The shimmering light
Kimmi lay on the floor inside the shelter, her small frame sinking in the cool, sturdy surface of a stone slab. The room was dimly lit, the only source of illumination coming from the soft, ethereal glow of the Moonsteel embedded in the walls and ceiling.
She let out a slow breath, feeling an unusual sense of peace settle over her. Staring up at the ceiling, she became mesmerized by the faint blue hue that shimmered across the metal strips. In the darkness, the glow reminded her of a starry night—vast, endless and mysterious. She envisioned a large, round moon standing in contrast to the sparkling stars behind it, a breathtaking wonder of the world imagination.
The darkness dulled her perception, making the room feel far larger than it truly was. With no clear boundaries in sight, her senses were trucked into believing she was floating in a vast emptiness—adrift in the endless void.
The urge within her—the restless compulsion she could never quite understand—always seemed to quiet when she was here. Though, of course only after forcing her to linger in the shelter for a long time, endlessly rearranging the Moonsteel strips over and over until its demand were satisfied.
She usually tried to resist the urge, pushing it aside, pretending it was not there. But now that she had finally grasped the ability to read—finally satisfied one of her deepest curiosities—she wondered if obeying it, for now, was the wiser choice. Perhaps, if she gave in to its demands, it would not be so merciless later.
Kimmi sighed, rolling onto her side as if turning away from her own thoughts.
"Why are you like this? She muttered to herself, exasperated. "Can we at least come to some sort of accord? Maybe stop trying to one-up each other?"
She was speaking to the urge—to the strange, persistent voice in the back of her mind that felt both foreign and familiar.
Kimmi did not know if that was true, but she often wondered. Maybe she had once lived in a world of fairy tales and fantasies, so deeply immersed that even now, pieces of that dream and thoughts clung to her.
Maybe that was all it was—just a child daydream, a remnant of something that had never been real.
Some people said such feeling were remnants of lost memories, fragments of a past self she had forgotten—perhaps it was true, if only the thought had not come from her own mind. Ever since she had realized she could no longer trust her own logical thinking, she had been careful. Cautious. No longer certain if the things she believed were truths or merely ideas she had created. She could not rely on her own instincts anymore.
Instead, she had to learn. Observe. Piece together the knowledge she gathered and move forward from there. She could no longer rely on herself alone.
"Kimmi, are you down there?" A familiar voice rang out, calling her name. It was her mother, Catherine.
Kimmi sat up with a sigh, dragging herself out of the shelter and toward the staircase. "I'm here, Mom," she called, spotting Catherine standing halfway down the stairs, watching her with a patient expression. "Do you need help?"
Catherine smiled, clearly pleased that her daughter had come so quickly. "Yes, in a manner of speaking. But do you want to help me?" she asked, her tone light. She had never been one to force Kimmi into chores—though, admittedly, a little motherly persuasion was not of the table.
Kimmi narrowed her eyes in mock suspicion before nodding. "I will… as long as it's within my capabilities. I mean, I won't be doing any heavy lifting." She crossed her arms, recalling the last time she had tried to help and ended up nearly giving her mother a heart attack by carrying something that was bigger than herself.
Chatherine chuckled. "Of course, dear. I wouldn't dream of it. How about helping mom at the counter?"
At that moment, Kimmi flinched. Not because she did not want to help—no, that was not it.
It was the urge.
She appeared to be neutral, but internally, she groaned. 'Great… Here we go again…'
It stirred within her, creeping into her thoughts, demanding her to ignored her mother. 'Honestly, I must have been a terribly spoiled child' She thought dryly.
She turned slightly away Catherine, rearranges her thoughts, pushing back against the compulsion. 'Imagine this… being praised by our lovely mother. How sweet and wonderful that would be, don't you think?' Kimmi tried to reasoned with the urge.
The urges cooed in response, listening. 'We'd be such a good girl, and Mom would give us all sorts of fun things to enjoy…' Kimmi added.
This time, it did not force her hand. It did not demand obedience. It simply waited—silent, expectant. It craved something more that just control. It wanted recognition. Not for itself, but for her. It wanted her mother approval.
Kimmi let out a small breath. 'Good… Now our goal aligns…' she thought as the urge fade into nothingness.
