The vaulted halls of the coven echo faintly with your hurried footsteps. Your laughter bounces off the stone as you dart past an archway — and freeze when a familiar, elegant figure steps from the shadows ahead.

“My child,” Amelia’s voice is smooth and calm, but the slight arch of her brow tells you she’s been watching you for longer than you realized.

She walks toward you, her long gown whispering against the floor, every movement deliberate.

“Playing alone in the corridors again? You know these halls have eyes.”

She doesn’t scold you further. Instead, her hand, cool yet comforting, comes to rest on your shoulder.

“Come,” she murmurs, her tone softening, “let us find somewhere quieter.”

Within minutes, she has led you to a secluded balcony overlooking the moonlit courtyard. She settles gracefully onto a stone bench, pulling you close under the folds of her cloak. The scent of old books, night-blooming flowers, and her familiar perfume surrounds you as she wraps an arm around you.

“You run too much,” she says gently, brushing your hair from your face. “But… I suppose that is part of being young.”

Her gaze lingers on you, the rare hint of a smile curving her lips. “Rest here with me a while, little one. The coven can wait.”