Dinner was quiet. The long table stretched beneath the low ceiling, its dark wood worn smooth in places where generations of family members had rested their elbows.
Nimue sat between Jane and Andrew, her chair far too large for her small frame. Beneath the table, Cinder pressed himself against her ankles, his furry body keeping her feet warm through her thin socks.
She ate without paying much attention to the food. The mashed potatoes were soft and buttery, and the gravy was thick and savory, but her fork moved slowly between her plate and her mouth. Her eyelids felt heavy, and she could barely keep her eyes open.
Across the table, Andrew was telling William about something that had happened at school earlier that week. His voice seemed to come from far away, muffled as though she were listening to him from beneath the water.
Jane rested a hand on her shoulder.
"Tired?"
Nimue nodded slowly. Even holding her head up felt like too much effort.
Jack pushed his chair back, its wooden legs scraping softly against the floor.
"Bed."
Nimue didn't argue. She slid down from her chair, and Cinder was already out from beneath the table, pressing his shoulder against her shins as he followed her toward the door. She reached for Jane's hand, her little fingers resting limply in her mother's palm.
The stairs were steep and narrow, their wooden steps polished smooth by years of use. Nimue held tightly to the banister as she climbed, taking each step carefully. Jane didn't carry her, but she stayed close behind, one hand hovering just above the small of Nimue's back in case she stumbled.
The bedroom was cold, and the night air pressed against the windowpane. Jane helped Nimue into bed and pulled the thick, patterned quilt up to her chin, tucking the edges around her.
Cinder jumped onto the mattress, turned around twice, and curled up against her side. His warm body settled against her, and his breathing soon became slow and steady.
Nimue listened to the old house settling around her. The floorboards creaked as the temperature changed. Somewhere downstairs, a chair scraped across the kitchen floor, followed by the muffled thud of a closing door.
Then the house grew quiet, and beyond its walls lay the stillness of the valley.
Nimue fell asleep.
. . .
Morning light slipped through the window in a pale, dusty rectangle, stopping short of the edge of the bed. Nimue lay still for a while, watching tiny dust motes drift through the beam.
Cinder was already awake. He sat beside her with his ears turning toward the door whenever he heard movement downstairs.
Voices drifted up through the floorboards. Nimue recognized Andrew's lively voice first, followed by William's deeper rumble. Then Saoirse's sharp laugh rang out, cutting through the quiet morning.
Nimue climbed out of bed, her bare feet meeting the cold floorboards. Her clothes from the previous day had been folded neatly on the chair. Jane must have brought them upstairs and straightened them while she slept.
She dressed quickly, pulling the cotton shirt over her head and stepping into her linen shorts. Her trainers were waiting by the door. Sitting on the floor, she worked the laces into a firm double knot before slipping her feet inside.
Cinder sat beside her, watching patiently with his amber eyes.
By the time they reached the kitchen, the smell of fried bacon and toasted bread had filled the room.
Saoirse stood beside the black iron stove, working a spatula around a heavy pan. Jane sat at the wooden table with a steaming cup of tea between her hands. Across from her, Andrew had a comic book spread open in front of him, his toast forgotten halfway through breakfast.
William looked up when Nimue entered and greeted her with a warm smile.
"Morning."
Nimue climbed onto the chair beside Jane. Cinder followed her under the table and settled into his usual spot, his nose pointed toward the floor.
Saoirse soon placed a plate in front of her. It held scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and a thick slice of bread.
"Eat. You will need it."
Nimue picked up her fork, but curiosity soon got the better of her.
"Why?"
Andrew snapped his comic book shut.
"Are we still going to see the tablets?"
Jack entered from the hallway, fastening his heavy coat against the morning chill.
"If she wants to."
Nimue turned toward Andrew. He was watching her expectantly, as though he had been waiting for her to wake up so they could continue their conversation from the previous day.
"What tablets?"
"The Ancestors' tablets," he explained, looking at her as if she should have remembered. "In the Hall. I told you about them yesterday."
Then Nimue remembered. The Ancestors' Hall, where the names of their family had been recorded and preserved.
She looked up at Jane.
"Can we go?"
Jane reached for her tea, considering the question for a moment before answering.
"After breakfast."
. . .