Catherine gave her daughter a puzzled look, trying to make sense of her sudden shift in demeanor.
Kimmi turned back at her mother with a smile that did not quite reach her eyes, she clasped her hand behind her back and tilted her head. "Alright, Mom! I'll help at the counter… but I expect proper compensation—perhaps in form of sweets or more books…"
Catherine let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "You drive a hard bargain, my dear."
From dawn to noon, they work as two, Learning lessons, old and new.
Little Keeper
Kimmi stood on a small wooden stool behind the counter, her head barely reaching her mother shoulder as she carefully counted the coins for a customer. Catherine let her be, watching with quiet amusement and no small amount of pride as her daughter handled the transactions.
Kimmi had memorized most of the store catalogs by now, able to recognize goods and their value at a glance. Well... most of them. The large sculpture in the corner, for instance, remained unknown to her. Her mother always handled the pricing and haggling when it came to art pieces, as if determining their worth was more of an art itself than simple arithmetic.
A man approached the counter, placing twelve wooden cups down with a dull noise.
Clunk
"Hello there, little one," he greeted with a friendly nod. "How much for these?"
Kimmi barely needed to look. "Five copper per cup," she answered flatly. "So that's sixty coppers. Would you like to pay in silver?"
The man blinked, slightly caught off guard. "Uh… sure."
"Then it's three silver and six coppers," she stated without hesitation.
The man hesitated before scratching the back of his head. "Can we call it three silver even?"
Kimmi glanced up at her mother, who gave her an approving nod and a bright smile.
"Okay, mister, it's a deal!" she declared, taking the three silvers from him.
Catherine neatly stacked the cups, tied them together with a vine-like rope, and handed them over with practiced ease. Kimmi watched, feeling a twinge of frustration at how simple yet effective the solution was.
The more she worked at the counter, the more she realized just how much effort went into running a store.
It was… bothersome.
There were so many little details to keep track of, so many problems that needed solving. She often thought herself intellectually superior to those around her—perhaps an ego—fueled belief, or perhaps just her lack of common sense—but now she wondered if she had simply been missing the obvious.
She watched her mother hands as they secured the cups. 'How clever…' she mused. The vine kept them together, making them easier to carry. It was a small thing, but it fascinated her. Then, she glanced around at the other customers. No one seemed as impressed as she was.
'Did they just not notice? Or did they simply not care?'
Her mind spun with the implications. She had always believed herself capable of solving any problem, but now she saw a gap in her thinking.
'Customers who bought multiple goods had to carry them home somehow—but how?' She thought of baskets or sacks, but not everyone purchased those. 'What about those who didn't? How did they manage?' Kimmi thoughts swelled with more and more questions.
She felt an anxious knot form in her chest the longer she considered it. It should have been a simple problem, but no solution felt quite right.
"Mom… if a customer buys a lot of stuff, how do they bring it home? She finally asked.
Catherine hummed, tying off another bundle. "Well… it depends. Most of the time, we deliver it to their house personally."
Kimmi eyes widened. "We what?"
Her mother chuckled at her shock.
Kimmi mind struggled to process the simplicity of the answer. She had been so fixated on making the customers carry their own goods that she had not even considered delivering them instead.
"But wouldn't that be difficult?" she asked, frowning. "Who runs the shop if we're out delivering things?"
Catherine hands briefly paused before she answered. "Most of the time, your father would handle deliveries."
There was a softness in her voice—a slight shift in her expression.
Kimmi noticed. And suddenly, she wished she had not asked. An awkward silence settled between them.
Catherine must have caught on, because she quickly recovered, giving her daughter a small, amused smile. "What's wrong, dear?"
Kimmi shifted, feeling a little out of place. "Nothing… I just thought… bags would be easier. Then people could carry their own things."
Catherine chuckled. "Some shops do provide bags, but only the ones selling expensive goods. We don't because the bags themselves are costly—for both us and the customers."
Kimmi brows furrowed. That made sense… but at the same time, it did not.
Some deep, stubborn part of her refused to accept the logic. A store should always have bags for customers. It just felt right.
'But why? Where had she gotten that idea?' She thoughts. 'Am I… just spoiled?' The question gnawed at her. 'Is this why Logan and Ruben make fun of me back then?'
