The truth is that the small baby had no awareness of what was happening in her life. In her crib, in silence, biting her own fingers and gently rocking her body, she entertained herself with ease. Meanwhile, her mother cried on the couple's bed and her father stormed out with his old horse; perhaps it was the worst argument they had had since the beginning of their relationship, and both wondered whether continuing together was still possible.
The mother thought about the beautiful marriage they had begun six years earlier and about the child, who had been so calm since birth. But now, just as her dream of becoming a mother had finally come true, she discovered that Einfer, her husband, had become involved with a group of more-than-dangerous sorcerers and owed them gold. Not a small amount—far more than the family could ever pay in such a fragile moment. The reason was even harder to accept: he had hired those sorcerers to kill his own father, the baby's grandfather.
For a long time, Einfer's parents had threatened to take the baby away if the couple ever had children. In their minds, it was impossible that such a mediocre pair could raise a child of their blood with the proper values. To Laira, his wife, it was madness; even if everything had been done for her protection and their daughter's, it was still unthinkable. The argument was not easy, with both sides pushing incompatible beliefs.
And so the child, ignorant of the world, spent her first birthday with only her mother. Her father fled after Laira reported him in exchange for protection against the sorcerers. The paternal grandparents were dead, the maternal grandparents had long since passed away, and the sorcerers were never found. But to the child, none of it mattered; after all, her mother's milk was the best thing in the world.
On her third birthday, her mother celebrated in the city hospital. She was ill, as if trapped in a poisonous nightmare that would never end. Laira already knew she would not live much longer; her husband had never paid his debt to the sorcerers, and she was the only one left to pay with her life. Even under the city's protection, she lay in bed as her organs failed one by one. Still, she was happy to be with her beloved daughter, even if only for three years. She had achieved her dream of hearing the word "mommy" from the lips of her beautiful child, who grew stronger each day.
By the child's fourth birthday, her mother could no longer do much for her. She said goodbye, and the girl was sent to an orphanage. Healers from the city and from distant places had done everything they could for Laira, but nothing changed. She had certainly been cursed, and no magic at that point could restore what had already been lost. A few months later, Laira died in the hospital bed.
At five, the child already understood the world, already spoke, already comprehended—and still could not bear what had happened. She wanted her mother back. She did not understand why she was far from her, nor why she had to hear the caretakers say, on a Friday morning, that her mother had died. Her world was painful, empty, and incomprehensible.
At six, she was a sad child, without morals, without principles, without empathy for others. She simply lived what there was to live in the orphanage routine. That year, she began attending a local school for the first time. She entered as a stranger and left as one. She made no friends, spoke little, and could not connect with anyone. Her nights were spent thinking of her mother, remembering the thin, sick body saying goodbye—the last time she saw her.