The Daughter of Valancaire

### Chapter: Fragments of Self

I woke slowly, my body reluctant to emerge from the haze that had blanketed my mind. For a moment, the darkness felt like a comfort—an escape from the chaos of thoughts I wasn’t yet ready to face. But the soft light filtering through the room nudged me awake, coaxing my senses to stir, and I opened my eyes to find myself in a new, unfamiliar place.

The room around me was serene, almost dreamlike in its beauty. Soft, warm sunlight streamed through delicate lace curtains, casting intricate shadows across the walls. The ceiling above me was adorned with swirling vines, a delicate blend of rose and gold, curling and twining like something out of a fairytale. The soft hues filled the room with an ethereal glow, giving the entire space an air of tranquility. Everything felt soft and delicate, like a dream caught between sleep and waking.

I blinked, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep, but the ache in my head reminded me that something wasn’t quite right. Something had happened. Something was missing.

My gaze drifted to the edge of the room, where a mirror hung on the wall, framed in gold, ornate and beautiful. I didn’t know why, but my eyes were drawn to it, as if the reflection might hold some kind of key, some understanding to the confusion swirling in my chest.

I sat up slowly, the motion still alien to my body, as if the very act of moving was a challenge. The room tilted for a moment, but then steadied as I took a deep breath and adjusted myself against the softness of the bed. I winced as the ache in my neck and muscles shifted, but I pushed through it. I needed to see. I needed to understand.

The mirror loomed before me, and I hesitated for just a moment before lifting my eyes toward it. My reflection met me with unfamiliar clarity, as though the world beyond the glass had become my own—vivid, sharp, yet still strange.

At first, I only saw the pale glow of my skin, the softness of my features. But then my eyes locked onto my own face—eyes first. 

They were striking.

A deep, radiant blue, like sapphires glimmering in the light. My eyes were different—unusual, seeing them now, seeing them *so* vividly reflected back at me, was jarring. There was something in their depth, something that felt as if it could pierce through centuries of time, as though they had witnessed more than they should have. *My father’s eyes,* I realized with a shiver.

My gaze fell next to my hair. Long, dark, and rich as the night, it cascaded around my shoulders, its deep blackness a stark contrast to the pale light of the room. The strands shimmered with a faint bluish sheen, and I reached up instinctively to touch it. My fingers slid through the silkiness, feeling the weight of it, the softness. It was so familiar. *My father’s hair.*

I paused, my hand still resting in the dark waves, and then my eyes flickered back to my reflection. My face was the same as it had always been, but... different. More *real*. More present. I had the same sharp features, the same smooth jawline as my mother—the same gentle curve to my lips, the same ethereal glow to my skin. Her beauty, her grace, her elegance, they all reflected back at me in the soft angles of my face. 

But there was more to it. I saw the hints of something stronger beneath the surface. Something *fierce*—and it didn’t come from my mother, though I saw her in every curve of my face. This strength was something else, something deeper. *My father’s strength.*

The realization struck me in waves.

It wasn’t just my hair, or my eyes, or the curve of my lips that had come from them. It was more than that. It was the very way I carried myself—half my mother’s beauty, half my father’s resilience—and all of it seemed to surge forward as I looked into my own eyes, trying to piece together the strange, fractured truth of who I was.

I was theirs. Their *daughter*. 

But the truth was incomplete, fractured, just like the memory that had been so abruptly torn away. I could feel the raw edges of what I couldn’t remember pulling at my mind, clawing for answers, but they remained just beyond my grasp, hidden in the shadows.

I swallowed hard, my throat still raw from the unfamiliar liquid, still sore from the silence of my voice being trapped for so long. I felt a wave of exhaustion wash over me, but the need to understand—to *know*—pushed it away.

The mirror held my gaze, and I finally let my hand drop to my side, taking in the rest of my reflection. The soft, flowing gown I wore—its pale color and delicate fabric, almost as if it had been made for me, though I had never seen it before. The bed beneath me—its dark velvet sheets, tangled from where I had awoken—felt too soft, too foreign. This was a room of comfort, but the comfort felt incomplete, unearned. It didn’t match the questions that churned in my chest.

Suddenly, the door creaked open.

I turned toward the sound, instinctively tightening my grip on the blankets around me. A figure appeared in the doorway, silhouetted by the light from the hallway behind them. It was my mother. She stepped inside, her footsteps soft and hesitant as her eyes flickered nervously over me, as if she weren’t sure whether to approach or wait.

When she saw me sitting up, her breath caught in her throat. Her gaze softened, and something like relief passed over her features, though there was an undercurrent of fear in her eyes, too. The same fear that had haunted her the night before.

“You’re awake,” she whispered, as though unsure whether to believe it.