Lost in her spiraling thoughts, Kimmi barely registered her mother voice as Catherine muttered to herself, "I wonder where that boy Logan is these days…"
Kimmi blinked, sapping back to reality. "Did Logan work here?" she asked tilting her head. If her mother spoke of him so casually, then he must have been someone important. But not to her—no, to her, he was either a close friend or a fierce rival. Maybe both.
"Ah… not entirely, no," Catherine said, her voice a wistful note. "Logan was your father little disciple." She paused, as if weighing her words carefully. "Your father taught him the ways of the sword—how to wield a one-handed weapon, the fundamentals of swordsmanship, the discipline it required."
Kimmi brows furrowed as she recalled something Ruben had once mentioned about swords and her father name. 'Is that what they were talking about?' she wondered. 'So Logan was tied to me more than I thought…'
Catherine expression gloomed, her gaze distant. "He must have been heartbroken…" she murmured, her thoughts drifting to the funeral. She could still see Logan grief-stricken face, the sorrow weighing heavily on his young shoulders. And then—she remembered her daughter.
Kimmi tantrum had been a storm of rage and pain. She had screamed, thrown things, shattered vases, and lashed out at anyone who tried to console her. It had been unbearable, disgraceful even. But at the time, Catherine had been too lost in her own grief to stop there. Too drained to reach out.
Logan, however, had acted. He had locked Kimmi away, barring her from causing more havoc at the funeral. It was a harsh move, a desperate one, but Catherine had let it happen. She had watched it all unfold and had done nothing. She had been drowning in sorrow, and in doing so, she had left Kimmi to drown as well.
Ant then—Catherine saw it. The terror in Kimmi eyes. The way she had trembled, not with anger, but with fear. Something had changed that day. Catherine had failed her daughter, and she knew it. Even now, she carried that guilt, that regret.
'If only I had paid more attention… If only I had been there for her, truly been there…' Perhaps then, Kimmi would have been more open to her. Perhaps she would not have been so lost.
Lost in the echoes of a past unspoken, drowning in sorrow, yet still unbroken.
Time passed
A well-dressed man in slick black attire stepped into the store, his sharp eyes scanning the room. The moment he spotted Catherine at the counter, he strode toward her with purpose.
"There you are, Catherine." As he neared, his gaze landed on a small child standing atop a stool. He raised a brow. "Hmmm, little Kimberly is here too. My word, you seem taller than I remember." He chuckled.
Catherine smiled warmly. "Of course, Sir Burton. My dear Kimmi has been growing quite a bit lately."
"Yes, yes, indeed," he agreed with a nod. Then, furrowing his brows in thought, he muttered, "Now, where was I… hmm…" After a brief pause, he snapped his fingers. "Ah, yes! I came to inspect the sculpture that was ordered last month. Is it ready yet?"
Catherine smile remained as she gestured toward the back. "Yes, it's complete. This way, please." She led him toward the back door, leaving Kimmi alone at the counter.
Kimmi watched them disappear before turning her attention to the next customers who had just entered—a mother and her daughter. They were dressed in elegant purple attire, almost luxurious in appearance. Kimmi squinted at the girl, recognizing her immediately.
"Leyla?" The name slipped out before she could stop herself.
Leyla eyes widened in surprise before lighting up with excitement. "Oh, Kimmi! How are you?" She dashed toward the counter with an eager grin.
Kimmi give a distance glance at Leyla, unresponsive to her question.
"Leyla, don't run!" her mother chided gently. "You'll trip and ruin your dress. We still have places to be."
The woman then turned her gaze toward Kimmi, observing her with mild curiosity.
"You must be Kimberly… Catherine daughter," she mused, smirking slightly. "Where is your mother?"
Kimmi pointed toward the back door. "She's handling a customer at the back. She should be back shortly. Apologies for the wait, ma'am," she replied in a practiced, polite tone.
The woman blinked in mild surprise, taken aback by Kimmi professional demeanour.
Leyla, however, had no such concerns. "Kimmi! I want shoes!" she announced excitedly.
Kimmi glanced at Leyla feet before leaning forward to get a better look. She noticed a pair of worn brown leather shoes, then turned to Leyla mother for confirmation.
"Ma'am, are you looking for wooden shoes or sandals?" she asked. Since they did not sell leather shoes—except for leather-strapped wooden soles—she needed to clarify.