The Ancestors' Hall stood at the edge of the village, beyond the church and the small stone school, where the paved road gave way to gravel and the houses finally came to an end. A low stone wall followed the path, thick green moss filling the gaps between the rocks. Beyond it, the land sloped toward a rushing stream, and the grass still glistened with morning dew.
Andrew walked ahead with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Saoirse stayed beside Nimue, shortening her long strides to match the little girl's pace. Jack and Jane followed behind them, speaking quietly to each other.
"It isn't like the portraits at your home," Andrew said, glancing back over his shoulder. "These ones can't move or talk. There's no magic in them. But we put them up anyway. My grandmother told me the main family has portraits that can talk, so we have these instead."
Nimue looked at the building ahead. It was made of stone like the other buildings in Thornwell, though it appeared newer. The edges of the blocks were sharper, and the mortar was lighter in color. A single wooden door, darkened by age and weather, stood in the center of the front wall. There were no windows at eye level.
Andrew stopped at the entrance and rested one hand on the heavy iron ring.
"The tradition came from China," he explained. "My grandmother told me the story. A long time ago, one of the Keiths married a woman from there, and she brought the custom with her. The tablets, the offerings, the incense. The family kept the tradition going after that."
He pulled the door open. Its hinges gave a soft, well-oiled creak.
The air inside was cool and still, carrying the scent of old wood, dust, and something faintly floral. Incense, perhaps, though nothing was burning yet. Light entered through two narrow windows set high in the stone walls, falling across the floor in long, slanted bars of gold.
Wooden tablets covered the walls from floor to ceiling. Each was about the size of a book, made from dark, polished wood with names carved into its surface in gold lettering. Some of the letters had faded with time, while others remained bright and clear. Row after row filled the room, preserving the names of those who had lived before them.
Nimue stepped inside, and the sound of her trainers against the stone floor seemed unusually loud in the quiet hall.
"Four hundred years," Andrew said softly as he followed her inside. His voice had dropped to a whisper. "That's how long the family has lived in this valley. My grandmother's grandmother was the first one buried in the churchyard. We don't know where the earlier generations were buried, so we keep their names here instead."
Nimue walked slowly along the first row of tablets. Most of the names meant nothing to her yet, but the family name appeared again and again.
Keith.
The same name, carved in gold, repeated across centuries of family history.
Andrew pointed toward a tablet near the middle of one row.
"That one belongs to my grandmother. She died two years ago."
Nimue stopped in front of it.
Margaret Keith.
Beneath her name were two dates: 1901 to 1982.
Eighty-one years.
"She was old," Nimue observed.
Andrew shrugged, but his gaze remained on the tablet.
"She was ready."
Jane approached them carrying a small porcelain plate. On it lay a piece of bread, a cup of red wine, and a small dish of salt. Jack walked beside her with a bundle of thin, brown incense sticks in his hands.
They moved toward the center of the hall, where a low, wide altar stood. It was carved from the same dark wood as the tablets, its surface worn smooth by years of use.
Jane carefully set down the offerings. Jack placed the incense beside them.
Saoirse took out a match and struck it. The brief flare of light illuminated her fingers before the flame steadied. She touched it to the end of one incense stick, and a thin stream of fragrant smoke began to rise.
Then she handed the stick to Nimue.
"Hold it and think of them. That's all you need to do."
Nimue accepted it. The warmth of the burning incense reached her small fingers as the smoke curled upward toward the high ceiling, winding through the golden light and the rows of wooden tablets.
The adults stepped back into a loose semicircle. Jack stood perfectly still, while Jane folded her hands neatly in front of her. Saoirse crossed her arms, her expression difficult to read in the shadows. Andrew stood beside her, his hands still tucked into his pockets.
Nobody spoke.
The silence settled over the hall.
Nimue held the incense stick and thought about what Andrew had told her. She thought about the family members who had been born without magic, and how the Keiths had chosen to keep them close rather than cast them aside. They had built a home for them, given them a place in the world, and preserved their family name even when they couldn't share in the magic of their relatives.
Something tugged at her chest.
It wasn't a thought she could put into words, nor a sound she could hear. It was simply a pull, gentle but insistent, like a fine thread drawing her forward.
Before she fully understood what she was doing, her feet carried her toward the altar.
She walked slowly, keeping the incense stick steady between her fingers. Smoke trailed behind her in a thin ribbon. When she reached the altar, she stopped in front of the bread, wine, and salt.
Then she knelt.
