Chapter 2: Echoes of the Past
The following morning dawned with a soft light filtering through the canopy of ancient trees surrounding the Sanchez Fuego cottage. Avril awoke to the distant hum of village life and the lingering scent of rain-soaked earth. She stretched languidly, her mind still half-caught in dreams of a world beyond the moss-covered walls.
Downstairs, the kitchen bustled with activity as Aunt Willy prepared breakfast—a simple affair of fresh bread, honey, and herbal tea. Avril descended the stairs quietly, her steps light on the worn wooden treads, and found Aunt Willy humming softly to herself as she worked.
"Good morning, Avril," Aunt Willy greeted her warmly, her hands deftly kneading dough on the well-worn table. "Did you sleep well?"
Avril nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Yes, thank you, Aunt Willy. The rain made everything so peaceful last night."
Aunt Willy chuckled softly, her gaze softening as she glanced at Avril. "Indeed it did. Rain has a way of soothing the soul, doesn't it?"
Avril nodded in agreement, pouring herself a cup of herbal tea and taking a seat at the table. The morning sunlight filtered through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow over the worn stone floor and simple furnishings.
"Will Natasha and Ophelia be joining us for breakfast?" Avril asked tentatively, her gaze flickering toward the staircase where her cousins' rooms lay.
Aunt Willy sighed softly, her expression tinged with a hint of concern. "They have gone into town early this morning, dear. Mr. Jameson's arrival is imminent, and there are preparations to be made."
Avril nodded silently, her heart heavy with a familiar pang of loneliness. She had grown accustomed to her cousins' absence during times of excitement and celebration—a reminder of their shared bond and the divide that separated her from their world.
As they ate breakfast together in companionable silence, the distant sound of carriage wheels echoed through the quiet morning air. Avril glanced out the window, her curiosity piqued by the arrival of Mr. Jameson—a figure of mystery and intrigue in the Valero Empire.
"He's here," Aunt Willy murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as she watched the carriage approach the cottage with a mixture of apprehension and anticipation.
The front door swung open with a flourish, and Natasha entered the kitchen, her face flushed with excitement. "Mother, he's arrived! Mr. Jameson is here."
Aunt Willy nodded briskly, her composure regained as she rose from the table to greet their guest. "Very well, Natasha. Please ensure everything is in order for Mr. Jameson's welcome."
Natasha nodded eagerly, her demeanor poised and confident as she hurried to make final preparations. Avril watched her cousin with a mixture of admiration and envy, her own role in the household relegated to the periphery once more.
Uncle Gill emerged from his study, his spectacles perched precariously on his nose as he joined them at the table. "Good morning, ladies," he greeted them cheerfully, his voice filled with warmth and affection. "I trust you all slept well?"
Avril nodded politely, her gaze flickering briefly to Uncle Gill before returning to her breakfast. She knew better than to engage in idle conversation—a lesson learned through years of navigating the delicate dynamics of the Sanchez Fuego family.
Outside, the carriage came to a stop in front of the cottage, its polished wood and gleaming brass a stark contrast to the weathered exterior of their home. Avril watched from the window as Mr. Jameson stepped down from the carriage—a tall, imposing figure with dark hair and a commanding presence that seemed to fill the air around him.