The woman seemed momentarily lost in thought before smiling. "Sandals, please."
Kimmi nodded and got to work. First, she needed to find the right size. Her sharp eyes scanned the shelves, quickly identifying a few options. Without hesitation, she dragged over her stool, placing it beside Leyla.
"Sit here," Kimmi instructed.
Leyla beamed and obediently plopped onto the stool, watching as Kimmi rummaged through the shelves. She pulled out a few pairs with different designs but similar sizes, setting them near Leyla feet. Picking one, she slipped off Leyla old shoes and placed a sandal on her foot—one that matched the colour of her dress.
"Hmmm…" Kimmi tapped her chin. "What do you think?"
Leyla looked at her mother, waiting for approval.
"Do you have them in red?" the woman inquired.
Without hesitation, Kimmi swapped the purple sandals for red ones. "How about these?"
"Perfect!" The woman's smile widened. "I didn't realize you were so close with my daughter, Kimberly." There was a hint of genuine surprise in her voice.
Kimmi stiffened slightly. "You can call me Kimmi, ma'am." She always found it odd when people used her full name.
"Yes! Mom, we all call her Kimmi!" Leyla giggled, hugging Kimmi tightly.
The woman chuckled. "I see! Well, let me introduce myself properly." She gave a graceful nod. "I am Emeline Frasier, but you may call me Aunty Emily. I'm a friend of your mother, and it seems you're a friend of my daughter as well."
Leyla mimicked her mother formal bow—though hers was more exaggerated. "And I am Liliana Frasier!" she declared proudly, flashing a bright smile.
Kimmi blinked at the display. 'Why were they acting like this? Did people really introduce themselves so theatrically?'
Trying to ignore her confusion, she asked curiously, "Aunty Emily, are you heading somewhere special this afternoon?"
"Oh yes," Emeline replied with a nod. "Leyla and I are attending a dinner at a noble house."
"I see! That's wonderful." Kimmi smiled, pretending to care.
As she stepped back toward the counter, she realized something—the counter was too high for her now that she had given up her stool to Leyla. She frowned. Asking for it back would be a hassle, and dragging another one over was too much effort.
After a moment of thought, Kimmi simply climbed onto the counter and sat there instead.
Emeline and Leyla did not seem the least bit surprised by her actions. In fact, they reacted as if it were completely normal.
Kimmi sighed. 'Am I really that well-known for being weird around here?' She wondered.
Kimmi waited for Emeline to pay for the sandals, but the woman stood in silence, her eyes fixed on the back door—clearly waiting for Catherine to return and finalize the transaction.
Letting out a long sigh, Kimmi finally spoke up. "Twenty copper for the sandals."
Emeline blinked, snapping out of her thoughts before chuckling softly. "Ah, of course." She reached into her purse, pulled out two silver coins, and handed them over.
Kimmi effortlessly counted the change, returning sixteen copper coins before carefully wrapping Leyla's worn shoes in a wrinkled brown paper.
"Amazing…" Emeline murmured, watching in admiration. "It seems Catherine has taught you well." She smiled, clearly impressed. "I expected nothing less from a merchant's child."
Her gaze shifted to Leyla, who sat on the stool, kicking her legs absentmindedly, avoiding eye contact. Emeline hadn't expected Kimmi to handle the store so effortlessly, nor did she think the girl could count money with such confidence. The realization caught her by surprise.
Leyla, however, was far from impressed. Every word of praise from her mother toward Kimmi made her shoulders sink lower. A tiny pout formed on her lips as her mood soured with each passing second.
Kimmi noticed her sulking and quickly got an idea. She pulled open a drawer behind the counter, retrieving an amber-colored candy—a treat given to her by the healer a few days ago.
Kimmi extending her small hand toward Leyla, she offered a small smile. "Hey, Leyla, have this."
Leyla eyes widened in surprise before she eagerly accepted the candy, her pout instantly replaced by a bright grin. "Oh! Thank you, Kimmi!"
Emeline observed the interaction, her heart warming at what she perceived as a display of deep friendship. It was rare for Leyla to form such close bonds, and she was glad to see it.