The stone beneath her knees was bitterly cold, but she barely noticed. She rested her hands on her thighs, palms facing upward, her fingers relaxed. The incense stick remained between them, its smoke rising in a straight, steady line toward the rafters, untouched by any breeze.
Nimue closed her eyes.
Her face became still. The small crease that usually appeared between her eyebrows whenever she concentrated gradually disappeared, and her lips softened.
She didn't look like a child pretending to pray. There was a quiet certainty in her posture, as though she had performed this rite countless times before, even though she had never done it in her life.
The incense smoke began to gather around her.
It seemed thicker than it should have been, its pale gray curls lingering in the air instead of drifting away. Sunlight from the high windows caught the smoke and turned it gold, as though the light itself had become something solid enough to hold it in place.
Then Nimue's skin began to glow.
The light wasn't bright or harsh. It was a soft, pearlescent radiance that seemed to rise from within her, spreading across her cheeks and small hands before reaching the tips of her ears.
Jane made a small sound, cutting herself off almost immediately.
Andrew stared at Nimue, his mouth falling open. His gaze shifted between her hands and the incense smoke, which had begun curling into perfect, impossible circles. The golden light moved across Nimue's skin like something alive, illuminating her pale hair and the quiet expression on her face.
Saoirse didn't move. Her arms remained crossed, but her fingers had tightened around the fabric of her sleeves.
Jack stood as motionless as the stone walls surrounding them. His expression had gone blank in the way it did when he was thinking intensely, yet his eyes were wide and fixed on his daughter.
The incense continued to burn.
Its glowing tip crept closer to Nimue's fingers until only a short length remained. She neither flinched nor moved her hand away.
Then she opened her eyes.
She blinked once.
The glow vanished.
The smoke returned to its ordinary, thin wisps, drifting toward the high windows. Nimue glanced down at the stick between her fingers. Its tip had turned gray and brittle, the incense almost entirely reduced to ash.
She lifted her head.
Everyone was staring at her.
Andrew's mouth was still open. Saoirse held her arms tightly across her chest, while Jane pressed one hand against her collarbone, her breathing quicker than before. Jack's expression remained carefully controlled, giving away almost nothing.
"Nimue." Jane's voice was almost unnaturally steady, as though she were holding herself together through sheer effort. "What did you just do?"
Nimue tilted her head.
"I prayed."
She glanced at the altar, at the bread and wine arranged before her, and then at the thousands of names covering the walls.
The incense stick had gone cool in her hand. She placed it carefully in the small dish beside the offerings.
"For them," she added. "The ancestors."
When she looked back at her mother, Jane's expression had changed several times, shifting between emotions Nimue couldn't quite understand.
"Was it wrong?" Nimue asked.
Jane blinked. After a moment, her hand fell away from her collarbone.
"No. No, it wasn't wrong at all."
Andrew finally closed his mouth. He continued to stare at Nimue, but the shock in his expression had given way to something else.
Wonder.
Jack moved first. He crossed the room to the altar, picked up the incense stick, now burned down to a cold stub, and placed it in a small ceramic dish by the wall. When he turned around, his expression had settled back into its usual calm.
"Why don't you go and play for a while?" he suggested. "Andrew can take you. It's Sunday, so there will be other children out on the green."
Nimue stood up, her knees aching slightly from kneeling on the hard stone. She brushed the dust from them before looking at her father.
"Can I take Cinder?"
"Of course you can."
She headed for the door, where Andrew was already waiting to hold it open for her. The light outside seemed almost blinding after the dim, quiet atmosphere of the Hall. Nimue blinked several times as her eyes adjusted to the brightness.
Cinder was waiting on the path, his ears pricked forward and his tail sweeping slowly from side to side. The moment Nimue stepped outside, he pressed himself against her legs.
Andrew closed the heavy wooden door behind them.
. . .
A group of children had gathered on the village green, scattered around the base of the enormous oak tree. There were eight or nine of them, perhaps a few more. A girl was drawing on the pavement with a piece of white chalk, while two boys tossed a ball between them, the sharp sound of each catch carrying across the green. A smaller girl sat on the low stone wall, watching the others play.
Andrew raised a hand to get their attention.
"This is Nimue. She is staying with us for a while."
The girl with the chalk looked up. She had bright red hair, a face covered in freckles, and a missing front tooth.
"You are the one staying in the big house," she said.
Nimue nodded.
