Nimue remained in bed long after Fleur had left, her cheek resting against the soft indentation in the pillow where the older girl had slept.
The fabric still carried a faint scent of winter air and floral soap. She traced the outline of the hollow with one finger, listening to the heavy silence that had settled over the room after the early morning.
Cinder jumped onto the mattress a moment later. His russet fur was slightly ruffled, and his amber eyes were wide with curiosity as he sniffed her face. His stiff whiskers tickled Nimue's nose.
"I'm fine," she whispered, gently pushing him aside.
He didn't seem convinced. Instead, he settled on the pillow beside her and rested his chin on her shoulder with a small, huffing breath.
The connecting door between the suites opened, and Jane stepped through. She was already dressed for the day in dark trousers and a cream-colored jumper, her hair pinned up in its usual neat arrangement. She carried a pair of small, polished leather shoes in one hand.
"Get up, ma chérie. Breakfast is waiting for us."
Nimue slowly sat up. Her white hair was a tangled mess, and a faint crease from the pillowcase marked her pale cheek. Jane sat on the edge of the mattress and began smoothing out the white strands with her fingers, her movements practiced and gentle.
"Did you sleep well?"
"Yes."
"Did you have nice dreams?"
Nimue thought about the quiet moments in the dark and the steady beat of Fleur's heart. She nodded.
"Yes."
She sat patiently while Jane braided her hair into a single plait that fell over her shoulder, securing it with silver clips that caught the morning light.
. . . .
The hotel lobby was quiet at this early hour. A few guests sat in deep velvet armchairs near the fireplace, reading newspapers or speaking in hushed voices. Their conversations barely carried across the marble floor. The grand chandeliers had been dimmed, and the polished floors reflected the gray morning light filtering through the tall, arched windows.
The breakfast room was a long, elegant salon on the ground floor, with windows overlooking Rue de Rivoli. Crisp white tablecloths covered every table, and a massive buffet stretched along the far wall.
It offered a lavish spread of flaky pastries, crusty breads, soft cheeses, cold meats, and fresh, colorful fruit. A silver pot of hot chocolate steamed in the cool air, filling the room with its rich, inviting scent.
Nimue paused at the entrance. Her eyes wandered across the room, taking in the sparkling crystal chandeliers and fresh flowers arranged on every table. Waiters in black vests moved quietly between the chairs.
The Delacours were already seated at their usual table. Apolline held a porcelain cup of coffee while Philippe read the morning newspaper. Fleur sat between them. Her blonde hair had been brushed until it shone and tied back with a neat blue ribbon. She looked up as soon as Nimue entered.
Nimue walked straight to the table and climbed into the chair beside Fleur without waiting for an invitation. Jane gave a soft sigh before taking the seat across from her.
« Bonjour. » Nimue greeted them.
« Bonjour. » Fleur replied.
Her ears were slightly pink, but she didn't look away from Nimue's green eyes.
. . . .
When they went to the buffet, Fleur pointed out the different dishes, naming each one in French and then in English whenever Nimue looked confused.
Nimue chose a croissant, a small ceramic pot of yogurt, and a glass of fresh orange juice. Fleur added a thin slice of ham to Nimue's plate without asking, and Nimue accepted it without complaint.
The adults gathered around a table near the window. Jane and Apolline were deep in conversation, their heads close together as they spoke. Philippe continued reading his newspaper while Jack poured coffee from a heavy silver pot.
Saoirse sat nearby, working her way through a pile of pastries with focused determination.
Nimue climbed back into her chair between Jane and Fleur. Cinder waited patiently beneath the table, his nose pointed toward the floor as he searched for fallen crumbs. His russet tail occasionally brushed against Nimue's ankle.
. . . .
The hotel felt like a sprawling maze of corridors, grand staircases, and rooms with soaring ceilings.
After breakfast, Nimue and Fleur went exploring. They wandered through hallways lined with paintings, including portraits of women in heavy, old-fashioned dresses and landscapes of places Nimue had never seen. One large painting of a horse seemed to follow them with its eyes as they passed.
« Il me regarde. » (It's looking at me,) Nimue said, pointing at the canvas.
« Ce n'est qu'un tableau. » (It's just a painting.)
« Ses yeux bougent. » (Its eyes move.)
Fleur looked closer, narrowing her blue eyes. The horse's eyes remained still while she watched, but when she looked away and glanced back, they seemed to have shifted.
« Peut-être que c'est magique. » (Maybe it's magical,) she said uncertainly.
« Mais on est dans le monde des non-magiques. » (But we are in the mundane world.)
« Parfois, la magie reste. Dans les vieux endroits. Elle s'accroche. » (Sometimes, magic remains. In old places. It clings.)
Nimue stared at the horse for a long moment before nodding and moving on.
They eventually found a sitting room on the second floor. It had velvet sofas, a cold ornamental fireplace, and a grand piano standing in one corner. Its lid was closed to protect the keys. Nimue hurried over and lifted the cover, revealing the polished black and white keys.