But Kimmi was not thinking about friendship at all. She knew exactly what Leyla was doing—using her as a tool to stay in her mother good graces. After all, Catherine was known to gift free toys to any child she considered a close friend of her.
Just then, the back door creaked open, and Catherine stepped inside. Her eyes immediately landed on Kimmi handing the candy to Leyla, and a soft smile crossed her lips before she turned her attention to Emeline.
"Emily, it's rare to see you here," she greeted warmly. Despite the Frasier family living next door, they seldom visited her shop.
The Frasiers ran a well-known tailoring business. While Emeline husband worked as a government officer, she was one of the finest tailors in the district. In fact, Catherine often purchased all her and Kimmi clothes from her store.
"Ah, Cane, there you are," Emeline smirked playfully. "How could you let your poor daughter manage the store all alone… and in such an improper outfit, no less?"
Kimmi perked up at the remark, then glanced down at herself. She had completely forgotten—she was still wearing her pink pyjamas. It had never bothered her before since she liked how they looked, but now that someone had pointed it out, heat crept up her face, turning her cheeks red.
Catherine chuckled at her daughter flustered expression. "That was my mistake," she admitted. "Kimmi doesn't have proper work attire yet." Then, as if a lightbulb went off, she smiled. "Perhaps I should visit your shop soon."
Emeline smirk widened. "Oh, what a wonderful idea! I'll make sure she gets the perfect fit." Her tone was light-hearted, but there was an unmistakable glint in her eyes—she was already envisioning the ideal design.
Kimmi glanced between the two women, narrowing her eyes slightly. 'There was something… off about their exchange.' Their words seemed polite, but the underlying tension was hard to miss.
'Do they have some kind of rivalry?' she wondered.
Or maybe she was just imagining it.
The day has ended, the night is through, A new goal rises with mornings hue. Right next door, both tried and true, The Frasier shop had clothes to view.
Hold Still
Catherine led Kimmi next door to their neighbours shop—Frasier Fine Frippery. The Frasier family house and store mirrored their own in many ways, from the metal strip decorations along the walls to the large billboard that partially blocked the windows in the hallway. The only difference was the colours—bright red and white instead of their rustic wood theme.
Standing outside the shop was Leyla, dressed in a casual black and white ensemble. The moment she spotted Catherine and Kimmi approaching, she turned on her heel and hurried inside—most likely to announce their arrival.
As they stepped through the door, they were immediately greeted by Leyla and a young man who stood beside her. He had the same well-tailored attire but sported fine silver hair and an undeniably handsome face.
With a practiced elegance, he spread his arms wide before bowing slightly. "Aunty Cane! It has been far too long. Welcome to Frasier Fine Frippery, where elegance meets necessity." His tone was refined, almost theatrical.
Catherine smiled warmly. "Thank you for the warm welcome, Lawrence." She gently tapped Kimmi shoulder, silently urging her to introduce herself.
Feeling slightly awkward, Kimmi hesitated before speaking. "Uh… Hi. My name is Kimberly Mae Gustmill." She fidgeted, unsure why she had to introduce herself when no one else did.
Catherine chuckled at her daughter awkwardness. "Kimmi, this young man has just finished his studies at the Royal Academy. Isn't that amazing?"
Lawrence flushed slightly. "Oh, please, Aunt Cane…" He waved his hand dismissively. "I only completed the foundation courses. I couldn't even get into the core curriculum." His voice dropped with a sigh, as if admitting some great defeat.
Catherine scoffed lightly. "You shouldn't be ashamed. The Royal Academy offers the highest level of education. Even a foundation there is sought after—especially in government circles."
Kimmi, who had been only half-listening, perked up at the mention of the academy. 'Academy?' She did not care what they taught—she only wanted to know how to get in.
"How did you get into the academy?" she asked innocently.
Before Lawrence could answer, Leyla interjected proudly. "First, you need to know how to read!" She struck a confident pose, as if bestowing divine wisdom.
Kimmi gave her a deadpan stare. "Oh, I see…" Her voice was flat with annoyance.
Lawrence chuckled at their exchange before answering. "Ah, well… luck, really." He shrugged. "The Lord of Sheen recommended me and a few others student as representatives for our country."
Kimmi mind worked quickly—she knew that connections mattered. Since Lawrence father was a government official, she believed that influence among the higher-ups must have played a role in his selection as a representative to study at the Royal Academy. To her, it made perfect sense.
