was soft, not awkward....like a blanket shared between them. Then, after a moment, Rosaline spoke again.
"I dreamt about him."
Eleanor's fingers stiffened on the edge of the blanket. "What happened in the dream?"
Rosaline stared down at her tea. "He didn't say anything. Just stood there, watching me. But his eyes… they weren't cruel this time. They looked… confused. Like he didn't understand what he was feeling."
Eleanor studied her carefully, choosing her words ... Very carefully. "Dreams can be strange things, Rosie. Sometimes they carry truth, sometimes they carry what we wish were true."
"I don't know which it was," Rosaline murmured. "But when I woke up, my chest hurt." She placed her hand on her chest, trying to remember how painful it was a few minutes ago
Eleanor brushed a lock of hair behind her daughter's ear. "You're still bonded, darling. That tie… it runs deep. Even if he's pretending it doesn't exist."
"I hate that I still feel it," she whispered. "I hate that he rejected me and I still… ache for him."
"That ache doesn't make you weak," Eleanor said firmly. "It makes you human. And a wolf. It's in your nature to feel things deeply."
Rosaline's throat tightened. "I feel like I'm mourning someone I barely even knew."
"Because you are," her mother said gently. "You're mourning the idea of him. The hope. The promise of something that was supposed to be sacred."
Rosaline looked up, eyes red but open. "What do I do now?"
"You keep going," Eleanor said. "You sew. You laugh with Ciara. You cry when you need to. You wake up each morning and breathe through the hurt. And one day, it won't feel this sharp anymore."
Rosaline nodded slowly. "I want to forget him."
"You will," her mother said. "But not by pretending he didn't matter. You'll forget by healing. By loving yourself more than he ever could."
The words struck something inside her, warm and steady.
Rosaline looked at her hands...calloused from years of stitching, designing, creating.
She remembered how she And her mother have been struggling to make ends meet all these while, and the vow she made to herself.
To make a name for herself in the fashion world, so she and her mother won't ever starve ever again.
She thought of the gowns she dreamed up. The beauty she could bring into the world with just thread and imagination.
Maybe she didn't need a king to make her feel worthy.
Maybe she had always been enough on her own.
"I want to work today," she said suddenly.
Eleanor blinked. "You sure?"
Rosaline nodded. "I need to keep my hands busy. I want to start Lysandra's gown."
Her mother smiled slowly. "Alright, sweetheart. I'll help you set up the space."
"No mama, I'll get busy right way in my little workshop. I like it better there. Just me and my fabrics, designs....
"I have a feeling that I'll feel more inspired today.... Like today is gonna be a great day.
Rosaline slipped from the bed and moved toward her workbench. She collected the things she needed to work on her clothes.
Her mother watched her leave, happy that she's feeling positive today and not dreadful or full of doubt like yesterday.
She never wants to see her so down ever again. She has been creaful ever since her husband left her not to hurt her beautiful daughter because she's all she has.
That king better wish he never sets his stupid eyes on her or she Eleanor will make him pay dearly for hurting her baby girl.
Rosaline reached her little workshop, She pulled her hair up into a loose knot, wiped her face, and took a deep breath. The ache was still there...silent and steady...but she wasn't drowning in it now.
As she opened her sketchbook and looked over the design for Lysandra's dress, she felt a shift. It was small, barely there. But it was a beginning.
The girl who had returned from the capital heartbroken was still inside her.
But so was the girl who would rise.
One stitch at a time.