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The Henituse household was famous for their wealth. Not only that but also for the loving family. A hard working father, a loving mother, and a darling child. They were even more famous for their young master. At the age of 2, their master could understand most adults and he could read what the countess called as "big boy books". Those who work in the household even swears that their little young master was an angel sent to brighten and bring good to the world. Although there were days when he acted more like a mischievous little devil, he was still an angel. Always smiling, laughing, and so carefree. He would often be found at a random nook or cranny, helping out, or just chatting with the staff. He was an innocent child.
Until tragedy struck.
And so, their angel young master was no longer.
Cale Henituse spent his days in silence. Sometimes, he would have tantrums, breakdowns, and hysterics but the people of the manor stayed. They knew their young master was still their young master. They knew.
Yet they can't lie that even their young master has changed. After all, a death of a mother would change a child.
In the funeral, everyone grieved the loss. Even the skies cried and turned grey.
With a grieving father, no one comforted Cale. His relatives and neighboring nobles told him to be strong. But they never told him to be strong for himself, they told him to be strong for his father. For the County, for the current head. Never for himself.
Cale never understood why. At that age, he can't understand why the people were telling him that his mommy was gone. Did I do something wrong? That's why mommy left me?
He did not understand why his papa could not look at him. Deruth wouldn't look at him. He wants his papa to pick him up again and spin him in circles. Why is papa so sad? Why won't he look at me? Is it because mommy's gone? It's alright, papa. I'm here. Cale hugs his father with his tiny arms. Cale always thought that his papa was so strong and so big and so invincible. But his papa now felt small and his papa looked like he was in pain so he pats his father's head and kiss his forehead for all the pain to go away just like papa always does for me. The people smile at him, telling him that he's doing a good job. That he should continue to help his father. That he should be strong for his father. Cale still could not understand why can't he cry and be strong for himself. Is it because I'm the reason mommy's gone? Is this my punishment?
He can't understand. He felt so so small and so so alone. The world was far too big and terrifying.
The adults have gone now. His papa was with the other adults. He asked to stay for a while. Cale had to wait for mommy. Mommy please come back. Papa's sad and so am I. Mommy, please.
It was cold. It was so cold. He looked up at the grey sky that cried with him while feeling extremely tired. He wants to go back and rest. He sniffled and messily tried to wipe his tears.
It was starting to rain harder.
A man, older than the count but not old enough to be a grandfather, holds an umbrella to shield the little boy from the rain. "Young master, it's cold out here." He simply says while holding out a hand. "Just a little more, Ron. I have to wait for mommy," Cale stubbornly refutes. The man, now we know as Ron, sighs and crouches down to his young master's height. "The Countess isn't coming back, young master."
Cale, your- your mother- your mother's gone.
Have you heard? The Countess passed away last night.
She's gone.
Poor Cale, so young and his mother's already gone.
Cale knew. He knew. He really did. He knew that his mommy wasn't coming back but he let himself hope.
Tears welled up in his eyes again and his heart broke. "I know," he sobbed, "but I still wish that she comes back." A loud wail echoed in the almost empty graveyard. Cale hiccupped and sobbed, tears and snot falling. Ron was a father himself and seeing a child in tears made his heart clench. Calling upon his own son who stood by the side, he asked for help. While Beacrox gently wiped away at Cale's tears and asked the child to blow his nose at another hanky with one hand while holding another umbrella on the other, Ron grabbed the towel on Beacrox's arm. He placed the fluffy white towel he brought on Cale's head and slowly started drying his young master. After that, he stood up.
Cale's cries slowly subsided into sniffles and now he was tired. "I wanna sleep," he mumbled as he tugged on Ron's right sleeve while rubbing at his puffy eyes. Sighing, Ron scooped Cale in his arms while still holding the umbrella. "Pardon me, young master," he said softly as he did it.