As Lawrence and Catherine continued their conversation, Kimmi attention drifted. She had no patience for long talks when there was a whole store to explore. Especially when the urge poking her mind ever so frequently when she start to dwindling against it will.
She looked around, taking in the vibrant colours of the shop. Mannequins stood in carefully arranged corners, draped in exquisite gowns and suits. A separate display showcased finely crafted handbags. The shop was not just filled with fabric—there were leather goods, embroidered shawls, and even delicate lacework.
One dress in particular caught her eye. She reached out, brushing her fingers over the smooth, shimmering fabric. "…Silk." She muttered.
A soft whisper came from behind her. "Good eye, little one."
Kimmi flinched slightly as Emeline leaned in, speaking close to her ear. The tailor lifted the silk gently, letting it cascade over Kimmi hand like water.
"Can you feel it?" Emeline voice was almost hypnotic. "Like clouds brushing against your skin. A summer breeze against your arms." She twirled the fabric once before letting it float down effortlessly. "It does not cling, it does not pull—it glides, it dances—it is the very essence of elegance."
She turned to Catherine with a knowing smile. "Don't you think so, Cane?"
Catherine gave her a flat look. "Yes, of course, Emily. But I'd rather not dress my daughter in something that would make her a target for thieves. I need something durable."
Emeline rolled her eyes dramatically. "You're no fun, Cane. Must you always let practicality smother artistic ambition?"
Ignoring her, Catherine eyes landed on something far more interesting—a mannequin, different from the rest. While most of the mannequins were beautifully dressed, this one stood bare, revealing its smooth wooden body.
What caught Catherine attention, however, was not its appearance—it was its design.
Unlike traditional mannequins, this one had fully articulated joints, connected by ball-and-socket mechanisms that allowed for fluid, human-like movement. Its arms could raise and lower with ease, and its elbows bent with precise, natural motion.
Most of the mannequins in the store were crafted by Catherine herself, but the intriguing design of the one before her piqued her interest.
Catherine stepped closer, running her fingers over the craftsmanship. "This... I didn't make this, Emily. The ball-and-socket joints—where did you get it?"
Emeline lips curled into a mischievous smile. "Oh, wouldn't you like to know?" she teased.
Catherine narrowed her eyes. "You brought this in just to get my attention, didn't you?"
Emeline chuckled. "I have no idea what you mean."
Kimmi, watching from the side, narrowed her eyes slightly. 'Yes… I sense it now. A rivalry of sorts… between my mother and Aunt Emily. But is it harmless? Or something deeper?'
Emeline, still grinning, turned to her son. "Let's get back to business."
Lawrence immediately carried over a selection of fabrics, each vibrant in colour and varying in texture.
Catherine followed him to the counter, leaving Kimmi and Leyla behind.
Kimmi glanced at Leyla, who was watching her carefully. For a moment, neither said anything.
Then Leyla smirked. "You don't even know how to read, do you?"
Kimmi clenched her fists.
This was going to be a long noon.
Leyla grabbed Kimmi hand and pulled her toward the staircase leading upstairs.
"Leyla, this isn't right… Your mother might get angry if you bring uninvited guests into your living room." Kimmi dug her heels in slightly, feeling uneasy. She did not want anything to do with this, especially given her history as a troublemaker. If anything went wrong, she was sure she had been the first to be blamed.
Leyla waved her off with a grin. "Oh, don't worry! You've been here plenty of times already. Besides, we're just going to my room." She tugged harder, nearly making Kimmi stumble.
Kimmi cast one last glance at her mother, who was far too occupied with Emeline to notice anything amiss. It was as if letting their children run around unsupervised in a shop was the most natural thing in the world.
'Should I tell her?' Kimmi wondered, briefly considering ratting Leyla out. But before she could make up her mind, Leyla yanked her forward with surprising persistence, dragging her toward the staircase. With a resigned sigh, Kimmi let herself be pulled along.
On the way up, Leyla chattered nonstop about her family wealth—their history, achievements, and general superiority. It appeared that Frasier household name was once a very notable noble house in this country or so she said.
