CASSIE'S POV
My memories of life before the orphanage were hazy, almost nonexistent. Eight years had passed since my mother left me with a promise that still echoed in my mind like a distant whisper: she would return in a hundred nights.
At twelve years old, those hundred nights had stretched into nearly three thousand. But I didn't allow myself to crumble under her absence. Strength was my refuge, my shield against melancholy.
Why were these thoughts invading my mind right now?
The familiar chime of the six o'clock bell rang through the orphanage's corridors, signaling the start of a new day. The metallic sound pierced the communal dormitory, pulling me from my reverie.
I threw off the sheets with a vigorous motion as my crimson gaze swept across the long corridors flanked by endless rows of single beds. A sight I knew with painful familiarity since my arrival.
—Up, you little sleepyheads! Breakfast awaits us! —I exclaimed with enthusiasm, raising my arms toward the vaulted ceiling and watching as my companions began to emerge from the world of dreams.
I observed the morning symphony unfolding before my eyes. Some children lifted their heads with clumsy movements, others chased away sleep with prolonged yawns, and the rest stretched their limbs vigorously to shake off the heaviness of rest. A chaotic but beautiful dance that repeated itself every dawn in our underground world.
My attention settled on little Lulu, who was struggling with the buttons of her blouse as sleep still clouded her innocent gaze. I approached her with silent steps. At seven years old, with two precious pigtails cascading over her chest, her tiny fingers fumbled unsuccessfully with the complex task.
"It's like looking at my reflection from a few years ago," I reflected as I knelt before her, feeling the cold floor beneath my knees.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of blonde: Jake, one of our little troublemakers, was running as if chased by the devil, a mischievous smile plastered across his angelic face. Behind him, Thomas, with his distinctive black hair, raised his arms, pretending to be a specter, making theatrical gestures.
—You'll never catch me! —Thomas shouted, his voice mingling with the laughter and yawns filling the morning.
—We'll see about that! —Jake replied between crystalline giggles, dodging the beds with the skill of a seasoned dancer.
—Stop playing and get ready for breakfast —I heard one of the older girls, about eight or nine years old, say from the bed across from mine.
Her deep voice contrasted with the general clamor as she adjusted her black glasses on her nose with a gesture of maturity beyond her years.
—Cassie, I can't get my shoes on —Lulu's trembling voice snapped me back to reality.
Before I could respond, two more pairs of teary eyes joined her plea, tiny hands clutching shoes as if they were incomprehensible artifacts from a lost civilization.
—Hold on, little ones, no need for tears —I said gently, as the familiarity of the scene wrapped around me like a warm embrace.
Without realizing it, I had become the eldest of the group. It wasn't merely a matter of age; it was a responsibility I had naturally taken on over the years, an invisible but heavy mantle I carried on my shoulders.
When we finally emerged into the hallway, I was carrying one of the youngest, Marcus, a boy with dark skin and jet-black hair who seemed thrilled to be elevated above the world in my protective embrace.
The corridor buzzed with activity, children of all ages moving like industrious ants.
The building we called home was a labyrinth of spaces I knew as intimately as my own body: the cafeteria where we shared meals amid laughter and secrets; the pantry that guarded our culinary treasures like a vigilant dragon; the classroom where we faced daily exams that measured our progress; the dusty attic that held secrets of past generations of orphans; the bathrooms and showers where I organized endless shifts with saintly patience; the infirmary I had visited more times than I could count, tending to children with scraped knees and frightened hearts; the library where I sought refuge on sad days among yellowed pages that smelled of time; the playroom bursting with childish laughter; the music room where some found their voice amid notes and silences; the storage rooms that safeguarded forgotten stories amid dust and darkness; and Mother Emilia's office… no, not "Mama," but Mother Emilia's, along with Mother Susan's room, both sanctuaries of authority and affection.
In the hallway, I ran into Vinnie and little Lyra. Vinnie, with skin as dark as polished ebony and eight years of precocious wisdom, guided Lyra with the same tenderness I had worked to cultivate.
Lyra, with her oval face framed by blonde pigtails that danced with every step, clutched her white teddy bear as if it were her anchor in the storm of life.
