Even if she looked the same, I felt my grandmother’s bones, as she hugged me, the moment I set foot back at the Hall. She felt frail, like I imagined the fae living in the woods north of the house would be. But her voice remained steady and she seemed to be in good spirits, and that did calm my restless heart.

What got it racing again, was the conversation she had with me, the next day, in the library.

-There are… certain things that I would rather you would only find out later in life but, alas, matters have been rushed – she sat behind the large desk and grabbed some ledger books and binders.

Money. Mami never talked about money. I had been taught it was not a polite topic of conversation and, honestly, I had never given it much thought.

- The Hall’s finances are, perhaps, as ill as I am – she chuckled sadly, as she opened the ledgers and called me to stand by her side, so I could also have a look and a full grasp of it – I have tried, for many years, to turn things around but too many mistakes have been made and the income is not… plentiful, so to speak.

I let my eyes skim through all those expenses I did not understand. How was I supposed to help?

- I have been selling some land we had, outside the estate, for some years. - the talk was painful to her, taxing on both a mental and physical level – The estate itself is intact so far, but you might need to break it up, in the future.

- I won’t do that, Mami.

- Never say never, darling. I also never thought I would be selling what was handed to me, and here I am, signing deeds, living in an enormous house with very little staff to keep it. It does not mean I enjoy it. But one does what one must.

The House was, in fact, understaffed for quite a few years now. We had the ever-faithful Collins, Edgar who kept the grounds and Hannah, who cooked and cleaned. I had always thought that we had no need for anyone else, as it had just been the two of us for quite some time now.

Mami took me on a house tour to show what needed to be done. The roof needed some important work done, but she had been told that, with maintenance, it could withstand another winter or two. The unused apartments, on the second floor, were in need of some repair and what remained of the oldest part of the house – a Great Hall and a chapel from the 15th century -, needed some serious and very specialized maintenance. Luckily for us, in this situation, the original house – first of the firsts - was now sitting under where we stood.

An old house, or a historical house, like Somerset Hall is far more expensive to maintain than a modern one. Every material needs to be the right one and repairs need to be done by specialists who really know what they are doing. Again, we don’t make the rules, the House does.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

And so, I found myself sitting by the edge of the lake, looking over the Isle of the Dead and thinking that I was definitely not old enough to deal with any of that. What did I know about money and accounting? Virtually nothing. I was twelve years old, would be thirteen in a couple of months, so how long would it be until I actually finished my studies and could find a job? And what sort of job could pay well enough for me to keep up with my responsibilities?

Mami had also said that there was only one person from the staff I could never send away and that was Collins, whose family history was so intermingled with our own, that we always took them for granted in the Estate.

The first Collins working for the Somersets had been a stable boy, in the early 1800s, who had himself climbed up the ranks. His son had learned what it took to be a butler of the House and so they had always accompanied us, bearing the highest rank within the household. Peter did not share the family sentiment for a life within the Hall and Mami laughed, saying that he was keeping up with the times and avoiding a dying breed, so good for him.

That night, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. From a certain age onwards, sleep had never come easily to me and, the more problems kept piling up, the less I mingled with Morpheus.

So, there I was, humming Here comes the sun, when I had an epiphany. What was the one thing that I knew I could do almost flawlessly by now? Music! The only thing that had lit the way for all those years, the siren calling from the music room, Terpsichore herself, my muse.

I could play, I could sing, I’d written a thing or two. There was nothing that could keep me from doing it. And music could draw in a lot of money if done right.

I shot out of bed, ignoring the shiver from the cold December air, and went straight to my desk. I sat there, looking at the blank music sheet. What made a song? What made a melody? I had no doubts about any of those parts. But what kind of music could I make…?

I could feel the shadows in my soul creeping in, waiting for the moment they could unleash their symphony of darkness and I put pen to paper until my eyes hurt.

I fell asleep immediately when I met my pillow again, and I dreamt of waves of sound, creating polyphonic whirls that danced around me. I could feel the melodies, the rhythms and the patterns and I sang along with them, softer, louder, sometimes painfully. My very own Requiem.

I ran to the music room as soon as I opened my eyes and I didn’t even care about changing. I needed to test what I’d written in those late hours.

I still do it like that. I envision what I want, write it down and test it. I repeat the process until I get a nice, sturdy skeleton. Then, I fill it up, with its vital organs, muscle, flesh, sinew, a soul, until I can shout it’s alive! because, in fact, it is. Music is a live and organic thing and musicians just happen to be wizards that can create life from a wisp of a sound, just like painters can do so from colour, photographers from light and so on…

From that night of hard work, there were two survivors that made it: Lost and Whispered Echoes.

A week later, I showed my Mami what I had and told her about my plan, not really waiting for approval.

- Is this really what you want to do? - she asked, as she took the scores and the lyrics and read through them again.

I nodded, with that certainty only young adolescents have about anything.

- You might need a bit more than this. Do you want to sell the songs?

- I want to sing them myself.

Mami did a slight, almost invisible, eyebrow raise. The little creature in front of her had managed to surprise the mistress of the house – Very well. I will ask Mason if he has any idea where to go to next. - she held my hand – You did a good job, my dear.