It was only the seventh time Talla and I — or Tails, as I called her for her love of stories — dared sneak into Father's office. We had waited patiently all day for him to leave. He worked in his study from dawn to dusk, often well into the night, except on Friday afternoons when he ventured out to the store and returned with a week's worth of crumbly food.
As soon as we heard the front door close, Tails squealed and launched herself into my arms. I staggered slightly under the weight of her six-year-old frame. Her long brown hair tickled my nose, and I had to resist the sudden urge to sneeze.
"You've grown again," I groaned.
"Maybe you're just getting smaller," she countered with a giggle. "Now let's go! Let's go!"
Even though we knew Father would be gone for at least an hour, we moved through the hallways on quiet feet. Father had always insisted that we be silent in the house — seen but not heard. On every other day of the week, we busied ourselves with studies; a tutor came each Wednesday to ensure we were progressing in our workbooks.
Father refused to send us to the public school, insisting that everything we needed to learn could be taught within these walls.
The house itself was a solemn place. The hallways were dyed in a dull, lifeless shade of green — not the lush green of garden leaves or springtime blooms, but a color bordering on gray. Heavy curtains hung over every window, allowing only narrow slits of sunlight to filter in and lightly brush our faces. Strange ornaments and odd artifacts sat on every side table, collecting dust. We were not allowed to touch them.
It had always been this way, ever since Tails was born and Mother died.
They said she died in childbirth. I'd overheard whispers that, had Father summoned a doctor sooner, she might have lived.
I didn't know if that was true.
But I did know that Father didn't seem to love anything but his work.
Tails practically danced as we crept forward, her voice dropping to an eager whisper. "What can we read today?"
"Anything you'd like," I promised.
"The Blossom Ascendant?" Her eyes widened.
I pressed a finger to my lips and pointed at the floor — and what lurked beneath it. We had only one servant in the vast house, a woman who rarely appeared and seemed indifferent to us when she did.
At last, we reached Father's study.
Just looking at the door sent a shiver down our spines. Unlike the other doors in the house, this one was reinforced with metal fixings. I took the lead and nudged it open a few inches.
Inside, a fire was slowly dying in the hearth. The room, though warmer than the rest of the house, felt just as gloomy. The massive desk loomed like a crouching beast, and the air smelled of old paper and secrets.
We crossed the threshold, our hearts pounding. Tails' small hand tightened in mine. Her hazel eyes shimmered in the low light, flickering like a storm cloud caught between shadows and firelight.
The shelves towered around us, and I quickly spotted the book we wanted — far out of reach.
"Let me climb," Tails suggested.
Carefully, I let her scramble onto my shoulders. Her feet dug into my back as she wriggled up, and I imagined we must look like a very unstable tower.
"Got it!" she chirped.
I looked up and saw her smiling proudly, clutching the old tome to her chest. The spine was worn and nearly illegible — a miracle it hadn't disintegrated in her hands.
I lowered her gently, rubbing my sore shoulders as she flopped down in front of the fire on the faded green carpet. Her legs kicked in the air as she swung them, already flipping through pages with childlike impatience.
Wincing from the ache in my back, I sat down beside her — only to hear a sharp crunch beneath me. I froze, immediately hoping it hadn't been a beetle. Or worse... a spider.
Tails had stopped at a random page and was staring down with fascination.
The book was strange. Not just in content, but in a subtle, creeping way. For one, the main character and I shared a name: Olivie.
Tails thought this was amazing. I found it unsettling — but tried not to show it.
Sometimes I wondered if Mother had named me after the protagonist. Maybe this had been her favorite book. I'd never know. And I'd certainly never ask Father.
"Read the part about the wizard," Tails whispered. She still struggled with reading, and though it frustrated her, she loved listening.
So I read aloud:
"Olivie was not alone in the land where she sought answers.There lived a man with powers not seen for centuries.He swept through villages, taking children — none ever returned.From them, he crafted servants, each one born and dead within a day,for he could not fuel their life force beyond that span."
Tails shuddered beside me. I glanced over and saw her fixated on the illustration. A man stood there, etched in fine detail, as though the artist had seen him in waking life. He wasn't old — in fact, Tails had once said he looked like Prince Charming — but he stood surrounded by hunched, shadowy figures: the stolen children, transformed.
"You don't think someone would really do that... right?" she whispered.
I rolled onto my side to meet her gaze.
"There's no such thing as wizards or monsters," I said softly. Then, with a grin, I lunged at her and started tickling her ribs. "Besides, the Blossom Ascendant saves everyone in the end."
That's when the door creaked open.
Father stood there, towering over us. His eyes were dark and sharp.
"What are you doing with that book?" he thundered.
"I was giving Talla a reading lesson," I said, my voice small.
"In my office — with my prized books?" He snatched the tome from between us. His face paled as he looked down at the cover.
"I will not be leaving you alone next Friday," he said, voice stiff with fury. "The tutor will come. You will have lessons."
We lay still on the carpet, stunned.
"Get up!" he bellowed. "And get out. Neither of you will have supper tonight. You are never to come in here again!"