"Can you play hopscotch?"
Nimue had never heard of hopscotch before, but she nodded anyway.
The girl, who introduced herself as Lucy, showed her how to play. She had drawn a series of squares on the pavement with white chalk. The rules were simple enough. You threw a small stone into one of the squares, then hopped through the pattern without stepping on the lines or losing your balance.
Nimue managed to land her stone in the right square on her second attempt. With her arms stretched out to help her balance, she carefully hopped from one square to the next. When she reached the end without falling, Lucy clapped excitedly.
They played for a long time before the boys with the ball invited Nimue to join them. She managed to catch it twice, but on the third throw, the ball hit her squarely in the chest and bounced away.
Nimue burst out laughing, and the boy who had thrown it laughed with her.
Before long, someone brought out a long skipping rope. Two girls took hold of the ends and began turning it, the rope striking the pavement in a steady rhythm. Nimue watched them for a while before deciding to try.
She tripped on her second jump and landed on her knees. After brushing herself off, she got straight back up and tried again. On her third attempt, she managed three full jumps before the rope caught her ankle.
The girl holding one end grinned at her.
"You aren't bad at all!"
By then, Nimue's knees were scraped, and her hands were covered in white chalk dust. She was also having more fun than she could remember ever having before.
As the sun climbed higher, the shadows beneath the oak tree grew shorter. Eventually, a mother called out from a nearby window, reminding the children that it was nearly lunchtime.
Lucy gathered up her chalk and stood.
"We are going to the river afterward. Do you want to come with us?"
Nimue glanced at Andrew. He shrugged.
"It's shallow. We go there all the time."
Nimue nodded. She wanted to see the river, too.
It ran behind the old church, winding through a gap in the muddy bank where the trees opened up and sunlight fell across the water. The path leading down to it was narrow, its surface worn smooth by countless footsteps.
Nimue followed Lucy down the slope, her trainers slipping occasionally on the damp, moss-covered earth. Cinder ran ahead, leaving small, distinct paw prints in the mud.
The water was so clear that she could see straight to the bottom. Pebbles, patches of sand, and flat stones smoothed by years of flowing water lay beneath the surface. The river reached Lucy's knees, but because Nimue was smaller, it would come up a little higher on her.
Lucy took off her shoes before stepping into the water, leaving her socks tucked inside them on the bank.
"It's cold!" she exclaimed, then laughed at the shock of it.
Nimue sat on the grassy bank and pulled off her trainers. She tucked her socks inside them and pushed the shoes safely out of the way before stepping into the river.
The water was indeed cold. It swirled around her ankles, then crept up her calves until it reached her knees. She took a cautious step forward, feeling the soft riverbed give way beneath her feet. The mud squelched between her toes, and she found the sensation strangely satisfying.
Without warning, Lucy scooped up a handful of water and splashed her.
Nimue stared at her for a moment before splashing her right back.
Soon, the other children had joined them in the river, their voices carrying through the surrounding trees. One boy tried to catch a small fish with his bare hands, while another found a flat stone and attempted to skip it across the surface. It bounced twice before sinking.
Nimue bent down and chose a stone of her own. She remembered how her father had taught her to throw one, keeping her wrist straight and releasing it with the flat side nearly parallel to the water.
The stone skimmed across the surface once, twice, then a third time before disappearing beneath the river.
The other children paused to watch.
"Do it again!" Lucy said, her eyes wide with excitement.
Nimue picked up another stone and tried again. This time, it bounced four times before sinking.
After that, she lost track of time. Her shorts were soaked, and her shirt clung to her back. The silk ribbon had slipped from her hair, leaving wet white strands hanging around her face.
She didn't care in the slightest.
They walked back through the village just as the church bells began to ring for noon. Twelve deep chimes echoed across the valley. Nimue's trainers were still wet, and her socks squelched with every step. Water continued to trickle from her hair and run down the back of her neck.
Cinder stayed close to her legs, his ears flattened against his head and his fur still damp from when she had carried him across the deeper part of the river.
Thornwell Manor came into view at the end of the lane. Jane was waiting on the front step with her arms crossed. Her expression was somewhere between a smile and a scolding look.
Nimue stopped in front of her.
"We went in the river."
"I can see that." Jane reached down and touched her hair. Her fingers came away wet. "You are going to need a bath."
"I already had one in the river."
"You need another one."