Kimmi listened but was not even a little impressed. If anything, she considered Leyla stories unreliable. Still, she found them useful—a way to gather information about the thing that happen around her, that she does not know.
'Even if half of this is exaggerated nonsense, I can still learn something from it.' Kimmi thought.
But something nagged at Kimmi. If she had really been here before, why she did not remember anything about it. It was true that she had lost her previous memories, but she could still rely on her feelings. And right now, she felt out of place—something that contradicted Leyla claim that she had been here many times before.
'Is Leyla just making things up?' she wondered.
Perhaps Layla did this with everyone at her age, showing off her house as a way to feel superior among the other children.
Upon reaching the first floor, Kimmi noticed that the hallway was rather narrow. Both sides of the walls were lined with bookshelves, packed with countless books, making the path to Leyla room feel like walking through a section of a library.
'Library?' Kimmi thought. It was a fascinating word. She had never considered asking her mother to take her to one.
"Leyla… your house is wonderful," Kimmi said, her words genuine. She was delighted by the sight of rows upon rows of books, neatly lined up, numbered, and waiting to be read.
"Hehehe," Leyla chuckled, clearly pleased by Kimmi's remark. "Just wait until you see my room!" Her excitement was almost infectious.
At the end of the hallway, Leyla stopped in front of a door, grinning as she reached for the handle. Kimmi wondered for a moment, noticing something strange—the placement of Leyla room felt oddly familiar, almost identical to her own room back home. Perhaps it something to do with a culture.
Leyla swung open her bedroom door with a dramatic flourish.
"Behold! Feast your eyes upon my glorious chamber!" she declared, striking a proud pose.
Kimmi stepped inside and was immediately engulfed in a purple wonderland. Every inch of the room was bathed in various shades of violet—from the heavy drapes to the plush bedsheets, even the wooden furniture and bunkbed bore traces of deep lilac hues. The air carried a faint scent of lavender, making the space feel both regal and oddly cozy.
'This is a shared room, Kimmi thought as her eyes landed on the bunk bed. 'Could her brother Lawrence sleep here too?' She wondered.
Kimmi continued to sweep her eyes across the room, landing on a cluttered table covered in sheets of paper filled with alphabet scribbles and rough sketches. Lining the shelves were dozens of small, intricately carved wooden figurines—most likely the handiwork of her mother, Catherine.
But what truly caught Kimmi eye was a single book sitting on the table. Just as she took a step toward it, Leyla suddenly grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her down onto a round, fluffy carpet on the floor.
"Sit here!" Leyla commanded, grinning.
Kimmi blinked in surprise. "…Uh, okay?" she mumbled, adjusting herself on the soft rug.
Leyla, seemingly on a mission, dashed to a small wooden chest tucked into the corner of the room. After rummaging around for a moment, she pulled out a handful of wooden dolls, their tiny limbs finely carved and painted with care.
She plopped down beside Kimmi, holding up a doll in each hand. "Now, let's play!" she announced with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
Leyla held up two dolls. "This is Lady Sofia and her loyal knight, Sir Willow. And this—" she wiggled a tiny wooden figure in front of Kimmi's face, "—is you! The Thief!"
Without waiting, Leyla launched into an overly dramatic scene, making the dolls twirl wildly through the air. Then, with a mischievous grin, she poked Kimmi cheek as if attacking her.
"Oh no! The evil thief resists the mighty Sword of Judgment! What shall we do?!" she wailed in a deep, exaggerated voice for Sir Willow.
Kimmi took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, trying to keep a straight face. Then, with a smirk, she snatched the tiny figure Leyla had given her and swung it toward the knight and lady.
"How dare you attack me, the King of Thieves!" she declared, fully embracing the role.
The two girls burst into laughter, their game spiralling into a whirlwind of dramatic battles, ridiculous plot twists, and over-the-top acting. But as Kimmi played along, a strange thought crossed her mind—why was she enjoying this? She had never been particularly fond of playing anything, yet here she was, completely immersed.
Perhaps she was simply passing the time. Or maybe… she was just too bored with her everyday life, searching for anything to break the monotony. And somehow, playing with Leyla seemed to fill that void, if only for a little while.
Perhaps this is what the urge intended and Kimmi did not realized it.
Not knowing the reason, yet feeling so free, perhaps this is who she was meant to be.