« Tu sais jouer? » (Do you know how to play?) Fleur asked.
« Un peu. Maman m'a appris. » (A little. Maman taught me.)
Nimue climbed onto the bench and placed her small fingers on the keys. She played a simple melody, moving up and down the scale before transitioning into a little skipping tune Jane had taught her. Her fingers were tiny, and a few notes came out wrong, but she didn't stop.
Fleur sat beside her until their shoulders touched.
« Continue. » she said softly.
Nimue played the tune again, more slowly this time. The notes echoed through the empty, high-ceilinged room, soft and a little sad.
In the afternoons, they sat by the window in Nimue's room, watching the street below. Cinder lay across their laps, his warmth spreading through the wool blanket they shared.
Fleur often brought a book from her room, a collection of French fairy tales illustrated in gold and blue. She read aloud while Nimue listened with her head resting comfortably against Fleur's arm.
« La Belle et la Bête. Il était une fois... » (Beauty and the Beast. Once upon a time...) Fleur began.
Nimue traced the illustrations with her finger. The Beast looked sad even in his anger, while Beauty looked kind even when she was afraid.
« Pourquoi elle n'a pas peur de lui? » (Why isn't she afraid of him?) Nimue asked.
« Parce qu'elle voit ce qu'il y a à l'intérieur. » (Because she sees what is inside.)
Nimue thought about that as she looked at Fleur's profile and the way the winter light caught the loose strands of her hair.
« Je vois ce qu'il y a à l'intérieur de toi. » (I see what is inside you,) she said quietly.
Fleur stopped reading. Her hand tightened around the edge of the book.
« Qu'est-ce que tu vois? » (What do you see?)
« Quelque chose de doux. Et de lumineux. » (Something soft. And bright.)
Fleur didn't answer. She turned the page and continued reading, though her voice was noticeably softer than before.
One evening, the adults gathered in the sitting room. The fireplace had been lit, and the dancing flames cast long, flickering shadows across the walls. Philippe had brought wine from the hotel's cellar, while Jack had found a box of dark chocolates.
Nimue sat on the floor near the hearth, building a tower out of playing cards. Cinder watched from a warm spot beside the fire, while Fleur sat next to Nimue and handed her cards one by one.
« Plus haut. » (Higher,) Nimue said.
« Ça va tomber. » (It's going to fall.)
« Non. Regarde. » (No. Watch.)
She carefully placed another card on top. The tower wobbled but remained standing.
Apolline watched them from the sofa, her chin resting on one hand.
« Elles passent tout leur temps ensemble, » (They spend all their time together,) she remarked to Jane.
Jane nodded.
« Je n'ai jamais vu Nimue comme ça. Elle est généralement... plus réservée. »
(I have never seen Nimue like this. She is usually... more reserved.)
« Fleur aussi. Elle n'a jamais été aussi proche de quelqu'un aussi vite. »
(Fleur too. She has never become so close to someone so quickly.)
The two mothers watched the girls in silence.
The card tower reached seven levels before finally collapsing into a heap. Nimue laughed, and Fleur joined her.
On the third day, they went for a walk in the Tuileries Garden. The rain had stopped, leaving the sky a pale, watery blue. The gravel paths were wet and dark, and the bare trees still dripped with rainwater. Nimue ran ahead, her boots splashing through puddles, while Fleur followed at a slower pace with her hands tucked into her pockets.
« Grande sœur, cours! » (Big sister, run!) Nimue called.
« Je suis fatiguée. » (I'm tired.)
« Tu es toujours fatiguée. » (You are always tired.)
Fleur quickened her pace until she caught up and took Nimue's hand. Together, they walked toward the pond, where a few ducks floated across the gray water.
Nimue pulled a piece of bread from her coat pocket. She had saved it from breakfast and tore it into small pieces, tossing them toward the ducks. The birds paddled closer, their heads bobbing as they waited for more.
« Tu aimes les animaux, » (You like animals,) Fleur observed.
« Oui. Ils sont plus simples que les gens. » (Yes. They are simpler than people.)
Fleur considered that.
« Parfois, les gens sont compliqués. » (Sometimes, people are complicated.)
« Toi, tu n'es pas compliquée. » (You aren't complicated.)
« Comment tu sais? » (How do you know?)
Nimue looked at her.
« Parce que je te regarde. » (Because I see you.)
The ducks fought over the last piece of bread. Nimue brushed the crumbs from her gloves and took Fleur's hand again.
. . .
The days gradually blurred together, each one filled with warmth and small, meaningful moments.
They ate breakfast together every morning, and Nimue learned that Fleur liked her hot chocolate warm but not scalding. She also noticed that Fleur always ate the top of her croissant first, saving the bottom for last.
Fleur, in turn, learned that Nimue would eat almost anything put in front of her, but always saved her yogurt for the end because she liked its cool sweetness after the warm bread.
They continued exploring the hotel, and Fleur showed Nimue the swimming pool on the fifth floor. It was a long rectangle of blue water, bordered by gold tiles. Nimue pressed her face against the glass door and watched the light dance across the surface.
