Aurelia didn’t hear much of the conversation after she gave her obligatory reply. A painful knot was forming in her throat, and her vision grew watery as she looked absently around the hall, drawn to the simplest amendments, things she’d seen hundreds (if not thousands) of times. She was suddenly very aware of how many eagles graced the walls; she found herself looking at the House banners differently, focusing on spots her eyes usually slipped over. Even the ancient masonry seemed new. 

This hall was but one small piece of her home. She’d always found it boring, a place where entitled peasants shouted their endless complaints and monotonous business was carried out. Her home, the castle, felt so familiar. She felt as if she knew every inch of it. But, she wondered, had she even seen it all? Every room? Every corridor? She doubted if she’d even seen every servant.

When she left, all she’d have of this place would be memories. Were they even complete to begin with?

Her stomach turned, and tears threatened to fall. She had to stare at the bright windows to dry them. 

All she’d ever heard of Sommerfirth were horror stories. How the land was charred as if by some massive fire, never to recover; how monsters of indescribable horror marauded through the country. She’d been told stories by her impish brother Erwin about how the people of Sommerfirth were horrid, warmongering brutes, who threw malformed babies from cliffs and ate the hearts of their fallen enemies.