a/n; comments are very much appreciated! i promise things will happen soon... I just really don't want to rush things like i did for a lot of my other works lol. slightly longer chapter today!

—

Your birthday held promising, marvelous weather. You awoke to the sunlight streaming through the windows and the birds chirping — they reminded you of Elias, and your heart soared. Your limbs were strangely light. Your body was floating. Your lips were tugged up into a smile. You were brimming with joy.

You couldn't deny that within you was an odd misery and fear of the unknown. And yet, those emotions were drenched by the exciting prospect of turning officially eight. You bounced to the dining table, plopped on the chair, and in front of you laid pancakes drizzled with berries, honey — the works.

You beamed at your mother who smiled back.

"How's the birthday boy?" Your mother asked you, reaching to you to ruffle your hair. "Turning eight. You're growing old."

"I mean, it feels like I've always been eight," you said honestly. "This just makes it official."

"And soon you'll be nine," your mother said wistfully. "Treasure the year you have."

Nine. You had always loved even numbers, for they just seemed fuller, somehow. Better. Odd numbers seemed strange to you — and though a child might not look specially upon their ninth birthday, you knew what this meant for you. The day you turned nine was the day you would start training. You knew that your mother was subtly telling you to enjoy your life before it worsened, and gods, it only made you even more jittery. Your parents tended to have that effect on you.

You shoveled the pancakes into your mouth, delighting in the soft, warm goodness. Maybe it was the excitement in you, but the breakfast sure tasted extra good. It practically melted in your tongue and tingled your taste buds. Soon, the pancakes were gone, and the only remnants of your breakfast were small blueberries. You popped them into your mouth and the juices hemorrhaged your tongue, staining it a bright blue.

Your mother laughed softly as she caught you stuffing your cheeks, and once you swallowed, she reached over and wiped your mouth with a napkin.

"I made some extra pancakes," she said pleasantly, "for your friend."

"He'll love this!" You said excitedly, "Wait —" you paused. "How did you know I was going to the palace today?"

"It's your birthday. I assumed that you would have wanted to do something that you liked, right? And it's come to my attention that you greatly enjoy your time in the palace." Your mother said gently, slowly brushing your hair. "And besides, your father has business there. He'll take you. By the time you come back, you'll have a hearty meal to eat."

You flushed. "Oh. Was my happiness that evident?"

"Hah," your mother said wryly, "very much so. You come back from the palace to the house every time with your cheeks aglow. Haven't I told you before that your cheeks redden when you're happy? Your new friend must be fun to play with."

"He is," you mumbled, "really fun. And plus, he's going to write in my journal today."

"Ah," your mother teased, "you mean the journal that you've stopped giving me?"

"I swear I'll pass it to you," you said, embarrassed, "I just want to sort things out...first."

Namely, you wanted to sort your parents' marriage out.

"Oh no, child," your mother hurriedly said, "if you aren't comfortable with it, don't worry. Some things are meant to be private, after all. Don't force yourself into letting me read it — I was merely teasing, that's all."

You heaved a sigh of relief, and that made you feel a tad bit guilty. Since when did you not like your mother rummaging through your things? Reading them? Was it because you wanted the journal to become an activity specific to only you and Silas? But still, you didn't feel too good about keeping secrets from your mother. You vowed that when you turned eighteen — or twenty — you would give your journal to your mother to flip through. It would probably be all yellowed and forgotten by then, though. You hoped to keep the habit of writing in it.

"Oh," you said dumbly. "And by the way, what will you do when I'm out? Daddy will also be out, won't he?"

"Ah," your mother laughed easily. "Read, perhaps. Bake. Prep for dinner. And —"

The words tumbled out of your mouth. "You won't drink, right?"

Your mother blinked before she furrowed her eyebrows. "Heavens, no, darling." She cooed, "I won't. I promise. Sorry — my drinking habit is getting a little out of control, isn't it?"

"I want you to be happy." You stated. "You're always sad now."

"Don't say such nonsense," your mother smiled widely. "See? I'm smiling! I'm happy, child. Don't worry about it — don't worry your sensible head about such things on your birthday. Speaking of which, I got your birthday present."

Your mother was smiling, yes, but her smile had been clearly exaggerated. You knew it firsthand from experience — you remembering grinning at people you didn't quite like, pretending you were having fun when truly, you were bored out of your mind. Your mother was putting on a mask, masquerading about — but she had not fooled you.

