The Reverie of a Mother

The snow came thick and sudden, blanketing the estate by dawn. White swallowed the hedges, the treetops, the garden statues, until the world beyond the windows disappeared into a slow, swirling silence.

Liora stood by the frosted glass of the second-floor hallway, her breath fogging the pane. She counted the snowflakes for a moment, before the shrill, triumphant call of Mathilde echoed down the corridor:

"TO THE LIBRARY! The Council of Blossoms is reborn!"

Within the hour, the grand library, usually reserved for quiet study and the scent of old parchment—was transformed into a wild jungle of blankets, quilts, and chair towers. Mathilde, bundled in three scarves and dragging an entire duvet behind her, declared herself High Architect of Fortification.

Leopold brought sticks and ribbon from the fencing room, Elias carried in cookies pilfered from Cook Alfred's pantry, and Liora, blinking in amusement—simply followed the trail of chaos.

"Everyone gets a title," Mathilde declared from atop a velvet armchair, holding up a long wooden spoon like a scepter. "No title, no entry!"

"I want to be the dragon!" Elias cried, his cheeks already sticky with jam.

"No," Mathilde said firmly. "You're too small. You'd burn down the fort."

"I'd burn it just a little," Elias said, grinning toothily.

"Elias," Liora interjected gently, kneeling beside him, "what about being our Royal Watchdog? You can protect the whole Council."

Elias gasped. "I get to bark?"

Liora nodded, solemn. "Bark with honor."

He ran in circles on all fours before diving under a blanket and howling with joy.

Mathilde handed out the rest of the roles with flourish:

"Liora, you're Keeper of Songs! You must sing to keep the snow spirits away."

"I don't sing," Liora protested.

"Yes, you do," said Annalise, emerging from a cushion avalanche with a sly grin. "I heard you humming to the bread yesterday."

"That's not singing, that's—"

"You're Keeper of Songs," Mathilde declared again, final and smug. "It is decreed."

"Fine," Liora muttered, laughing under her breath.

"Leopold is Knight of Snows," Mathilde continued. "You have to duel any monsters that come near the entrance."

"Do I get a sword?"

"You bring your own," she snapped, as if this were obvious.

"And what about me?" asked Annalise, sprawled luxuriously across a pile of tasseled pillows.

"You," Mathilde said with mock gravity, "are Empress of Cushions. Your throne is... there."

Annalise looked pleased.

"What about Micheal?" Leopold called, holding up a dented saucepan like a helmet.

All heads turned. Micheal had just stepped into the room, arms crossed, brows raised. He looked at the disaster zone of tangled quilts, cookie crumbs, and small children in various levels of authority and sighed.

"No thanks," he said, already turning away.

"Micheal," Mathilde whined, chasing after him with a knitted scarf in hand. "Come onnn. We need a Duke of the Marsh Kingdom."

"That's not even a thing."

"It is now!"

"You made this all up five minutes ago."

"It's called imagination," Elias chirped from beneath the blanket table.

Micheal paused. Liora, from her corner, caught his eye and offered the smallest, most mischievous smile.

He groaned in mock defeat.

"Fine. But only if I get a proper entrance."

They gave him one. Trumpeting from rolled-up papers, Elias crawling ahead barking like a ceremonial hound, Mathilde throwing flower petals, stolen from a winter bouquet and Leopold saluting with a wooden ladle.

Micheal entered with dramatic steps, clearing his throat before speaking in a deep, theatrical voice. "Greetings, noble peasants. I am the Duke of the Marsh Kingdom, known for my unmatched wisdom and my damp socks."

Everyone burst into laughter. Even Annalise, who rarely gave him the satisfaction of a chuckle, nearly fell off her cushion throne.

They played for hours. Blanket tunnels were fortified, treaties between the Empress and the Knight were broken and remade. Liora sang a silly lullaby from her childhood and blushed when they all clapped. Elias, despite being the Watchdog, fell asleep in the fort's back hallway with cookie crumbs on his face.

Micheal let himself be dragged into every ridiculous game, even holding a mock duel with Leopold where he dramatically "died" on a mound of books, groaning, "Tell my pillow... I loved her…"

It was the first time in months he laughed so hard he couldn't breathe. He fell back on the floor beside Liora, red-faced and gasping, as she dabbed his forehead with a napkin.

"Sir Duke," she teased, "your realm seems very delicate."

"My lungs are rebelling," he wheezed. "This is treason."

Outside, the snow still fell, silent, endless. Inside, the fire crackled and the laughter echoed off the vaulted ceilings.

At the top of the stairs, hidden from view, Lady Amalia stood with one hand against the banister. Her other hand covered her mouth, not in horror or reprimand, but to hold in the sound of her own sob.

Her children were laughing. All of them. Even Micheal.

For a long moment, she let herself breathe in that joy, holding it close like a fragile bloom.

When the fort collapsed later that evening, after Elias had snuck hot chocolate into a corner and spilled it on the Royal Watchdog rug, no one complained. They lay in a heap of cushions and limbs, the way all good wars end: in peace and crumbs.

That night, Liora wrote in her journal beneath her covers, her candle flickering low:

Today, we built a world of blankets and crowns and laughter. For a few hours, no one was hurting. And I saw something in Micheal's smile I haven't seen since the first day I met him. Maybe home isn't where you're born. Maybe it's where your laughter echoes longest.

As she blew out the candle, she heard a small shuffle.

Mathilde appeared beside her bed, dragging a pillow like a companion. "Can I sleep here tonight?"

"Of course."

She climbed in and curled close.

Then Leopold's voice, just outside the door: "Mother said I have to sleep with you too."

Liora arched a brow. "Did she?"

"Yes," he said. "Definitely."

Mathilde scowled. "There's not enough space!"

"It's fine," Liora said, scooting back.

Leopold hopped in, smirking.

Before the door could close, Elias padded in, lip trembling. "I don't want to sleep alone."

All three turned to him.

Leopold hissed, "Back to your bed, Watchdog!"

Elias sniffled. "I was brave all day…"

Liora reached out and lifted him gently onto the bed. "Even the bravest knights need a warm castle."

They all nestled in, arms, legs, scarves tangled.

Liora lay at the center, listening to the soft breathing around her.

Outside, the snowstorm raged.

Inside, she was safe.

And, for now, so were they.