I grew quiet as I was escorted inside Valette's childhood home.
Strangers stood before me there in that room with marble flooring and carpets that made my feet glide over their gentle surface. A woman rushed towards me. She hugged me in a concerned relief. The strangeness of their affection was something I almost could not process, but when she said Valette's name, I froze. This was her mother. The guilt quickly took me over. I found myself crying without a word. They escorted me to a room with a prepared bath and tried to ask me questions once I was cleaned up and examined. They found nothing physically out of the ordinary. If anything, even my height had matched their daughters. I kept that silence up for as long as I could, slowly practicing the noble accent in private. Studying Valette's diaries to learn her thoughts and the ways she acted. The lessons clergy gave to homeless children paid off, but it was a long process to mimic my lost friend.
Wherever I went, an escort followed. For a long time any attempts to escape I even half-hearted tried would be immediately blocked. The Montelione's did not want their child running off any more. They of course questioned why I was so quiet. Somehow I had managed to convince them and professionals that trauma had resulted in me losing my ability to talk. But that was all a lie.
It took months, but when I was sure I would not slip up, I began to show progress towards my recovery.
I did not wish to deceive them. I felt pity for them and self loathing for lying, but i wanted to survive. But over the course of those months I had began to find myself growing attached to the Montelione's. For the first time in so long, I had a mother and even a father. I had siblings who cared for me, even if perhaps they resented the consequences of Valette's disappearance. A full stomach every day and all the knowledge I could want at my finger tips. I had grown attached to them. I felt myself falling into this new life I found myself a part of.
Sometimes, I even wondered if I actually was Valette. If somehow those memories I possessed of another life were just an hallucination from an a bad hit on the head.
But I always knew such thoughts were just a my mind trying to push my crimes into a little box that I would bury deep within myself to hide.
Over the years I had various opportunities to escape. A door left open, a servant ordered away with me left alone in a room, a visit to the local market under supervision as a crowd stormed by unexpectedly. Yet I remained stationary despite the opportunities presented. I had grown too attached with this new life, with the family I suddenly found myself possessing. I realized I did not want to leave them. Despite the guilt that quietly eroded me, I wanted to enjoy those familial bonds. I wanted to make up for what I had stolen from Valette by living a good life in her name. But I was always scared of losing what I barely held on to.
It was selfish. It was even cruel. But I had done an unforgiveable act I believed they could not forgive.
I thought to myself: "What good could come of me revealing the truth?" I believed it would only lead to everyone suffering, myself especially.
Later in life I would come to regret that line of thinking.
Strangers stood before me there in that room with marble flooring and carpets that made my feet glide over their gentle surface. A woman rushed towards me. She hugged me in a concerned relief. The strangeness of their affection was something I almost could not process, but when she said Valette's name, I froze. This was her mother. The guilt quickly took me over. I found myself crying without a word. They escorted me to a room with a prepared bath and tried to ask me questions once I was cleaned up and examined. They found nothing physically out of the ordinary. If anything, even my height had matched their daughters. I kept that silence up for as long as I could, slowly practicing the noble accent in private. Studying Valette's diaries to learn her thoughts and the ways she acted. The lessons clergy gave to homeless children paid off, but it was a long process to mimic my lost friend.
Wherever I went, an escort followed. For a long time any attempts to escape I even half-hearted tried would be immediately blocked. The Montelione's did not want their child running off any more. They of course questioned why I was so quiet. Somehow I had managed to convince them and professionals that trauma had resulted in me losing my ability to talk. But that was all a lie.
It took months, but when I was sure I would not slip up, I began to show progress towards my recovery.
I did not wish to deceive them. I felt pity for them and self loathing for lying, but i wanted to survive. But over the course of those months I had began to find myself growing attached to the Montelione's. For the first time in so long, I had a mother and even a father. I had siblings who cared for me, even if perhaps they resented the consequences of Valette's disappearance. A full stomach every day and all the knowledge I could want at my finger tips. I had grown attached to them. I felt myself falling into this new life I found myself a part of.
Sometimes, I even wondered if I actually was Valette. If somehow those memories I possessed of another life were just an hallucination from an a bad hit on the head.
But I always knew such thoughts were just a my mind trying to push my crimes into a little box that I would bury deep within myself to hide.
Over the years I had various opportunities to escape. A door left open, a servant ordered away with me left alone in a room, a visit to the local market under supervision as a crowd stormed by unexpectedly. Yet I remained stationary despite the opportunities presented. I had grown too attached with this new life, with the family I suddenly found myself possessing. I realized I did not want to leave them. Despite the guilt that quietly eroded me, I wanted to enjoy those familial bonds. I wanted to make up for what I had stolen from Valette by living a good life in her name. But I was always scared of losing what I barely held on to.
It was selfish. It was even cruel. But I had done an unforgiveable act I believed they could not forgive.
I thought to myself: "What good could come of me revealing the truth?" I believed it would only lead to everyone suffering, myself especially.
Later in life I would come to regret that line of thinking.
![[Image: dOmPfIR.png]](https://i.imgur.com/dOmPfIR.png)