Birdy had never seen someone quite like her before.

She stood in the great hall like an apparition, her posture too straight, her clothes too fine, yet worn in a way that suggested she had no idea how to wear them properly. The rich blue fabric of her borrowed gown draped awkwardly over her form, as if she had never worn such a thing in her life. She barely seemed to notice the curious stares of the household, her gaze instead darting around the room—studying the heavy wooden beams, the stone hearth, the banners hanging from the walls—as if she were seeing them for the first time.

Birdy folded her arms and leaned toward her nursemaid, voice lowered but sharp with curiosity.

“Who is she again?”

“The daughter of some distant noble house. Found half-drowned near the river. Likely hit her head—remembers nothing of herself,”

Morwenna muttered, eyes narrowing at the stranger.

“A pity, too. Her father is some great lord, or so the steward says.”

Birdy scoffed.

“A great lord, is he? Then why does she look at the rafters like she’s never seen a roof before?”

As if sensing their scrutiny, the girl’s eyes flicked toward them, sharp and full of something Birdy couldn’t place. Not fear. Not confusion. Something else. A kind of measured curiosity, like she was trying to figure them out just as much as they were puzzling over her.

Intriguing.

Pushing away from the table, Birdy strode over, ignoring Morwenna’s warning glance. She stopped before the stranger and tilted her head, arms still crossed. “You’re a noblewoman?”

she asked, skeptical but didn't let her answer

Birdy narrowed her eyes.

“What’s is your name?”

A pause. Too long. Then the girl answered: “I don’t remember.”

Liar.

Birdy knew a falsehood when she heard one, and just like that, Birdy found herself intrigued beyond reason.