Earlier that afternoon—before the smell of stew began to fill the cottage and before the warmth of dusk folded over the hills—the body had been cornered by one of Lira's "tests." The rain had just passed, leaving the yard damp and sweet with the scent of wet earth. Through the open shutters came soft light, and the faint sound of Mirella humming in the kitchen.
Lira stood at the centre of the room like a commander about to declare war, a stool dragging behind her across the floorboards. "We're playing questions today," she announced with dangerous confidence.
The body tilted its head. Cain steadied the motion, gauging her intent.
Cain: Proceed carefully. She's observant.Henry was already amused.
Henry: Or she's bored. Either way, I like her spirit.Aldric exhaled internally.
Aldric: Let us classify this as an unnecessary distraction.
Lira climbed atop the stool, crossing her arms like a judge. "I'll ask something, you answer quickly. No thinking. Ready?"
Cain: Keep it simple. No hesitation.The body nodded once.
"First question," Lira said, grinning. "What's my favourite colour?"
Henry: Easy. The blue ribbon in her hair yesterday.
Aldric: Conjecture, but likely accurate.
Cain: Then say it.
The voice came out smoothly through the mouth. "Blue."
Lira blinked. "...Lucky guess."
Henry: Ha! Nailed it.
Aldric: Calculated deduction.
Cain: Both of you quiet.
"Next—Father's favorite meal."
The body hesitated. Cain paused the breath; Henry searched for fragments of memory; Aldric sifted through environmental clues like a scholar rearranging puzzle pieces.
Aldric: Salted stew—common local diet.
Henry: Or roasted boar, remember the letter she mentioned?
Cain: Say stew with thyme. That sounds plausible.
"Boar stew. With thyme."
Lira tilted her head, suspicion flickering across her young face. "That's right… but you never liked it before."
Henry: Uh oh.
Aldric: Observation—our behavioural baseline diverges from the original.
Cain: Focus. Don't let her dig.
"Next," she said, eyes narrowing, "what's the name of the hill where we pick flowers?"
Silence. Inside, the trio searched. No memory—only vague impressions of wind and laughter.
Henry: Let it go.
Cain: Say you don't know.
Aldric: Refusing knowledge is consistent with trauma symptoms.
"I don't remember."
Her shoulders slumped. "It's Windmere Hill. You used to race me there."
Henry: She misses him.
Aldric: Not relevant.
Cain: Relevant enough.
But then came the next strike—her tone sharper now, eyes bright with challenge. "What's my middle name?"
The trio froze.
Henry: Grace!
Aldric: Statistically too common.
Cain: Stop arguing, she's—
The mouth betrayed them: "Grace—Unlikely."
Lira's eyes widened. "What?"
The body blinked. Cain took the reins immediately, forcing calm into his voice. "Sorry. I meant Grace. I was… thinking aloud."
From the kitchen, Mirella's voice carried, gentle but edged with concern. "Everything alright in there?"
"Fine!" Lira called back, still staring.
Henry: Smooth recovery.
Aldric: Barely.
Cain: She's suspicious now.
Lira leaned forward, voice quieter. "You sound… different sometimes. Like you're talking to someone I can't hear."
Cain held the body perfectly still. The pulse in its throat fluttered, betraying tension.
Aldric: Containment breach.
Henry: Relax, she's a kid.
Cain: She's noticing patterns.
The mouth curved into a soft smile. "Maybe I am."
She blinked, uncertain whether to laugh. "Imaginary friends?"
Henry: Technically accurate.
Aldric: Insulting.
Cain: Accept it.
"Something like that," the body said.
Her grin returned, triumphant. "Then tell your friends I'm winning."
Aldric: She is not.
Henry: She absolutely is.
Cain: Let her think so.
Lira brightened. "Next one's a riddle!"
Aldric: No.
Henry: Yes!
Cain: Fine. Go on.
"What walks on four legs in the morning, two in the afternoon, and three at night?" she asked, clearly proud of herself.
The mouth answered before any of them could stop it. "Man."
Her jaw dropped. "That's not fair! Mother, he's cheating!"
From the kitchen came Mirella's amused voice. "He's just clever, Lira. Don't challenge him unless you're ready to lose."
Lira huffed. "Then he can help me with reading later!"
Mirella appeared in the doorway, drying her hands, her eyes lingering a little too long on the boy's steady posture. "That might be a good idea," she said softly.
Cain: She's studying us again.
Aldric: Naturally. Our speech patterns shift unpredictably.
Henry: You mean you keep lecturing mid-sentence.
Aldric: Your humor contaminates syntax.
Cain: Both of you shut up before she hears the noise through the walls.
The body smiled, faint but genuine. "I'd like that."
"Good! Then if you lose, I get your bread roll!"
"Deal."
As she darted off to find her reading slate, Mirella's gaze lingered one heartbeat longer on the boy before turning away. "You don't have to push yourself so hard," she murmured.
The mouth responded softly, almost automatically under Cain's control. "I'm fine."
She nodded once, unconvinced, and disappeared into the kitchen.
Henry: She worries a lot.
Cain: She should.
Aldric: Then perhaps we should develop an alibi for future discrepancies.
Henry: Or stop arguing every time she speaks to us.
Cain: That too.
Aldric: Improbable.
Outside, thunder murmured low through the hills. Inside, Lira's laughter carried down the hallway—light, untroubled, unaware of the symphony of voices beneath the skin that had once been her brother.
The scent of stew drifted through the cottage, warm and rich with the aromas of pepper and thyme. The body's hand brushed against the table's edge as Cain guided it toward the kitchen.
Cain: Dinner.
Henry: Think we'll get dessert?
Aldric: Unlikely.
The body smiled faintly as it moved toward the hearth's glow, their shared silence settling like a fragile peace over the hum of the rain.