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LUCINDA skipped dinner. Instead of heading to the Great Hall—where her friends were probably waiting for her—she decided to sit down in the Astronomy Tower. The Astronomy Tower was where the students had their Astronomy class a few times a week. It was circular, as big as a classroom, but there were no desks or chairs. Instead, there were telescopes that would all disappear when it wasn't class time.

Lucinda looked to her right, the railing stopping her from falling from the tower. She was sitting by the little balcony, of which there were a few, so that the students could look at the stars clearly.

Her eyes stopped on the stars in the sky as she let out a breath and pulled a silver flask from her bag. She opened it, put it to her lips, and drank straight from it—the burning sensation in the back of her throat was welcomed by her.

Firewhiskey seemed to be the only thing that understood her.

When it was finished, she frowned and groaned. She put the now-empty flask in her bag, freezing when she heard footsteps. Reluctantly and slowly, she looked up and saw who it was.

Lucinda immediately rolled her eyes. "Why are you following me, Edmund?" she asked, looking away from her frowning and obviously worried older brother.

Edmund Avery crossed his arms as he walked over to where she was sitting. His eyes stopped on the flask in her bag. Crouching down, he grabbed it, ignoring her attempt to snatch it out of his hand. He opened it and sniffed it, his nose curling up in disgust at the smell.

"Lucinda, you cannot be drinking firewhiskey." He glared at her, which turned into a frown when she only rolled her eyes in return. She wasn't taking him seriously.

The two siblings looked almost exactly alike, but Edmund had more of their father's features. In a way, that made Lucinda feel hurt whenever she looked at him. So, she tried her best not to.

With a sigh, he sat down next to her, pushing her bag away and taking its place on her left. She continued to look at the sky on her right side, her head up as she stared at the stars. But Edmund could tell her thoughts were not on the stars, but on something else.

As if the flask of firewhiskey hadn't already told him that.

"Luci," he whispered, his voice breaking.

Tears immediately formed in her eyes.

"You can't continue to be like this."

Lucinda scoffed, not letting her tears fall as she turned to him and made eye contact. She ignored the flash of worry that passed through his eyes and said, "You cannot tell me how I can be, Edmund. You are not my father."

Edmund flinched, tensing immediately.

Realizing what she said, Lucinda swallowed the lump in her throat and looked ashamed, but she didn't take it back. She meant it, so why would she take it back?

"I'm not trying to be," he finally responded, his voice steady but quiet. His eyes continued to look at her, but she avoided his gaze. "I'm your brother, Luci. That's my place, and as your brother, I ought to worry about you, especially since I'm older. And..." He motioned to the flask in her bag and to her, disappointment evident in his expression. "You are slowly destroying yourself, Lucinda."

Lucinda shook her head, disagreeing with him. She opened her mouth to respond, but a sob came out instead.

Edmund immediately pulled her into his arms, her head falling onto his shoulder almost immediately—just like when they were kids. He rubbed her back comfortingly, letting her sob the way she did and not interrupting at all.

At least one of them could feel their emotions.

Edmund, meanwhile, had so much to do. He didn't even have time to process his grief, immediately taking the position their father held as the head of the family. As the heir, Edmund had no other choice.

When her sobs slowly subsided, she pulled away and wiped her tears, not letting him do so as she avoided his outstretched hand. Ignoring the flash of hurt that passed through his eyes, Lucinda merely looked at the ground, her eyes red from crying already.

"We're all hurt over his death, Luci."

She flinched at the word "death," but stayed quiet.

Edmund let out a shaky sigh, shaking his head while looking at the sky instead of at his sister this time. "Mother is absolutely shattered," he almost whispered.

They were quiet for a moment. "I know," replied Lucinda in a small voice.

His gaze fell on her again. He offered her a small, comforting smile when she looked back at him. She might not say it, but he saw the love in her eyes when she looked at him. It was an older brother instinct, you could say—to know what his younger sibling felt just by looking at her eyes.

"So am I," admitted the boy, making his sister's brows raise for a split second. He was never one to admit his emotions before what happened. But seeing their father on his deathbed with the deadly disease changed him. "But I know Father would've wanted me to step up and take care of the two of you. That's why I sat down in his place at Yule, Lucinda. It's not like I want to erase his presence or our memories of him, no. Not at all." He shook his head, pursing his lips when tears appeared in her eyes again at his words. "It hurts me as much as it hurts you. As much as it hurts Mother."

And with that, he stood up and cleared his throat—his eyes shining with unshed tears. He knew what she needed at that moment, and it was not him. "I'll go find Druella and Athena for you," he offered, getting an appreciative small smile from her.

Edmund turned around and walked over to the spiral staircase, looking back at her one last time.

His younger sister seemed so frail and fragile. Her knees were to her chest, her face buried between them. Her brown hair seemed more knotted than usual, almost as if she had no energy to brush it.

He shook his head sadly and walked down the stairs.

As soon as Edmund Avery had told Druella and Athena where Lucinda was, the two girls rushed to the Astronomy Tower as fast as they could.

They shared a concerned glance when they saw Lucinda, then finally settled down on either side of her, each draping an arm over her shoulder.

Lucinda looked at her friends, her eyes holding tears, but her appreciative look didn't go unnoticed by the two girls. Knowing they wouldn't ask, worried that they were intruding, she decided to tell them herself. "My father died this summer," she finally said, tears immediately falling down her cheeks after admitting it.

Druella's lips parted. "Oh, Lucinda." She shook her head with sympathy, holding the girl tighter. Athena quickly followed suit, and together they embraced Lucinda, letting her cry and tremble between them.

That made sense, Athena concluded when she noticed the familiar flask in Lucinda's bag.

Lucinda almost always had that flask with her—and judging by Druella's disapproving comments on it always, she knew it was something new.

In the quiet solitude of the Astronomy Tower, the night sky seemed to mirror the stillness within. Athena, Druella, and Lucinda huddled together, a fragile yet unbreakable bond forming amidst their shared struggles.

Lucinda was curled up between Athena and Druella, her tears flowing freely as she mourned the recent loss of her father.

Her sobs echoed softly in the tower, a reminder of the pain that had brought them together. Athena's gentle touch and comforting words were a soothing balm to Lucinda's raw grief, while Druella's firm embrace provided a sense of security and strength.

Druella, despite her own turmoil over being forced into a marriage with Cygnus—a fate she had reluctantly accepted—found solace in the act of holding Lucinda. Her heart ached with the knowledge that Lucinda was suffering, yet she was determined to be a source of stability. Her internal struggle seemed momentarily eclipsed by her resolve to offer comfort and support.

Athena, too, found a measure of solace in this shared moment. The pain of feeling neglected by her family had left her feeling adrift, but in the company of these two, she felt anchored.

The connection she had with Druella and Lucinda was a balm to her own wounds, a reminder that she was not alone in her struggles.

As they held Lucinda, the girls were bound together not just by their individual sorrows, but by their collective strength. Each of them brought their own burdens to the table, yet together, they formed a makeshift family—a source of understanding and unwavering support.

The Astronomy Tower, with its vast, star-studded expanse, seemed to hold their trio in a protective embrace, affirming that even in their darkest hours, they had each other.

They remained there for a long time, all three of them admitting their struggles at home and with their families after Lucinda stopped crying.

Tears were still shed, by all three of them, but those tears turned into smiles as they reminded each other that they had each other.

They knew that what they were each going through could not be changed.

Lucinda's father could not come back from the dead, Druella could not back out of the betrothal that loomed over her, and Athena could not have parents who cared and loved her.

But at least the three had each other.