The concept of reincarnation was no stranger to me. You could find it everywhere you looked in the the twenty-first century; television, novels, manga, and animation. Ironically, reincarnation or transmigration was my favorite trope.
I had always im...
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Felix woke before the sun.
The house was quiet in that glassy way, nothing yet disturbed. He moved softly, his slippers against the cool wood floor, moving like someone used to not waking others. Not that he needed to be careful.
Madam Langlois was always awake before him.
Sure enough, the pleasant scent of tea drifted faintly down the hall. Not because she liked it that way but because she insisted it was proper and because she never did anything halfway.
Felix turned the corner into the small kitchen. She didn’t look up. Just poured herself a cup, black as the sky outside.
"You’re late"
"I’m early," Felix said, brushing his hair back with one hand. "You just don’t sleep"
"That’s why I’m alive," Madam Langlois said, finally meeting his gaze. Jesus, so ominous and Felix rolled his eyes at the thought.
She wore a thick shawl over her shoulders, though she never seemed cold. Her hands were clean. She was older but not old. There was no softness in her steps, no hesitation in the way she turned and handed Felix a mug with milk and one think slice of lime already stirred in.
He took it carefully as to not spill or meet the wrath of the Madam.
She never got his tea wrong.
He sat across from her. She leaned against the counter, watching the steam curl.
"Damian’s still asleep," Felix said as he perked his lips to avoid burning his lips as he slurped his tea.
"Good. Let the boy rest. He’s too thin. Dreams too loudly"
Felix laughed a little at that. She didn’t smile back. Not that he expected her to.
Madam Langlois didn’t believe in unnecessary expressions. Smiling, she claimed, was for fools who hadn’t learned the price of quiet.
Still, she did other things.
There were extra marshmallows in the cupboard that only appeared when Damian had a fever. She always folded the towels with lavender between the layers, because Felix once said the scent reminded him of spring. The first time he scraped his knee on the garden tiles, she didn’t scold. She’d cleaned it with swift hands, then muttered something about “stupid boys and their stupid knees” before baking lemon shortbread.
That was her way.
Brutal kindness with hard-edged warmth.
Felix respected it more than anything. Too dangerously close to home.
"Today’s chores?" he asked, finishing his tea in a few sips. He let out a content sigh.