—Good morning, Vinnie and little Lyra —I greeted them with a radiant smile, noticing how, behind them, at the bathroom door, Leo, with his peculiar light blue hair, waited his turn alongside Sofía, who displayed the characteristic patience of her seven years.
—Good morning, Cassie —Vinnie raised his right hand with a shy smile that lit up his face.
—Good morning, Cassie! —Lyra, for her part, gifted me one of those dazzling smiles that could brighten even the darkest corner of our underground home.
Upon reaching the dining hall, I felt the familiar relief of having orchestrated another successful morning, like a conductor after a flawless symphony.
—We made it on time! —I murmured to myself.
Suddenly, it felt as if the ground vanished beneath my feet. An unexpected force pushed me from behind, and my center of gravity shifted dangerously, threatening to send me crashing to the floor along with my precious cargo.
"I won't fall, I won't fall," I repeated mentally as I performed impromptu juggling to maintain my balance in that precarious dance.
By some miracle of physics—or perhaps the practice accumulated from years of similar games—I managed to steady myself as Marcus leaped nimbly from my arms, landing with the natural grace of a feline.
Turning around, I came face to face with the morning's two troublemakers, Jake and Thomas, who watched me with angelic smiles that wouldn't fool even the most gullible adult.
I narrowed my crimson eyes, feigning an indignation I had never truly felt toward their innocent mischief.
—Now I'm really going to eat you both! —I declared with a theatrically menacing voice, spreading my arms like claws as I chased after them. Their feigned screams of terror, mingled with genuine laughter, filled the hallway as they fled from my pursuit.
After our morning skirmish, I returned to the dining hall with Marcus once again clinging to my back like a small human backpack, his little hand playfully covering my mouth in a private game only we understood.
The dining hall, with its three long, dark wooden tables worn by years of use, was the beating heart of our peculiar family. Reinhardt, my peer and confidant, with his reddish-brown hair always perfectly combed, pushed the cart with steaming pots, while Arceus, a year younger but taller than any of us, carried the heavy milk jug with an ease that betrayed his strength.
—Good morning, Reinhardt, Arceus —I greeted them, maintaining my radiant smile, silently acknowledging the invisible bond that had united us as best friends for as long as I could remember.
—Good morning, Cassie —Reinhardt replied with his characteristic kindness, his eyes shining with sincere affection.
—Morning —Arceus's curt greeting came with a glance of apparent indifference that I had learned to interpret as his unique way of showing care.
Arceus had always been different from the rest. Taller and more robust than all the children, he was the only one who dedicated himself to regular exercise, for reasons he guarded jealously, like so many other secrets.
—I see you've got plenty of energy for someone who hasn't eaten breakfast yet —Reinhardt observed with a gentle smile that revealed his deep understanding of my nature.
—What, are you five years old? —Arceus's biting comment came with a mocking smile that belied the harshness of his words.
I furrowed my brow and made an exaggerated pout, aware that I was only proving his point but unable to contain my natural reaction.
—I'm older than you, Arceus —I protested with feigned indignation, though I knew my arguments fell on deaf ears as I watched him stride confidently through the dining hall.
Suddenly, a melodious laugh beside me made me turn my head as if drawn by a magnet.
—You too, Mama? —I asked with theatrical exasperation, meeting Emilia's radiant smile, her blonde hair like rays of sunlight framing her porcelain face, her black uniform contrasting with the luminosity that seemed to emanate from her.
Mama.
The word slipped from my lips with the ease of water flowing from a spring. That's how I always addressed her…
She wasn't my biological mother, the one who asked me to wait a hundred nights and never returned, but she was the one who filled that gaping void in my childish heart with infinite patience and tenderness.
Emilia, who never complained when we were noisy, shameless, annoying, or unbearable; who chatted animatedly with us without a single wrinkle of displeasure crossing her serene face.
If a mother was someone who cared for you in sickness, fed you in hunger, worried about your well-being, offered unconditional love, warmed your lonely heart without abandoning you to fate… then Emilia was, without a doubt, my mother.