Rulers of Valentia
A realm. A key. And the impossible.
I walked past my mother's sewing table, were she sat and made clothes to sell. She made and sold clothes so that we would have enough money to eat, even when our father spent all our money on his drinks.
She would spend a small amount of money on yarn, cotton and other fabrics to make children's and women's clothes. She'd spend so much time every single day making clothes just so we had food. I walked to the desk we all studied at and I saw Talia's books, some were still open, bookmarks lay next to them, others lay in a pile, her kitten, Mara, was asleep on the stool, curled up into a ball.
I saw Rowan's journals and pens, his small jars of ink, he wrote poems, little limericks sometimes, but his poems were everything to him, they were little pieces of his happiness. And they were beautiful, every time he would read one out to me or my siblings, it would touch our hearts.
We would even tear up sometimes.
I saw my things, my research on plants and flowers, the journal I made flower pressings in, my mother had given me it two years ago for my birthday.
And I saw Everett's canvases and paints, the drawings he had made, the sketches he held so close to his heart.
And before this moment, I had never realized how much these small things meant to us.
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