"He's only a child." You would hear among the chatter. Because Cale was just a child. He was only two years old. He should have that twinkle in his eyes and that playful smile. He shouldn't be standing there by the door of his mother's room staring at the tall and heavy oak with no emotion on his face. Cale would only move when his trusty servant, Ron Molan, would usher him back to his room.
Most nights, the servants would hear the wails and cries of a boy.
It always came from the room of their young master.
The first person who would hear the cries that night would go straight to the Molan's quarters to report. Not to the Henituse patriarch because he was not there. He had not been there for a long time. They all try to be understanding, the patriarch was hurting as well and busy with the sudden changes in the county, but they can't help but feel a bit of resentment directed towards the Count who could not even console their young master.
In the mornings, as the head maid would wake their master, she would find Ron sitting at a chair by their young master's side. The dozing man's hand was grasped by smaller hands. On the long couch at the end of the bed lay Ron's own son, Beacrox, who was clutching at a story book. The teen probably stayed up to read with Cale again. The head maid's eyes went back to their young master. Tear stained cheeks and puffy eyes made their now normally stoic young master looks so young. 'Because he is young,' the head maid would whisper and a small flicker of anger directed to their master would spark in her. Cale was so small, curled up and dwarfed by the bed that was too big. He is just a child.
Eventually, after a few months, the endless nights slowly stopped. The people of the household did not know whether to be relieved or worried. Everything just- stopped. Their young master stopped throwing tantrums, he stopped crying, and he would often be found in the library or in his mother's room again, far too silent for a child his age. It was all too sudden.
It was scary. They liked it better when Cale cried because at least he showed emotion. Now he was like an empty shell. He rarely got out of bed. If he did, it was only to eat, go to the library, take a bath, and sit in front of the large oaken doors of his mother's room. Cale's previous curiosity to the sword and various subjects waned, so did his health. He was getting paler and thinner. And they can't do anything. No one knew what to do except to wait.
In their frail young master, they could see the countess all over again. He was fading, in a sense. He looked so distant and he looked like he was a small spirit fairy. One that would disappear if they so much as look away.
They waited, stepping on eggshells, and hoped for a smile.
One fateful afternoon, they heard it. It was like heavenly chimes. The laughter rang loud from the ajar door of the kitchen. Most of the staff watched as Beacrox showed Cale how to cook a simple pancake. "Beacrox, don't frown," Cale chided although the kid was laughing at the odd expression on the teen. Beacrox gruntled as he sighed. "It's just pancakes, young master. How- how can you turn it black?" He asked, a baffled expression on his face. Even his dad, whose talent lies in assassination and not cooking, can make a decent pancake. Cale could not help himself and he laughed again while holding on the counter as to not fall from his stepping stool as he watched the comical look on Beacrox's face. The household staff who watched from outside knew that the emotionless teen was exaggerating for their young master and they could not help but smile. "Beacrox-hyung," Cale whined. Beacrox dropped his expression as an unknown emotion took over his face. Cale did not notice as he took the dark pancake in his small hands. Warmth bloomed in Beacrox's chest as he watched Cale look disappointedly at the burnt pancake. "Come on, young master," he interfered while pretending to pay no attention at the fact that this young master called him older brother, "let's make a new one. This time, you need to pay attention to make sure it does not burn." Beacrox gave the bowl with the batter to Cale as Cale gripped the spoon used to mix with two hands and stirred the mixture playfully. "Okay," Cale replied with a toothy smile and giggled. Beacrox could not help but let a genuine smile cover his face.
Cale was finally smiling again.
The following months turned better. Spring passed and summer came as the flowers from spring continued to bloom, the count was seen in the house more often nowadays. Cale would often spend all his meals with his father again. He had also picked up an instrument. A violin, the instrument the former countess used as well.
Summer came along with the shining sun.
Golden sunrays showered the manor and everyday was filled with light.
Butterflies flied around and birds chirped happily.
But fall was bound to come.
And so would the cold winter.
Soon, the Henituse young master who was just regaining his joy would fall into despair once more.