A Mother's Instinct

“You can’t really have agreed to this” A voice spoke behind her. The summer night breeze swaying past her like a gentle caress against her bare arms. A slight shiver ran down her spine from the coldness of it. She didn’t mind it. The coldness of the wind felt warmer than the coldness of her family.

“They are asking you to give up everything and for what? To be someone’s trophy wife?” He continued to rant. She still couldn’t turn around and face him. It would just make everything too real and she couldn’t handle that right now at this very moment. “It’s for the best,” she said, her eyes glancing down towards the water. This small lake in a small garden was nothing like her favorite painting of Borcelle’s garden by Florence. They didn’t look the same at all, but to her, they felt very much the same. Perhaps she should paint it before she had to leave. Her very last painting. A piece of the home she would never return to. A piece of her soul that still thought of this garden and this lake as her space, a piece to stay with her for the rest of her life.

"Best for who?” She could hear the emotion in his voice as he asked. “For me and my future children, Their future would be secured and they will never have to live the way I have,” she said. “What if he finds out? That you’re…” He seemed to struggle with finishing his sentence and that was when she finally looked at him. His auburn hair nearly looked brown in the darkness of the moonlight. But what captured her gaze the most was how his brown eyes tried so desperately to hold back the tears. His whole face was twisted into a painful sorrowful expression. There was beauty in that pain that made her chest hurt.

“I am what? just say it Harland,” she said, her face frowning like an ugly mirror to his sorrowful expression. “That I am not my sister, the pure born Krauss daughter everyone fawns over,” she said, nearly yelling at him, all her insecurities laid bare for him to see. “That I am in fact the disgusting filth of a bastard no better than the dirty mistress my father found on the streets?” She laughed after she had spoken, Harland was clearly uncomfortable with her outburst. “Elvira…. you know that doesn’t matter to me,” he said weakly, almost like a murmur. She knew he loved her, but not enough. He was too much of a coward. He had always been like this, whispering promises to her when they were alone like this, promises he would never keep the moment another person appeared. “You say that now, but you never act on your words...” she said, once again turning away from him, perhaps to guard her own heart from breaking. “Are you willing to take me away from here? To go against my father’s words?” She asked, once again staring into the lake, finding a slight solace in its water.

There was a silence until she heard his steps walk away, slowly at first, but quickening with each one. That was his answer to his question, not like she had expected something else, after all, Harland had always been a coward.


By the way her family had talked about the Seymours, she was not surprised that their estate was as grand as it was. Alaric was, as the rumor had said, a serious and business oriented man. After the wedding and the honeymoon, he had helped her, or rather had his servants to do so, to move into the estate. He had the decency to show her around the manor himself at least. Alaric was a very serious man, she hadn’t seen him smile once during the wedding and the honeymoon, she had at first chalked it up to him being a very shy and private man. Though during the tour of her new home, Elvira had the feeling that perhaps it was ice that ran through his veins instead of fire, despite him being a fire kirsha. He wasn’t bad to her, rather he treated her with more respect and dignity than she was used to. However, to him she was a lady born in high society. He did not know about the truth of her dirty blood. At the end of the tour, he showed her the gardens. Her steps stilled as she took everything in. The well manicured lawn, the varying flowers that obviously were planted with care for where they’d shine the most, the trees providing shade over just the right spots and the magnificent art piece of a fountain in the middle.

“Elvira?” His voice sounded next to her. Her gaze went from the breathtaking garden in front of her to the taller man next to her. She had not taken the time to look at him yet, not properly. Not in the way she used to study others' faces to get inspired for portraits. But at this moment, she took the time. Alaric was a handsome man, and in this moment he was captivating. His dark hair was illuminated by the sun, neatly styled into a clean slicked back, although there was a stubborn strand of hair hanging over his brow. He had a slight stubble of beard, but instead of looking dirty it just helped define the sharpness of his jaw. But what truly was captivating was the gray blue eyes staring intently at her. There was such a serious piercing gaze in his eyes that she just knew she had made the right decision. This was a man with power.

“The garden is captivating,” she said, her eyes darting back to the fountain, she had nearly forgotten to reply to him. “Ah yes, one of my ancestors had it made for his wife, although my grandfather had it redone for my grandmother,” he said so casually with no hint of arrogance, although by the look of the estate and the garden itself was a testament to the sheer wealth his family clearly had possessed for generations. “Although I have heard that the Krauss estate garden is supposedly prettier,” he said and Elvira did not need to look at him to know he was throwing a glance at her. She could feel that burning gaze on her. It was like he could see into her soul.  

