We Do What We Want

Just A Mission

11/11/1469

"So, how are those boys of yours doing, dear? Same as always?" Evelyn's soft, melodic voice floated across the room as she delicately lifted her teacup to her lips, inhaling the comforting scent of lavender and honey.

Lilith, seated across from her in the lavishly adorned library, let out a heavy sigh before taking a sip from her own cup. The warmth of the tea did little to soothe her inner turmoil. "Same as always, darling," she replied, her tone holding the edge of resignation. "Although, Levon—well, he's becoming more difficult. Bratty, even. I don't know where that little boy gets his attitude from. He's constantly throwing fits, demanding things, and lashing out. Always hitting, screaming—it's exhausting."

Her voice lowered, and her eyes flickered with something akin to shame. "I certainly wasn't like that as a child. It's made me wonder... about his father." She murmured the last part so softly it almost disappeared beneath the crackling fireplace.

Evelyn, ever perceptive, gave a soft hum in acknowledgment. She placed her cup down gently, her pale, slender fingers caressing the delicate porcelain as though handling something far more fragile than a mere teacup. "Ah, yes," she began, her gaze thoughtful. "Children can sometimes carry echoes of the past. But, Lilith, children also thrive on the attention we give them, whether it be in moments of discipline or joy. Perhaps it is not about what Levon is doing wrong, but what he is asking for without words."

Lilith's expression darkened, and she waved her hand dismissively. "I've tried, dear Evelyn. Truly, I have. But he wants nothing to do with me, or William, for that matter. He's always off with that human friend of his and that girl—what's her name again? It escapes me." She rubbed her temple in frustration. "And when he is home, he's impossibly stubborn. Every time I offer help, whether with his studies, his projects, or even just simple things like preparing for the day, he brushes me off. 'No, thank you,' he says, 'I'm having Sebastian assist me with that. I don't need you.'" Lilith's eyes narrowed as she spoke, her voice tinged with hurt. "He acts as though I'm some stranger in his life."

Evelyn's smile faltered slightly as she listened, but her eyes remained calm, compassionate. "Children at that age often seek independence in ways that feel like rejection," she said softly. "But, Lilith, it is not you he is pushing away—he is simply searching for something, some connection, that maybe he does not even know how to articulate yet."

Lilith huffed in frustration, her fingers tightening around her teacup. "Connection? Evelyn, I've tried everything! He only speaks to Ethan, and even then, it's not about anything meaningful. He refuses to look me in the eye, and he's completely shut off from his siblings. I don't understand him anymore. And Sebastian—Sebastian, of all people!—has become his confidant. Whenever I ask for insight, he simply tells me that he's sworn to secrecy. Sworn! Can you imagine?"

A soft chuckle escaped Evelyn's lips as she shook her head. "Sebastian is an admirable butler—loyal to a fault. But, Lilith, it is not uncommon for children to confide in those they see as neutral. Parents often carry the weight of authority, even when they mean well."

Lilith's shoulders sagged, her frustration bleeding into a profound sadness. "I've tried to bond with him, Evelyn. Truly. I've sat with him for hours, discussing his favorite books. I've walked with him through the garden I had planted just for him, and still, nothing. He barely speaks to me at dinner, and when I try to engage him, he storms off in a fit. It's like he's building a wall that I can't climb. I don't know what to do anymore."

Evelyn reached across the table, placing her hand gently atop Lilith's. "He is still your son, Lilith. That wall you speak of is not as impenetrable as it seems. Sometimes, it is not about climbing it but waiting for him to open the gate." She paused, searching Lilith's eyes with a deeper intensity. "But you must understand—he is not doing this to hurt you. He is protecting something within himself, something fragile. Children are not always equipped to express the storms they feel inside."