September arrived with a sharp chill in the air and the first scatter of falling leaves. The gardens had turned to autumn colours. The roses lost their petals, scattering them in shades of deep red and bruised pink across the dark, damp soil.
Trees at the edge of the lawn stood caught between summer and autumn. Their tips glowed a brittle gold while their centres remained a stubborn green. The sun hung lower now, casting longer shadows across the grass and a softer, more diffused light across the stone walls of the manor.
Morwenna stood at the nursery window, watching a single leaf spiral down from the highest branch of the oak. A sudden gust caught it and carried it out of sight.
She had been standing there for five minutes, and a quiet relief settled in as she realized her legs no longer trembled. Strength was returning to her small frame, slow and steady, in time with the turning of the season.
Behind her, Jane folded a knitted blanket and set it on the chair. "Are you ready?" she asked.
Morwenna turned toward her mother. The green velvet snake lay on the bed, and Cinder sat faithfully at her feet. His amber eyes followed her every movement. "Ready for what?"
"Therapy," Jane replied. "The exercises. We will do them just like we did after the first bath."
Morwenna remembered the routine well. She recalled the long, exhausting walks down the corridor and the stretching that made her muscles ache. She remembered the bitter frustration of a body that wouldn't do what she wanted it to. She gave a small, silent nod of agreement.
The first session was held in the morning room. Jane had pushed the furniture against the walls and rolled back the rug to leave the stone floor bare and cold. Morwenna stood in the centre of the room with her feet bare and her arms hanging at her sides. Jane stood a few metres away and gave a simple instruction. "Walk to me."
Morwenna walked. Her legs were stiff and her steps were short. Her toes gripped the cold stone with every movement, but she didn't stumble. When she reached her mother, she stopped and waited.
"Good," Jane said. "Now walk back to the window."
Morwenna turned and moved toward the glass. The autumn light fell across her face, making her blink against the sudden brightness. Jane had her repeat the walk again and again until her legs grew looser and her steps grew longer. After ten minutes, Jane told her to stop. Morwenna sat on the floor immediately. Her legs trembled with the effort.
"The first bath took a month of recovery," Jane reminded her. She knelt down to the child's level. "This will take a month too."
Morwenna looked at her hands. They remained steady even if her legs were not. "Why are my legs so weak?"
"Because you lay in bed for months, and your muscles forgot how to work."
Morwenna considered that. Her muscles had forgotten, just as her memories had tangled and her soul had been torn. She forgot everything, and yet, in time, everything found its way back.
She pushed herself to her feet, jaw set.
"Again."
. . .
The days settled into a steady, rhythmic pace. Mornings were reserved for walking. She paced the length of the morning room before moving to the corridor and then the entrance hall. Each day she went a little further, and each day her legs grew a little stronger. Afternoons were for stretching. Jane showed her the same exercises Saoirse had taught her last year at the farm.
Morwenna did them all without complaint. Her body remembered the shapes even if her mind was still sorting through the fragments of two lives.
Evenings were quiet. Jack didn't ask her questions or expect her to respond; he just read in that low, steady voice she remembered from when she was very small. She was still small, of course, but she didn't feel it. Her mind still carried the quiet exhaustion of decades.
She often try to reach for a kettle that wasn't there or to stretch in a narrow bed that no longer existed. Instead, her hands were small and pale, and her stamina was measured in minutes rather than hours.
As the weeks passed, Roxane took over the physical therapy. She had been observing from the edges since Morwenna woke. She noted the weakness in the girl's legs and the way her balance faltered.
"The exercises aren't enough," Roxane declared. "She lay still for three months. Her muscles have forgotten how to hold her, and we need to remind them."
She brought potions in small vials of dark glass. Each one was sealed with black wax. The liquid inside was thick and pale green. It smelled of sharp mint and something earthier that Morwenna couldn't name.
"Drink this every morning," Roxane instructed. "It will help your muscles remember."
Morwenna drank it down. The potion was cold and slick. It coated her throat with the taste of grass and rain. On the first day, nothing seemed to change. By the second, her legs stopped shaking after she walked to the window. On the third day, she walked the entire length of the corridor without stopping once. Roxane watched her without smiling. She simply nodded before telling her to do it again.