Elvira felt the pit of her stomach drop as the embarrassment settled in. She had never been allowed to step foot into the infamous main garden of the Krauss family. So either the gaze meant he was onto her secret or he thought she was being polite and trying to gain favor with him. After all, she now relied on him. Her mind razed with the panic of being found out and the consequences of that, while another part tried to reason that perhaps it was the latter. Quick, she had to think quickly and say something now or else he would know. This was survival for her.

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder or so they say,” she said, her voice steady and calm, no hint of her inner turmoil. She smiled at him, a gentle one, the one she used to hide her true emotions. There was no logical way of him knowing the truth, not so soon. The wedding wouldn’t have happened if he did. He smiled slightly, the same kind of smile she used, a fake one. The people of high society rarely knew how to smile any differently. “I suppose so,” he said before they continued the tour.


She had been a fool to bring her art supplies. She could barely manage to save the painting of that small lake. Her last piece. Alaric had arranged for it all to be thrown away. When she confronted him he had given her some spiel about such useless hobbies would take away her focus from her new role as his wife and future mother of his children. That was the moment she realized that Alaric was not the kind of man she had thought he was. He was cutthroat and cold. Colder than the icy waters of the sea. What an irony it was that he was a fire kirsha.

She now knew the only person she could rely on was herself, and she would adapt to her new life. For her and for her children she would change herself into something unrecognizable. She would make sure no one could look down at her again, to dare look down on her future children. If she had to sacrifice her passion to do so, she would. Perhaps something had died inside her that day.

The morning after she had been so nauseous that she couldn’t keep down her breakfast. She thought it was nothing until someone asked her when was the last time she had bled. The hour after that she had a positive pregnancy test in her hands. The first time she saw Alaric smile was when she announced she was pregnant with his heir.


One thing Elvira had learned the last few months was that she hated being pregnant. She could barely stomach any food. So when it was dinner time, Elvira just pushed the expensive looking dish around her plate and tried to keep the nausea at bay. Alaric for some reason seemed colder that day. She had spent the day trying to figure out why.

“When were you going to tell me?” Alaric suddenly asked. His voice stern, enough so to make her heart stop in her throat and her nausea worsening from it. She put on a smile as she looked up at him. “Tell you what, dear?” She asked, her voice calm and steady. She had mastered the art of concealing her true feelings with that calm and steady voice long ago. Alaric chuckled slightly. “That’s what I like about you, Elvira,” her name came out like a purr from his mouth. “You are a master actress,” the way he said that gave her a sickening feeling.

“I’m talking about how you are not the actual Elvira born to Leander Krauss’ legal wife,” Alaric said with a smirk that made her heart skip several beats and her mind spinning so much she got dizzy. “That’s preposterous,” Elvira responded ever so calmly, taking a sip of her water. “No need to play pretend, dear” the way he said the word dear felt so wrong. She put down the glass of water. “It took a while to dig up,” Alaric spoke up as he stood up from his seat.

“That you took your half sister’s place after she died,” he continued as he walked over to the large windows overlooking the garden outside. He didn’t look at her as he faced them. “I get why Leander did it,” he said as she remained seated. She wasn’t sure she could stand right now, she had to think of the safety of her baby in her womb. Perhaps the only thing keeping Alaric from getting rid of her. “After all, the two of you looked so alike and you were a water warlock and she was not, you’d be more of use with her name,” Alaric said as he turned around, facing her. “Don’t worry, I will keep your secret,” Alaric said. “After all you’ve proven yourself to be a strong woman and you are carrying my child after all,” he said. Elvira wasn’t sure if she should feel relieved. “Make sure the secret doesn't come out to light,” Alaric finished before leaving the room. He didn’t have to tell her that, it was always meant to be a secret she would carry to her grave.


“Cassius Perseus Seymour, that will be his name,” she said as she looked down on the tiny little child she had brought into the world. His cries were loud and the midwife had reassured her it just meant he had strong lungs and it was a good sign. Cassius was a name Alaric wanted for the child. The name of a hero of a long ago era said to be the founder of the Seymour family line. Perseus was the name of a hero from her own family line. Two strong names to make sure this child grew up strong, so no one would look down on him. She cradled him close to her, her little baby. “May you grow up strong and nothing stands in your way, my little drop of fire,” She murmured as she placed a kiss on his temple.

