ᴅᴇᴅᴜᴄᴛɪᴏɴꜱ - ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪᴛʏ ᴠ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ [ONGOING!]

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 15| ꜰᴏʀɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀɪᴇꜱ; ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴜʀɴᴄʟᴏᴀᴋ

He always found the little girl in the library, curled up in the corner. This wouldn't have been unusual, normally. She was the daughter of a wealthy family, and so she was educated, as any privileged child was. She knew how to read, so spending time in the library seemed like a practical use of her time.

At least, it would have been, had she actually spent her time in there reading.

The books always remained unread whenever she was there-- which he found strange, at first.

Instead of indulging in the rich selection of stories her family provided her with, the girl would press herself up against a large window overlooking the edge of the forest, pristine white dress bristling with excitement as she did.

Such practices were bizarre to him. He never had the courage to question her on it-- he was always scared she was marvelling at something too elegant for his plebeian mind to understand.
But he was her brother now, wasn't he? He was curious. Maybe he'd be excited by whatever was outside the window too.

"Oh, hello big brother!" She chirped upon noticing him lingering in the doorway. "I was just looking at the pretty birds-- come watch them with me!"

She gestured excitedly for him to come up next to her. He was reluctant, if not a bit disappointed-- birds were annoying, and their shrill squawking was never enjoyable. He had to make an effort, though. His new parents expected him to be an upstanding young man and a good older brother. After their kindness to him, he couldn't let them down.

So he decided to watch the birds with his younger sister.

She sighed contently as the birds began to trill at one another. Their songs resembled the beeps of machines, almost-- though she didn't seem to mind.

"I asked mama about the birds once at dinner," She smiled. "She told me that they're called "nightingales," and that there are many of them living out in the woods!"

He considered her carefully. There was a lamentable innocence in her admiration for the creatures.
"You must really like these nightingales then, right?" He asked. "You spend so much time watching them, so..."

Eyes sparkling, she leaned her small elbows against the windowsill, nodding happily. "Mmhm! Their songs are so pretty, aren't they?"

He shrugged. He honestly didn't care, but for her sake, he would feign interest. "I guess so... but they sound kind of muffled from inside, don't you think?"

The way she suddenly jumped off of the window made him flinch. Her shiny ginger hair was splayed around her petite shoulders, bristling excitedly as she jumped up and down in front of him. He had no clue what was going on, but that familiar sparkle of an idea in her eyes could only end with them both being scolded.

"Big brother, we should go and play tag in the garden!" She was practically bursting with excitement, seemingly proud of her stroke of genius.
"That way, we might be able to hear the nightingales better." She spoke matter-of-factly, hands behind her back. "Plus, it is my most favourite game of all time. It'll be so much fun!" 

He was speechless at first. He was surprised that a child of her background would ever want to risk dirtying her dress in a chasing game. That alone discouraged him from agreeing-- it was almost dark, and their parents trusted him to keep his sister safe. What would they think of him if they knew he had let her run wild outside?

He frowned down at her, a firm "no" on his lips-- but something stopped him. The way she stared up at him with those wide, innocent eyes made him bite his tongue. Could he really bring himself to say no to this sweet little girl?

And besides... when was the last time he had played tag? It was one of his favourite games, too.

"Alright, fine," He conceded, raising his hands in mock surrender. The girl giggled coyly.
He couldn't help but show his surprise. As the daughter of this wealthy family, she was always used to getting what she wanted; but, miraculously enough, she never flaunted it. She was unusually humble for a young child, though that didn't seem to affect her childlike sense of competitiveness.