You wanted to further inquire, but halted. There was a glimmer in her eye that told you that your mother would truly spiral if you continued to ask. In fact, much to your disappointment, your presence only seemed to be accentuating her sadness. She loved you, yes, but you were like a living reminder of something that was upsetting to her.

So you dropped the subject.

You played a role, like she was doing. It was easy to do so. You mimicked her smile and gave a laugh — and that laugh sounded awfully rotten and false to you. But still, it did the trick.

"A present?" The voice came off too shrill. If your mother had noticed, she did not care. Instead, she rummaged in her pockets and brought out a thin bookmark.

You stared at it. It was very pretty. Beautiful, even, with flower petals pressed within it and with a long string at the very right. It had obviously been delicately hand-crafted and must have taken an agonisingly long period of time. You gaped at it. This time, your joy was genuine.

"Happy birthday, dear child." Your mother whispered. Her hair tickled you as she swept you into a hug. "May your day bring you plentiful joy and love."

You hugged her back, clutching the bookmark.

You wondered just how you would be able to bookmark this magical chapter of your life.

—

Your father had been slightly more affectionate with you. He offered a small hug, but it didn't last longer than a split second. Your father seemed stressed, and he did not seem to notice he was wringing his hands. You frowned.

The carriage ride there had been ordinary. Yet your heart thumped wildly against your chest, and the journal lay snug and tight in your satchel, along with more pancakes and fruits. The sun was round and fiery: you wanted it in your chest to fill up whatever remaining hollowness present in it. The scraps of your seven year old being were now disintegrating into an orbit of nothingness. You were eight. Not just eight because of the year you were born in, but officially eight.

You had waited for this day with anticipation. You wouldn't say that you were eager, for there were times you dreaded it — but you looked forward to the prospect of Silas writing in your journal. Your first friend Silas, who was cold and curt with everyone but you. Your friend Silas, who exuded warmness in the cracks of his soul, slowly filtering out his emotions. You remembered lying in bed and praying that you would be his friend, always, that you two would exist within every realm and dimension.

Your father imparted you with a brief phrase of happy birthday. He sauntered towards the meeting room and you stared at him for a while, watching his silhouette disappear into the shadows. After some time, you tore your eyes away and bounced towards the garden, heart singing with merriment.

You stopped once you reached the secret garden spot. You settled down, pulling your satchel to the side. The warm sun kissed your cheeks and bathed you with a resplendent glow. It was such a lovely day, you thought to yourself, such a wondrous, magical day. It was like the universe was blessing you. Like the universe was trying to compensate you for the pain that you would experience in the future.

It was the kind of contradicting weather that could make one sick. Chilling, because of the breeze that had been summery just a few weeks back, but hot, because of the fiery sun. You remembered once hoping to get sick just for your father to notice you. You remembered thousands of things that you thought had been long buried beneath your skin— of how your heart was starved more than your stomach, of how before you met Silas, you would pick the skin off your thumbs til they were bloody. You thought the show of wounds would earn you love, somehow.

You were six then. Silas was six now. Your mother had aided you greatly when you were painfully lonely. However, Silas had no one — and so now you would make sure he had a lap to crawl into and cry in. That way, Silas wouldn't have shame and humiliation clotting within his blood and making him damaged. Just like how you iced his bruises and bandaged his raw knees with tenderness, you would do so with his heart.

Perhaps in the future people would ask you whether you regretted growing up kind. Perhaps they would ask you whether your mother should have been harsher. But the answer would always be no: you did not regret being sweet to others. Sweetness was always paid back. and Silas would pay you back tenfold and would illuminate your life.

Things were always so bittersweet. You would never be eight again. This would be the final nail in the coffin. Once you were whisked away to the palace, you would never wake up in your mother's house. You would never smell the alluring scent of her baking. You would never feel the rush of being eight anymore.

You smiled at Elias as he came flying down to perch on your shoulder. In his beak he held a small flower.

"For me?" You giggled. It was a daffodil. "Aw. That's cute."

You pulled out your journal and pen and splattered some ink on the ground. Elias stomped his feet into the ink, raising them up.

"Good boy, Elias," you complimented, as the bird stamped his feet into the journal's page. "Look. Now besides what Silas is going to write, you have your own signature on my journal!"

Elias chirped in agreement. He danced on the palm of your hand. You giggled again. Your thoughts were flying away — you looked at the daffodil and was taken to the memory of you teaching Silas the meaning of those flowers.