Nicholas came to the nursery every evening. He didn't speak much, preferring to sit in the chair by the window and watch her breathe. Sometimes he placed his hands near her head. His fingers hovered over her temples as he closed his eyes.
On the fifth day of September, he spoke. "Your soul is settling. The two parts are learning to work together. It will take time, but they aren't fighting each other."
Morwenna looked at him. They held that same LeFay green as Jane's eyes. "The other life," she said. "The woman in the apartment. Is she still there?"
Nicholas was quiet for a moment. "She is part of you now. She won't go away, but she won't stay separate forever. Eventually, you won't be able to tell where she ends and you begin."
Morwenna looked down at her small, pale hands. "I don't know if I want to lose her."
"You won't lose her. You will become her, and she will become you. That's what it means to heal." He stood up to leave. "Rest. Tomorrow you will walk further."
. . .
With each new challenge, Roxane added to the routine. Morwenna had to stand on one leg and then the other with her arms out for balance. She wobbled, but she didn't fall.
She began to climb the stairs. She started with three steps, then five, until she could manage the entire staircase with one hand on the rail and Jane waiting behind her. She even began to run, though only for short distances from the nursery door to the window.
Nicholas visited in the evenings and took his usual chair. On the fifteenth day, he watched the autumn rain streak the glass before speaking. "The other life," he said. "Do you remember how it ended?"
Morwenna lowered her hands. The memory felt like a film she had seen a long time ago. "I was in my apartment. I was reading. Then I wasn't."
"You died."
"Maybe."
"Do you remember what killed you?"
The memory arrived in fragments. She saw the white ceiling and felt the slowing breath and the sudden, weightless quiet. "No. I just fell."
Nicholas nodded. "That's common. The soul doesn't always remember the moment of death. It remembers the before and the after, but the middle is often blank." He stood and walked to the door. "Rest. Tomorrow you will run further."
. . .
When the leaves had nearly all fallen, Morwenna was running the length of the entrance hall. The fountain murmured in the centre while the portraits watched her progress with interest. She reached the door and stopped. Her breath came hard and her legs burned with the effort.
Roxane stood at the other end of the hall. "Again," she commanded, and Morwenna ran back.
October arrived with a cold rain that streaked the windows and left the gardens bare. Morwenna stood at the glass, watching the downpour, aware that her legs held steady now and her arms no longer ached. She was close to being the girl she had been before, even if she would never be exactly the same.
Roxane came to the nursery that afternoon and stood in the doorway with her arms crossed. "Your body is healed. The rest is just time."
Morwenna turned. "Thank you."
Roxane offered a small nod, and her expression softened.
Nicholas came to the nursery that evening and took his usual chair. "Your soul is stable," he said. "The two parts have integrated. You will still feel her sometimes, the woman in the apartment, but she won't overwhelm you."
Morwenna sat on the edge of her bed. "Will I remember everything?"
Nicholas shook his head. "No. Some memories will fade and some will stay. You can't choose which ones."
"I want to remember her."
"Then you will," he promised. He stood up. "I leave tomorrow, and Roxane leaves with me."
Morwenna looked up at him. "Thank you."
He nodded in return and left the room.
. . .
The next morning, the entrance hall was crowded as the family gathered to say goodbye.
Aldric, Seraphina and Saoirse stood near the fountain while Jack and Jane waited by the door. The others had already departed over the previous weeks. Only Roxane and Nicholas remained. Their travelling cloaks were fastened and their bags were packed.
Roxane looked at Morwenna. "You will be fine. You are strong, and you have always been strong."
Nicholas stepped toward the hearth but paused for a final word. "Remember what I said. Be patient with yourself." He stepped into the flames, which flared a brilliant green, and Roxane followed him immediately.
The entrance hall went quiet. Morwenna stood at the bottom of the stairs, Cinder pressed against her leg.
Jane stepped up beside her, close but not touching. "Are you all right?"
Morwenna watched the empty grate. "I am still learning," she said.
Jane nodded. "That's enough."
Morwenna turned and walked back up the stairs. Her steps were steady. The road ahead was long, but she was no longer afraid to walk it.