Whispers, Letters, The Ones We Lost

CHAPTER FIVE

April, 1986

The morning sun streamed through the small, hand-sewn curtains of the Duclaire household. Unlike the grand halls of the Vellmont estate, Louie's home was warm and modest, nestled at the edge of the town where the cobblestone paths gave way to open meadows. The faint scent of lavender and rosemary floated through the house, a signature fragrance from the many potted plants that Louie's mother tended with great care.

Louie sat cross-legged on the worn wooden floor of the living room, helping his mother sort through bundles of dried flowers she had gathered from the countryside. Their house was lined with shelves crammed full of classic novels, old poetry collections, and botany books, their spines cracked and loved from years of use.

His mother, Elenora Duclaire, hummed a soft tune as she worked, her fingers deftly tying together sprigs of baby's breath, lavender, and chamomile. Her hair was streaked with gray, tied back in a loose braid, and her face bore the kind of gentle lines that spoke of a life well-lived, despite its hardships.

"Hand me the sage, Louie," she said, her voice warm and patient.

Louie reached over and passed her a bundle, his fingers brushing against the aromatic leaves. "Here you go, Ma."

She smiled at him, tucking the sage into a fresh wreath she was making. "Thank you, darling. The neighbors are already asking for more of these. Seems like everyone's trying to drive the bad spirits away these days."

Louie chuckled, brushing dirt from his pants. "Or maybe they just want the house to smell better."

Elenora laughed, a soft, musical sound that filled the cozy room. "Maybe. But I like to think these small things keep a little magic in the world."

Louie leaned back on his hands, looking around their little home. It wasn't grand or fancy, but it was full of love—and stories. Every book on the shelves held a memory, every dried flower a moment captured in time.

After a few moments of companionable silence, Louie found himself speaking without fully thinking it through.

"Ma..." he began hesitantly, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. "I've been... seeing someone. Well—not seeing, exactly, but... there's this girl."

Elenora paused, her hands stilling for just a second before she resumed weaving the flowers together. A knowing smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

"Oh?" she said lightly. "Tell me about this girl, then."

Louie scratched the back of his head, suddenly feeling awkward. "Her name's Mauryn. Mauryn Vellmont."

At the mention of the name, Elenora's fingers faltered just slightly. She looked up, her brown eyes sharp with sudden understanding. "Vellmont?" she repeated carefully.

Louie nodded, a boyish grin playing on his face. "Yeah. She's... something else, Ma. Proper, you know. All poised and polished like a painting. But there's something underneath all that—something real. When she laughs... it's like the world gets brighter."

Elenora studied her son for a long moment, seeing the light in his eyes, the way he spoke with a tenderness he didn't even realize was there. She couldn't help but smile, even if it was tinged with a mother's worry.

"She sounds wonderful," Elenora said softly. "But Louie... you know the Vellmonts are a powerful family. Wealthy. Important."

Louie's grin faltered a little, but he shrugged. "I know, Ma. But she's not just her name. She's more than that. I can feel it."