Birth of a Crimson Feather

•MEMORIES• Secret Intentions

The dining area was situated inside a very large room facing the backside of the house and the beautiful gardens which you could see by going out to the balcony. When Kynthia's mother was alive she used to tend to the purple wisterias that now decorated the dining room's balcony. Purple wisterias were Anastasia's favorite flower and the girl would take the love for the color of this flower to another level, using it everywhere she could. It made her feel closer to her late mother and after a while, she would plead with Mr. Heracles to help her tend to these flowers too.

Not a single person could say no to her, she was such a lovable child but she had just one flaw to her personality. She used to lie to get people to do things for her, she usually told white lies so she could get more candy, making other people promise they won't tell on her when her father asked if she did her homework and other charming pretenses.

Growing up her father started to notice and gave her a unique nickname that only they and Mrs. Picket knew. Her moniker was Cassandra, the priestess of Apollo who was cursed to be able to see the future but no one would believe her. She disliked that epithet the moment she heard it because it was always accompanied by her father's wisdom: "If you keep up your lying you will end up like Cassandra!" he used to say to her.

Kynthia got used to it though, it made her feel special in a way because no one else, other than her father, would refer to her as such, not even Mrs. Picket despite the fact she knew about that nickname.

She thought of that the entire time she was waiting in the dining room. She felt like a proper spy, she would try her best to not give away anything and help her father. At this moment she was no longer Kynthia, she was Cassandra and she would do everything in her power to get the candy.

The young girl was very certain not a single human could find the book where she had decided to hide it. It was a very obvious spot, but not obvious enough for people who were unfamiliar with the house. Besides, if someone tried to look for it, they would have to go through the countless rooms and hoards of books her father owned to be able to locate it.

Such was her certainty that a very pronounced smile appeared on her face. She also giggled a bit, and before she knew it a hand was poking her cheeks lightly and she heard an unfamiliar voice next to her.

"This must be the charming daughter of my dear friend! You are little Miss Kynthia, aren't you?" Price said with a high-pitched voice.

"Hello! Yes, I am Kynthia Nevil, daughter of Anastasia and Thurston Nevil. A pleasure to make your acquaintance." she said and got up from her seat, she bowed exactly like she was taught by Mrs. Picket and sat back down.

Price looked at the little girl with fondness in his eyes, he stood by the table and turned slightly to Mr. Nevil "Oh, what a charming young lady you are! You look like your mother, you know that? Lovely and well-mannered. Well done, Nevil, you have a gem as a daughter, lucky you!"

"She is a gem, indeed. Thank you for your observation. You should consider finding a lovely bride to give you children of your own. " Nevil said without paying much attention to Price's facial expressions. He was waiting for a reaction but instead, he was met with a bright smile as Price was sitting comfortably on his assigned chair.

The food started coming from the kitchen at a rapid speed, everything smelled and looked divine and the staff made sure to bring out one of the aged and most expensive wines Nevil had in its possession. The men started talking about various subjects that usually would bore Kynthia out. This time, though, she made sure to listen closely to everything they said.

She would occasionally look towards her governess who would wink at her and point at her hands. She had to keep a certain decorum while eating and had trouble keeping her elbows off the table. Every time she would want to eavesdrop she would subconsciously cross her hands and her elbows would touch the edges of the dinner table.