A voice broke you out of your little stupor. "Sorry I'm late," Silas came to you, before sitting down next to you. He panted for a bit — it seemed he ran here. "Those tutors keep coming after me."

"Tutors?" You echoed.

"Like training."

"Oh, wow —" you said in awe, "I start training — official training — when I'm nine. You start so early."

"It's nothing," Silas shrugged. "Anyway, happy birthday, Y/n. I got a small present for you."

"A present? But you're six. How did you get a present?"

"I just managed to," Silas said magnanimously. "By hook or by crook."

"Oh." You blinked your eyes, "where is it? I wanna see it?"

"I'll write in your journal first," Silas hummed. "I'll try writing some stuff first and I might finish the rest later. I'll pass it back to you the next time I see you."

You pouted. "That's not fair. Why must I wait? It's only my birthday for one day."

"I'm going to write a lot," Silas said honestly. "You would prefer that, right? You're definitely the sentimental type."

Your heart swelled. Silas really knew you well, didn't he?

"My mom made some food, by the way. Pancakes." You opened your container. "Help yourself. I had my fill of food just now."

The morning sunlight was spilling onto the floor. You heard the distant dripping of water into a lake, and you imagined that if you were at home, the curtains in the open windows would be fluttering through the white lace. And perhaps even when night arrived, there would be glimpses of the white stars.

The food was laid out on the floor and Silas had helped himself to some pancakes. He licked his lips, slightly grimacing at the sweet taste. Silas liked sweet things, but it seemed that in your haste to run here, the little honey container had opened and had poured itself generously onto one pancake. He couldn't bear to continue eating — the sweetness was too much. You understood his qualms, though, for you believed that there needed to be a specific ratio of the honey and pancake for it to be enjoyable.

"How do you feel?" Silas inquired. He was wiping his hands and lips with a napkin. The journal had been surrendered to him. "Being eight, I mean. I have two more years to experience that."

"It shouldn't feel different, but it does," you said honestly. "It really does..." you trailed off. "Maybe it's because I met you. Because of you, I now spin worlds of the two of us. I dream of you. I imagine us always being together. Before this, I never had much to lose..." Your chin wobbled. "I don't know."

"Are you going to cry?" Silas asked warily. "You seem like you might."

"I might," you said honestly. "Will you hug me?"

Silas hesitated. "Yeah."

"Maybe I should squeeze out a couple of tears, then," you laughed shakily. "Come here. I'm gonna cry."

Silas did obediently. Your little tears wet his shoulder.

—

You watched as Silas scribbled onto your journal whilst you played with Elias. You two had gone wandering around the palace for other discrete locations, and now you found a nice riverbank to laze about. Evening had fallen and there was a calm peace hanging around the air.

You liked peace. You felt like you could pour out your soul — even the words that were rusty, ugly, and meaningless — and no one would judge. You made a mental list to remind your mother to make apple tarts and apricot jam, like she used to do. You wanted Silas to try those delights.

You wondered what it would have been like to count the stars. They probably would have remembered the two of you, for you two eclipsed them. It wouldn't be possible, of course, to count the stars — but you liked the infinite. Infinite meant there were endless possibilities and no limitations. You wanted your life to be the same. Free and boundless.

You and Silas had done random things — tossing a penny into some abandoned well, for example, and skipping stones across the river — those were simple acts, but brought great pleasure. Silas frowned when his stone sank, while yours skipped several times. You giggled.

It was such a lovely, picturesque day. There was the echo of the wind kissing treetops and crickets rubbing their wings together. All the songs were leaving your mouth and prayers to never grow up were scattered all over. The light the rising moon gave was like syrup. The breeze fluttered the pages of your journal and empty pages could be seen, absent of wet blue ink.

You realized you adored Silas. You had always known it, but today confirmed it. There was no definition to it. It was as simple as that. You loved him.

Love wasn't soft, you knew that. Unlike the poets that drenched it in romantic words, love could bite. Love could leave wounds that would never close. You loved Silas like a brother, like a friend, like a confidant, like your first crush. There was simply love. It wasn't in any particular shape of form.

Childhood was a flesh eating disease, if you will. It consumed everything and spat it back out. Carcass. Rotting teeth. Split ribs. And yet now it hugged you tight and kissed you on your forehead.

"I'm done," Silas murmured. He had written pages and pages. "I'll give you your present now."

"I thought you said you would take a while," you said in surprise. Still, you were beaming.

