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    Summary

    Entering the Count’s household, Violan had had a lot of thoughts running through her mind.

     

    Deruth had informed her about household matters, of how there was a desperate need for someone to take charge of winter preparations. He’d told her of the things that had unraveled in the wake of his previous wife’s death, how once the halls of the Count’s estate that had been once alit with laughter and happiness had turned silent and dark.

     

    In the midst of it all, Deruth told her about a small boy with red hair.

     

    The Count’s son.

     

    A short drabble in which Violan Henituse reminisces about the lonely boy with eyes the color of withered branches, hair as red as fresh blood, and his bleeding, too-giving heart.

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