[hider=Charlotte Flashback][color=lightgray][h1][b][color=red][center]FLASHBACK[/center][/color][/b][/h1]
[center][h3][b][color=D0B4EC]1724[/color][/b][/h3][/center]

For a moment, Charlotte couldn’t help but think about how the grand dining hall hadn’t looked so different, even in back 1724. 

It was alive with the clinking of crystal and the low hum of conversation. But to the young version of herself, it had felt like a magical world, a place where gold dripped from the chandeliers and the gowns sparkled like constellations.

Charlotte kicked her feet as she sat at the edge of the table, her small legs barely brushing the plush chair. She glanced around at the sea of unfamiliar faces, biting her lip with glee. The night felt special, like it belonged only to her. 

Emina sat beside her. Her features were bathed in the soft glow of flickering candlelight, the warm hues contrasting beautifully with her dark hair.  Despite the laughter and chatter of the nobles around them, there was a serene intimacy in the way she interacted with Charlotte, her gaze warm and affectionate. She looked every bit the picture of grace, her eyes holding a softness only visible in moments like these, moments when she was most at peace with the world.  

But it was more than her beauty that caught Charlotte's eye. It was the way her mother’s gaze softened whenever she looked at her, the warmth in her touch as she ran a hand through Charlotte’s hair. For a fleeting moment, Charlotte felt cherished, as if she were the most important person in the world.

Her delicate smile seemed genuine as she had brushed hair from her daughter’s eyes tenderly, yet there was an underlying sadness in her eyes, an emotion that Charlotte, in her innocence, couldn’t quite understand at the time. [color=a38ddf]“My little girl, “[/color] She softly whispered, a sweet smile on the woman’s face. 

But just as she allowed herself to indulge in that fleeting peace, the voice of King Edin cut through the air, resounding across the banquet hall, louder than all the others.

[color=DDB775]"Perhaps, Duchess Emina, you should have more children,"[/color] the King said, his voice cold. [color=DDB775]“You’re not getting any younger, and certainly, you can’t possibly expect to rely on one girl alone to carry the family name, can you? It’s not the strength of daughters that ensures a legacy.”[/color]

Charlotte’s smile faltered. She felt a sudden, uncomfortable shift in the air, the warmth from her mother’s presence replaced by a prickling tension.  Even at such a young age, she understood the weight of his words and the cruel edge behind them. Though this had all been so long ago, Charlotte could remember those words exactly, and nothing could erase them from her mind. 
The memory was engraved in her like a scar.


Emina’s hand had stilled in Charlotte’s hair, faltering slowly as Walter left Gideon’s side, his footsteps growing heavy with anger. He had stormed toward Edin without hesitation, vocal in his defiance in front of everyone. His voice had been so loud, unwavering, and filled with a protective wrath for his family.

But as the memory seemed to press in from all sides, it suddenly shifted, dissolving like mist in the air. Another banquet. Just like this one. Only this time, Walter wasn’t there. 


But Emina was. 

Charlotte remembered how the view had changed—how, over time, she had grown tall enough to look people in the eye. No longer needing to peek over the top of the table to see the other guests. But the most jarring change had not been her own growth. It had been Emina. 

The woman who had once looked at her with warmth, with tenderness, had now fixed her gaze forward, never once meeting Charlotte’s eyes. It was as though even the slightest glance in her direction would have brought some unbearable consequence.

Emina’s hand trembled ever so slightly as it rested on the table. It was the kind of tremor Charlotte had noticed but never truly understood. That subtle distance, that unspoken fear... It had been there, lurking in the quiet moments, in every conversation, every instruction.

It was the kind of thing that seemed insignificant at first, a fleeting thing to brush off, but over time it became undeniable. There was no grand moment, no single shift that she could pin down. But it was there, thick in the air between them—a wall that had slowly, imperceptibly risen. 

Somewhere along the line, she had stopped being “momma’s little girl.”  That was something Charlotte had not dared to think about since her mother’s death.

But now, in this room, as Cassius looked at her the way he did, there was no way to keep the memory from resurfacing. For her mother had stared at her the same way—as though Charlotte had already slipped through her fingers, as if the love they shared had been shadowed by the quiet grief of something that had been lost long before it ever truly had the chance to be.


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