“Yes,” I replied, my voice hoarse but steady. “I... I remember.”

Her expression faltered for a moment. I could see that she was holding back something—something painful, something she didn’t want to share. But instead of answering, she simply crossed the room to me, her steps slow and deliberate.

She reached out a hand to touch my cheek, and I leaned into it instinctively, feeling the warmth of her palm against my skin. A simple touch that conveyed more than words ever could. 

“You’re stronger than you know,” she said softly, her voice a whisper. “I only hope that when the time comes, you’ll remember everything. Everything that *we* need you to remember.”

I looked at her, trying to understand. “What do you mean? What’s happened to me?”

But she only sighed, her fingers brushing my hair back from my face. “All in good time, my love. All in good time.”

As she stepped back, her eyes never leaving mine, I could feel the weight of her words. There was something she wasn’t saying—something I wasn’t ready to hear. Yet, despite the questions, despite the emptiness in my chest, I couldn’t help but feel that, in some way, I was where I needed to be. 

The truth was waiting. I just didn’t know how long it would take me to find it.

--------------------

My name is Jessa Lia, my mother told me. And I had to believe her, because the name felt like a stranger on my tongue, yet something inside me stirred when she said it. It was as if the words were trying to call something back—something buried too deep for me to reach on my own.

We were in the manor, my family’s home—or was it? The place was vast, ancient in a way that made me feel small and lost, as though the very walls were trying to whisper forgotten stories into my ears. A heavy velvet curtain was drawn back just enough to let the late afternoon sunlight spill across the room. The dust danced in the golden light, swirling in the stillness like ghosts of the past.

I was sitting in a plush armchair near the window, wrapped in a soft woolen blanket, my body still stiff from... whatever had kept me in this state of fog for so long. My hands, delicate and unfamiliar, fidgeted with the edge of the fabric. There was something comforting about the softness, but also a strange sense of wrongness. As though it didn’t quite belong to me.

My mother stood before me, her eyes searching my face as if she were waiting for something—perhaps recognition, perhaps a memory to surface. Her presence was gentle, but there was a quiet strength behind it that filled the room. She was beautiful, in a way that spoke of grace, but also of something older, something deeply rooted. She had golden hair braided intricately over her shoulder, and her gown was a rich green, flowing with the elegance of someone who had known the weight of history.

"Jessa," she said softly, her voice thick with affection and something else—something I couldn’t quite name. "You’ve been asleep for so long. But you’re here now. With us. And we’ve missed you."

Her words washed over me, and I tried to hold onto them, but the confusion inside me only deepened. Asleep for so long?The haze in my mind pressed in on me, thick and suffocating. How long had I been gone? And why was it that I couldn’t remember my own name, my own life, my own family?

“Do you remember me?” she asked after a pause, a shadow flickering in her eyes. It was a soft question, but it carried a heavy weight, as though she had asked it countless times before and was waiting, hoping for an answer.

I opened my mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I shook my head, my gaze dropping to my lap, unable to meet her eyes. A small part of me wanted to lie, to tell her that I remembered everything, that I wasn’t a stranger to this place, to her, but the truth was, I didn’t know who I was.

“I... I don’t remember,” I whispered, the admission raw and unfamiliar, yet it felt true.

She sighed, but it wasn’t in frustration. More like... longing.

“Of course, you don’t. Not yet,” she said. “But you will. You will, my daughter. The pieces are all here. All you need is time.”

I wanted to believe her, but something in me couldn’t. How could I reclaim what was lost when it felt so far beyond my reach?

Her eyes softened, and she stepped closer, her hand brushing gently against my cheek. "You are Jessa Lia. My only daughter," she said. Her voice held a reverence in that last part, as if the very act of saying it was a blessing. "The youngest of eight."

I blinked, unsure of what she meant. “Eight?”

She smiled, a wistful expression crossing her face. “Yes. Seven older brothers, Jessa. All of them waiting for you. They have waited so long for you to return. For you to remember.”

The words hit me like a cold wave. Seven older brothers. Seven faces I had never seen. Seven names that meant nothing to me. My mind grasped at the fragments of this new reality, but nothing fit together. How could I have forgotten them?

“Seven?” I repeated, my voice faint, as though the number was an incantation. “Why don’t I remember them? Why don’t I... remember anything?”

She took a slow breath, her hand falling away from my cheek, and sat beside me on the arm of the chair. “There are things, Jessa, things that even I cannot explain. There was a time... when you were lost to us. When everything we had was torn apart. But now, the curse is broken. You are back with us.”

The word curse struck me, a cold knot tightening in my chest. A curse? Had I been under one all this time?

“Curse?” I repeated, the word heavy with meaning I couldn’t grasp. “What curse?”