They also found the library on the second floor, a small room lined with books in both French and English. Nimue couldn't read most of them, but she liked the smell of old paper and leather, along with the dried flowers arranged on the desk.
Fleur pulled a book from the shelf. It was another collection of fairy tales, with a green cover and gold lettering. She settled onto a velvet ottoman and began reading aloud in a soft, low voice. Nimue sat at her feet, resting her head against Fleur's knee as she listened. Cinder curled up beside her, his chin resting on her ankle.
On the third evening, they watched the sunset from a window at the end of the fourth-floor corridor. The sky turned pink and gold, and the Eiffel Tower glittered in the distance.
« Je vais regretter ça. » (I'm going to miss this,) Fleur said quietly.
« Quoi? »
« Toi. Paris. Tout. » (You. Paris. Everything.)
Nimue leaned against her.
« Tu peux venir en Angleterre. » (You can come to England.)
« Peut-être. Un jour. » (Maybe. One day.)
« Ce n'est pas assez. » (That's not enough.)
Fleur looked down at her.
« Qu'est-ce qui serait assez? » (What would be enough?)
Nimue thought about it, but she had no answer. She only knew that she didn't want Fleur to leave, and she didn't want to leave Fleur either.
« Reste avec moi. » (Stay with me,) she said.
« Je ne peux pas. » (I can't.)
« Pourquoi pas? »
« Parce que je dois aller à l'école. Parce que j'ai ma famille. Parce que... » Fleur hesitated before continuing. « Parce que ce n'est pas comme ça que le monde fonctionne. »
(Because I have to go to school. Because I have my family. Because... because that's not how the world works.)
Nimue didn't answer. She turned back toward the window and watched the sky darken. Fleur slipped an arm around her shoulders, and they stood together until the first stars appeared.
. . . .
On the fourth evening, Nimue couldn't sleep. She lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling while Cinder curled up at her feet. Through the wall, she could hear the faint murmur of her parents talking.
She slipped out of bed and padded over to the connecting door, pressing her ear against the wood.
She couldn't hear anything clearly.
After a moment, she knocked softly. The door opened a crack, and Fleur's face appeared. Her hair was loose, and her eyes were heavy with sleep.
« Nimue? Il est tard. » (Nimue? It's late.)
« Je n'arrive pas à dormir. » (I can't sleep.)
Fleur opened the door wider. The room behind her was dark, and Nimue could make out the shapes of Apolline and Philippe sleeping in the large bed. Fleur took her hand and led her back to Nimue's room.
They climbed into bed together, and Nimue immediately curled up against Fleur's side.
« Raconte-moi une histoire. » (Tell me a story,) Nimue whispered.
Fleur thought for a moment before beginning.
« Il était une fois une petite fille qui vivait près de la forêt. Elle avait des cheveux blancs comme la neige et des yeux verts comme l'émeraude. »
(Once upon a time, there was a little girl who lived near the forest. She had white hair like snow and green eyes like emeralds.)
« C'est moi. » Nimue said.
« Oui. Et cette petite fille avait un renard qui s'appelait Cinder. Et un jour, elle a rencontré une grande sœur qui avait des cheveux argentés et des yeux bleus comme le ciel. »
(Yes. And this little girl had a fox named Cinder. And one day, she met a big sister who had silver hair and blue eyes like the sky.)
« Et après? »
« Elles sont devenues amies. Pour toujours. » (They became friends. Forever.)
Nimue smiled in the darkness.
« J'aime cette histoire. » (I like this story.)
« Elle n'est pas finie. » (It's not finished.)
« Raconte la suite. » (Tell me the rest.)
Fleur continued, her voice soft and low, until Nimue's breathing slowed and her hand went limp in Fleur's.
. . .
On January fourth, it snowed.
Nimue woke to a world of white. The rooftops across the street were covered in snow, and the cars below wore thick white caps. The sky was pale and soft, and the air coming through the window was cold and clean.
« Neige. » (Snow,) she whispered, pressing her nose against the glass.
Fleur came to stand beside her.
« Oui. Tu aimes la neige? » (Yes. Do you like snow?)
« Oui. Elle est calme. » (Yes. It's quiet.)
They dressed in their coats, boots, and scarves, and the adults took them to the Tuileries Garden. It was almost empty, its paths covered in fresh snow and its bare trees dressed in delicate layers of white.
Nimue bent down and scooped up a handful of snow. It was cold and light, melting between her fingers.
« Comme la pierre. » (Like the stone,) she said softly.
« Quelle pierre? » (Which stone?) Fleur asked.
« La pierre froide. Celle de ma chambre. » (The cold stone. The one in my room.)
Fleur remembered the gray stone that never grew warm, the one that seemed to hold colors like trapped starlight.
« Ta magie. » (Your magic,) Fleur said.
Nimue looked at her.
« Oui. Ma magie. » (Yes. My magic.)
She tossed the snow into the air. It scattered like dust, catching the light for one bright moment before drifting back to the ground.
===
There's image below