Before Nimue could argue, Jane scooped her up into her arms. Nimue wrapped her arms around her mother's neck, catching the familiar scent of soap, tea, and the soft wool of her sweater.
"Did you have fun?" Jane asked.
Nimue rested her face against her mother's shoulder.
"Yes."
The bath was hot and filled with steam. Jane sat on the edge of the tub, pouring warm water over Nimue's hair before working soap through the tangles and picking out the bits of river weed caught in the strands. Nimue watched the gray water swirl toward the drain as the dirt washed away.
"I'm hungry," she announced.
"Lunch is almost ready."
She let Jane wash her back and arms, then gently clean the small scrapes on her knees. By the time Jane finished, the water had begun to cool, but Nimue stayed in the tub until her fingers had wrinkled like raisins.
Jane wrapped her in a large, fluffy towel and lifted her out.
"Go on. Your dry clothes are on the bed."
Nimue changed into a pair of dry linen shorts and a clean cotton shirt. Her hair was still damp against her neck, but she didn't mind.
Lunch was fresh bread and a thick vegetable soup. Nimue sat on the kitchen step with her bowl balanced on her knees, eating while Cinder settled beside her. His ears remained perked up, and his eyes followed every spoonful as it traveled from the bowl to her mouth.
Jane brought her a second bowl without being asked.
Nimue ate that one, too.
By then, the sun was high overhead, casting sharp shadows across the gray stone walls. Once she finished eating, she leaned against the doorframe and closed her eyes.
Her mother's voice drifted from inside the house. Jane was speaking quietly with Jack about the tablets and what had happened in the Ancestors' Hall. Nimue tried to listen, but their words were too soft and distant to make out.
Her head drooped forward.
She caught herself, blinked her eyes open, and straightened up again.
Jane appeared in front of her.
"Bed."
Nimue didn't argue. She let her mother pick her up, resting her head against Jane's shoulder as they went upstairs. The dark wooden steps and patches of shadow passed in a sleepy blur.
Her bedroom was cool and quiet, and the quilt felt wonderfully soft beneath her.
Cinder jumped onto the bed and pressed his warm body against her side.
Nimue was warm, her stomach was full, and the sunlight filtering through the window was soft and golden.
She closed her eyes and fell asleep.
===
There's images below
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Okay so, remember when I mentioned that "higher being" background lore? Yeah, I think it'd be a good idea to slip it into the ancestor scene. Let me explain a bit about Nimue's posture, because I put way too much thought into this and now you have to hear about it lol.
So I positioned Nimue's hands with her palms facing upward, resting naturally on her thighs. Her fingers are slightly curled, relaxed, never stiff or forced.
The usual prayer gesture, hands clasped at the chest with the head bowed, carries a sense of supplication. It implies asking, placing oneself below something greater. That is not what Nimue is doing. She doesn't understand it yet, but she stands in a position to give, not to ask.
Open palms carry a different meaning. Across cultures, they appear in blessings, in depictions of saints, in the forms of deities. It is a gesture of offering. A four year old would not consciously know this, but her body does. Something deeper moves through her without her awareness.
I considered placing her hands higher, near her chest or face. I decided against it. That position leans too close to formal prayer and feels too submissive. Keeping them on her thighs grounds her, while still carrying that quiet sense of elevation. She kneels, but she is not diminished.
The kneeling itself is important. Nimue drops down without hesitation. Her spine is straight, not rigid. Her shoulders are loose. Her head tilts slightly upward, her eyes closed, her expression calm. No one in her family taught her this. She has never seen it before. Yet her body moves before her thoughts can follow.
That is the pull of her higher nature, made physical. The movement should feel inevitable, as if something within her drew her down rather than a conscious choice. Her straight spine reinforces that. A submissive kneel would fold inward. Hers remains open. She is receiving, but she is also holding something within herself.
The slight lift of her chin matters. She is not bowing toward the ancestral tablets in reverence. She is reaching beyond them. Beyond the hall. Beyond what anyone around her understands.
Her expression reflects that difference. It is serene, not devout. The calm comes from recognition, not worship. Something in her aligns in that moment. This place, these ancestors, this feeling, they fit into something her soul already knows. The peace on her face is not learned. It is the quiet familiarity of returning to something that has always been hers, even if she cannot remember why.
So yeah, that's the thought process behind that scene! Hopefully it makes sense now.