When Cassius was nearing a year old, she got a visitor she thought she would never see. She was seated on the couch in one of the living rooms, Cassius was playing with some pencils and paper on the floor within her eyesight. On the opposite side sat Harland. He looked nervous, especially so when she was looking at him. He had picked a day when Alaric was on a business trip in Mermont.

“You’ve changed Elvira,” He said as he tried to smile, it was a nervous one, she could tell by the way his lip slightly quivered as the corners of his mouth pulled upwards. She calmly took a sip of the tea cup in front of her, her legs crossed and her back straight. She gazed from Cassius to him. “Is that so?” She simply replied. “You’ve lost the spark in your eye” He said, the way he looked at her with a saddened expression, he was remembering a past version of her, she could almost see that version of her in his eyes. “I- I came here cause- cause of” He stuttered nervously. “Harland.” She said his name in the same way as she used to years ago. It used to calm his nerves back then. He took a deep breath. “I broke ties with your father,” Harland said, no longer stuttering. “I came to get you… and your son of course,” he continued. Her hand holding the tea cup stiffened and stopped as she was about to take a sip. “What-” She didn’t even get to finish her question before he continued. “I love you Elvira, no Re-”

“Don’t speak that name,” she said, her voice filled with coldness colder than ice. Harland was silent for a moment, perhaps slightly shocked. “I do love you, and I want you to be happy doing what you love,” he continued as if he was unfaced by her coldness. “Come with me, bring Cassius with you, we can go far away from here” Harland started rambling, desperate. His eyes looked equally desperate as he gazed at her, desperately and lovingly. It was like he was trying to prove to her that he was no longer ashamed, that he was willing to take that step he hadn’t dared to when they were younger. However, he was too late. The Elvira he loved was long gone. She had a duty to uphold, a reputation to keep. Not only hers, but Alaric’s as well as Cassius. She couldn’t do that to him. Cassius was only secured a safe and happy future if they stayed here.

“Get out, Harland and don't speak such nonsense in front of me or my family ever again,” she said, uncrossing her legs and standing up. The tea cup placed neatly at the coffee table. She turned around, looking at Cassius. The way he was drawing lines on the paper, sitting there all quietly, although she could hear the small sounds he made, humming some unknown melody only for himself. No she could never risk his safety for something like that.

Harland tried to speak up, but she sent him a cold gaze. “Get out, do not make me repeat myself,” she said once again.  Harland did not say another word. His expression said everything. Utterly defeated and pained. A mirror to the one from that day a couple of years ago. That day she had asked the same of him. He left them in the living room. She never saw him again after that.

That night she went up into the attic and uncovered the painting leaned against the wall in a corner. That painting of that small lake. The only remaining piece of her soul before she became Elvira Seymour. That night she silently cried to herself, the tears blurring the painting as she covered it up again. She never looked at that painting again.


Not even a week after Alaric asked her to come to his office. “I have something to show you, my dear,” he had said as he took her hand and led her to the car parked outside the front door. She tried asking him what he was going to show her, during the car ride. Alaric refused to say a word. The car eventually stopped outside the city. On a road into the forest. Alaric got out of the car and she followed. They linked their arms together, the constant performance of being lovers was so ingrained into them now that they did whenever they weren’t at the estate, even if no one could see them right now as they walked deep into the woods.

She felt her blood ran cold when Alaric showed her his little surprise. “Remember Elvira, do not do things that put our image and reputation at risk.” His words ringed in her ears as she tried to look away, wanting to. but the red liquid clamoring so seamlessly into the auburn hair and the fear in the brown eyes made too much of a haunting portrait to ever look away. She might have puked, she couldn’t remember it was a blur from the moment she saw and Alaric guiding her back.


She tried to bond with Cassius, her sweet little thing, that she did everything for. Taking him to art museums and teaching him about the art she had to sacrifice. She did try to bond with the daughter she got afterwards. But their gray blue eyes were too much like his. Lysander and Edwin were easier to bond with, their eyes brown like hers. She did feel guilty about it, that she couldn’t care for the older ones as she did the youngest. But their faces were just too much like him.

The drinking started maybe around the time her poor baby died, a fate so undeserving for that sweet little angel. She hadn’t gotten out of bed for over a month after the funeral. Perhaps it even got worse when the strong oldest child, the one with the name of heroes, was not strong anymore. Despite having his father’s face, Elvira saw too much of herself in him. Too much of the part she hated about herself.

Yet, as the fire scorched her skin, digging through her flesh. She could only think of how she regretted not showing her children how much she truly loved them.