POV: Sylas
Word Count: ~1000
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Kindness was never safe.
That was what I remembered most from the world before this one.
Not the names. Not the faces. But the cold lessons I never unlearned.
The softest words were often blades.
Smiles were promises meant to be broken.
And reaching out only made it easier for others to let go.
So I stopped reaching.
Even when someone offered warmth, I didn't take it. I let it pass like smoke.
I told myself it was strength.
But in truth, I was just afraid.
Afraid that kindness was only ever borrowed… and I would never be able to return it.
---
Seraphina Virellia confused me.
She wasn't loud. She didn't pity me with her eyes. She never asked me to explain myself, but she looked like she wanted to understand.
That… was worse.
If she mocked me, I could ignore her.
If she feared me, I could endure it.
But her gentleness didn't ask for anything.
And that was the hardest part.
---
I saw her again the next day, in the east garden. She sat alone near the fountain, a book resting gently in her lap.
The sunlight played across her pale hair, making it shimmer like frost melting into morning.
I should've walked past her.
But something… pulled at me.
So I paused. Quietly. Respectfully.
She looked up and smiled, as if she'd known I'd be there.
"Did they keep you busy this morning?" she asked.
I nodded. "Laundry and re-shelving books in the north wing."
She made a face. "That sounds dull."
"It was," I said, and her soft laugh caught me off guard.
A sound like bells muffled in snow.
She closed the book. "Do you ever read for yourself? Not because you're told to."
I shook my head. "Reading's… different here. The letters are the same, but the meanings feel off."
She tilted her head. "Would you like me to help?"
That surprised me more than anything else today.
"Why?" I asked, genuinely.
She looked down at her fingers, then back at me. "Because I think you'd like it, once the words stop feeling foreign."
I hesitated.
Kindness. Again.
Offered like sunlight to a seed buried in ash.
---
And that's when the memory hit me.
Not of this world.
But of the one before.
---
Another time. Another life.
A friend—a girl, gentle like her—had offered something small. Food, a book, a place to sit.
I had refused it all. Proudly.
Told myself I didn't need anyone.
She eventually stopped offering.
And when she died…
I regretted every silence.
I remembered sitting at her grave.
Wishing I'd just once said: "Thank you."
---
My fingers curled slowly at my side.
The pain in my chest wasn't sharp. Just heavy. Familiar.
I looked at Seraphina again.
And I realized something:
If I stayed silent this time, I would repeat the same mistake.
---
So I said the words I had never said in my past life:
"…Thank you."
Her eyes widened slightly.
And then she smiled—so softly it almost broke me.
---
"If you ever want help reading," she said, "just ask."
I gave a small nod.
Not as a servant.
Not as duty.
But because I wanted to.
---
Later that evening, I passed the maid's quarters and overheard two staff members whispering.
"She's spending too much time near that new one. It's not proper."
"She's always been softhearted. He won't last long anyway."
I didn't stop.
Didn't reply.
But their words didn't hit as hard as they should have.
Because in my chest, for the first time in two lifetimes…
There was a flicker of warmth.
Not because the world had changed.
But because I had chosen to answer when kindness knocked.
---
I may still be a shadow in this house.
But someone had looked at that shadow…
And smiled.
And this time…
I smiled back.
Even if only inside.
---
End of Chapter