That was what Silas had thought too. But the words flowed from him readily and easily. He had so much to say about you. So many words that encapsulated what he felt about you. Silas was so eternally grateful to you. You had given him a home in you. You loved him. You continued to do so.

"Took faster than expected. Don't read it until later, though."

"Why? Because it's too embarrassing?" You teased him. "Don't be shy now — and give me the gift."

"Stop," Silas reddened. You were reminded of how young he truly was despite his grown up and mature mannerisms. Six. He was six. "Just do what I tell you."

You agreed. So instead, you tucked the journal back into your satchel and placed it to the side.

"You wanna see your present?" Silas seemed to pluck something out of nowhere — you could only assume he had some sort of magic inventory — and looked expectantly at you. He hid the present behind his back. "I made it."

"You made it?" You said excitedly. "I wanna see!"

Silas pulled it out slowly. It was a tiny jewel, but obviously very precious and beautiful. The (e/c) coloured gem glittered in front of your eyes and you could see its shine reflected in Silas's own gorgeous people eyes.

You stared at it, mesmerised.

"Well, of course, I didn't make the gem myself," Silas murmured, "but I enchanted it to have healing properties. It's not the best now, but in the future, I'll probably upgrade it."

In the future. Silas was planning to be your friend, always.

"And the colour..."

"Ah," Silas scratched the back of his neck. "I enchanted that, too. It doesn't affect the quality of the gem, so don't worry. Next time, when you become the butler, you can place the gem in a watch, a locket, a ring...whatever you want."

You loved it. You adored the gift. Silas had poured in a considerable amount of time and resources — how could you not cherish it? You threw your arms around him, and Silas stumbled back.

"I love it," you whispered fervently. "Really, Silas. It's the best gift I ever got. It's amazing. You're amazing."

"You think?" Silas asked quietly.

"Yeah!" You pocketed the gem and wrapped it up with a few pieces of tissue. Then you tucked it safely in your pocket. "It's awesome."

The tips of Silas's ears were red. He was evidently pleased with your genuine praise.

"Well, let's not waste any time!" You grabbed Silas and pulled him up — you still had an hour to spare.

"What—"

"I've got an idea," you told Silas mischievously, "let's try to make a treehouse. Then we can leave our initials there — carve it onto the bark, or something. Then we can visit there when we grow older."

Silas consented. You two started to collect twigs and branches, slowly building a flimsy treehouse. In the end, it collapsed as you tried to place your foot onto a thin branch, and you were sent rolling onto the ground in a fit of laughter. You two resorted to instead carving your names down into the tree trunk.

You spotted two initials there and looked at it curiously. Had anyone ever visited here before? But it seemed pretty secluded to you.

R and C.

"The initial 'C'? Casper," Silas blinked his eyes. "That's my dad's name."

The initial 'R.' Ralph. That's my father's name, you thought. But that didn't need to mean anything. It could have been some strange coincidence. So you ignored it.

"Let's use another tree — a new one," you dragged Silas to the side, standing before a willow tree. Its draping leaves tickled your hair. You painstakingly started to carve your initials onto the bark with all your might — and in the end, you only succeeded in doing a small bit. To your chagrin, Silas carved both your names easily.

[Your Initial] and S.

It looked pretty pleasant. In fact, it sent warmth coursing through your veins. You stared at it, entranced.

"Looks nice, doesn't it?" Silas murmured. He too, seemed transfixed by it — by the way both your initials seemed so right with each other.

"It does," you said breathlessly. Before you knew it, you were tracing the carvings. Annotating them to memory.

"How about you make a wish?" Silas asked you. "We don't have any candles or cake, but you could make your birthday wish all the same."

You obliged, closing your eyes and clasping your hands. You felt Silas's presence next to you. You could have wished for your family to be repaired, you could have wished for so many things — but still, your childlike desires centered around Silas.

You wished to be with him, forever.

You were greedy enough to ask for another wish. People said the heavens only granted one wish, but you were willing to make a gamble. After all, the stars were all shining for you on your special day. You believed fervently that both wishes would come true.

You wished for him and you to always be happy.

—

lmk if I mentioned the emperor's name before in earlier chapters, because I came up with one this chapter

birthday chapter!! nothing big happened and nothing will for like a litttttleeee while more... again this is akin to a bildungsroman so the pacing is slow :) regardless i hope you guys stick around because i have so many exciting plans for this fic!!!!

hope everyone enjoyed!

how is it?