Her gaze turned distant for a moment, her brow furrowing as though she was searching for a way to make the truth easier to bear. "It’s not something you need to understand fully yet. Not now. But what you need to know is that you are safe. And your brothers...” She trailed off, her voice softening, as though speaking of them was a sacred thing. "They’ve all been waiting for you. Praying for your return."

My chest ached, a wave of emotion rising up from somewhere deep within me. Seven brothers. Seven faces that, like her name, I should have known. Should have remembered.

“Will I see them soon?” I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop it.

Her smile returned, though it was tinged with sadness. “They will come. But first, you must rest. You’ve been through much, Jessa. We all have. It will take time for you to heal.”

I nodded slowly, the weight of her words pressing down on me. My mind felt sluggish, the memories still hazy and distant. There was so much I needed to remember, so much I needed to understand. But for now, I would hold onto the one thing I could: the knowledge that I wasn’t alone. That somewhere, beyond the walls of this manor, seven brothers were waiting for me.

And when they arrived, maybe then I would find the missing pieces of myself.

---------

The quiet between us lingered for a moment, before the soft click of the door echoed through the room. Both my mother and I turned toward the sound.

A tall figure stood in the doorway, broad and solid. My heart skipped, and the fragments of a memory—vague but insistent—flashed behind my eyes.

It was my father.

He stepped into the room with a careful, deliberate gait, the warmth of his presence filling the space. In his hands, he carried a tray, laden with a steaming potion and a plate of fresh bread, butter, and fruit. The aroma of warm tea and baked goods mixed with the subtle scent of herbs, filling the room with an unexpected comfort.

“Jessa,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, though there was an underlying tenderness there. He set the tray down on the small table beside my chair. “You need to eat. You need to drink this.” His gaze flicked to my mother, a silent exchange passing between them. “You’re still too weak, but this will help.”

I watched as my mother’s face softened, her eyes crinkling in a smile that was so gentle, so full of love, it made something inside me flutter. Her gaze met his, and for just a brief moment, she looked at him like no one else existed in the room. The weight of her affection was palpable, and the tenderness between them was like a soft glow, almost tangible in the air.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible, but filled with a depth of feeling. “Thank you for looking after her.”

My father gave a quiet, fond chuckle in response, a light in his eyes that mirrored my mother’s. He didn’t speak further but gave a short nod, his hand lingering on her shoulder before he gently slid it away, as though even the smallest touch was something sacred. Then, he sat beside me, his large frame looming over the small chair, but his manner was all kindness. He placed a warm hand on my shoulder, grounding me in the moment.

"Eat, Jessa. You need your strength," he said, his voice not quite a command, but a soft plea, as though he was asking something of me, not demanding. "And drink the potion. It will help clear the fog in your mind."

I glanced at the tray, my stomach rumbling despite the confusion still clouding my thoughts. The potion had an unfamiliar, earthy scent, but it also promised something I desperately needed—clarity.

I reached for the cup, my fingers still trembling slightly. My mother’s eyes watched me closely, her gaze full of something between hope and worry. I could see that her love for my father, as evident as it was in the way she looked at him, now expanded to me in this quiet, patient way. She was waiting for me, as if she believed that with just a little more time, I would remember everything. 

"You're safe," she said softly, her voice steady, but carrying a tenderness that made my chest tighten. “We’ll take care of you, Jessa. You just have to trust us. One step at a time.”

I brought the cup to my lips, the warmth of the potion filling my mouth, its bitter taste sliding down my throat. It was thick and heavy, but somehow comforting—like being wrapped in the softest blankets on a cold winter’s night. And as the potion began to work, I felt a soft, almost imperceptible shift within me—a sensation of something untangling deep in my chest, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I almost remembered.

But it wasn’t enough.

Not yet.

I set the cup down, my gaze lifting to my father’s face, then to my mother’s. 

“I’m Jessa Lia,” I said again, more to myself than anyone else, as if saying it aloud might make it feel real. “But I still don’t know who I am.”

And as their hands, one strong and one gentle, settled over mine, I felt the weight of that truth. Their love was so clear, so undeniable, it made my heart ache. I wasn’t sure who I was yet, but I knew one thing for certain: they were *here*, and for now, that was enough.

My mother smiled softly at my father, and in that fleeting moment, I saw everything—years of shared history, of quiet devotion. It was the same smile she had given him moments ago, filled with tenderness and affection, a soft, unspoken promise between them. And in that smile, something deep within me stirred—a longing to understand, to be whole again.

I had so much to remember, so much to learn. But for now, I would hold on to this feeling, this warmth between them. I would hold on to the love I could see reflected in their eyes, and I would trust them. One step at a time.