From a tree as towering as a hill, a tiny flower the size of a walnut detached. Carried by the wind, the flower journeyed as if guided by an invisible hand.

The journey didn't last long, just a few meters from the tree that birthed it, but it ended at a small brook that carried it far from home. However, it wasn't alone; it was merely the last one to embark on that adventure. Hundreds of flowers of varied colors flowed in the water, all together heading towards an uncertain destiny.

But soon, the journey came to an end. They all stopped atop harsh nets filled with other flowers. Helpless and unable to choose their path, the flowers were picked up by wrinkled and ungentle hands.

Thus began the tale of Eliza, the first among all the mansion's maids.

"I was just a child back then, but I knew something wasn't right, though I didn't understand why," expressed Eliza with sorrow, clenching her fists on her thighs.

"What do you mean?" asked, confused by the narrative.

"Those little flowers represented a mother's lament for the departure of her daughters. We collected those laments to sell along with the seeds," she said, on the verge of breaking into tears, but keeping her composure. "I was one of those daughters too, and many sisters passed through my hands, all sold like me…"

Her work had lasted so long that she couldn't think anymore; she had become alien to herself. To her, this wasn't an immoral act but a vital obligation; she had always been a slave.

Beatriz enveloped her mother in a warm embrace, holding her close until her mother calmed enough to continue:

"What I helped do is unforgivable; I'm a monster," she began to cry into her daughter's arms.

Beatriz felt bad for dredging up her mother's painful memories from the past and began to reflect on how insignificant her love problems were compared to the terrible secret her mother had carried alone for so long. Yet, her curiosity persisted, even stronger than before.

She had always known she wasn't her biological mother, but she had never delved deeply into her past. Despite that, her immense curiosity and love for her mother remained intact. Although she had read about how Fidonia beings were born and grew, for her, a mother wasn't the one who brought her into the world but the one who had cared for her and loved her tenderly.

She hugged her mother for several minutes, hoping she would calm down. Affectionately, she stroked her back and remained silent.

"I'm a horrible daughter and a bad mother," she finally said, pulling away from Beatriz. Then she continued, "But despite everything, I love each one of you as if I were the great Fidrona mother."

The imposing Fidrona, that magical tree considered the progenitor of all Fidonias, is the being that releases the seeds of its species every decade. This truth was revealed to Beatriz after countless years of dedicated reading. Finally, she expressed:

"And I love you too, Mom."

Both embraced again, not with sadness but with tremendous tenderness, enjoying the warm bond between mother and daughter. Eliza continued narrating the story:

"I remember a young man, excited and curious, strolling through the grand flower shop where I worked as a caretaker," she said with an evocative smile. "This man couldn't stop talking to me; his yellow eyes shone like the sun. I remember it like it was yesterday."

"Was it Henry?" asked a thrilled Beatriz.

"Yes, he arrived asking if we sold many flowers to decorate his new home. I assured him that it was our specialty, as the shop was the most important in the kingdom."

"What happened to the shop?" Beatriz wanted to know.

"It still exists, but it's no longer the most prominent. What set it apart from the others was its direct contract with the empire to exploit, breed, and sell Fidonias. However, the empire revoked the concession due to new decrees advocating for the abolition of slavery."

"Even though they haven't managed to stop the illegal slave trade. After all, the demon king and the poor girl were acquired in an illegal auction den," she commented with disappointment and continued, "Henry has a great heart; I'm sure he lied about the girl's deception just to save her from that place."

Beatriz didn't know anyone more perceptive than her master Henry; she always thought that where others saw mistakes, he saw virtues. The trust and admiration she had for him were unbreakable.

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"Poor girl, when she arrived in this family, she seemed withdrawn, as if she feared opening up to us, as if she believed that would lead her to some sort of punishment," she turned to the window, contemplating the blue sky reflected. "But I'm glad to see her smile. Even though we're not alike, and I lack scales like her, I wouldn't mind if she saw me as a mother or my daughters as her sisters."

That was the mother Beatriz loved, someone concerned for others regardless of their origin; genuine love. She felt joy for having shared her past and discovered an aspect her sisters didn't know. Even though it might seem like a simple feeling, that sensation of being special filled her with happiness.

Her face, as white as porcelain, reflected the sunlight without showing signs of discomfort. Her eyes, as vast as the sky, remained fixed on the great yellow and fiery orb. Her long, flowing hair rested on her shoulders, entwined by the embrace of the wind that entered through the window, moving gracefully from time to time. That image moved her so much that she longed to hug her tightly, wishing to prevent the sun from taking her away and separating her from her.

"You asked me how I met the man who stole your heart, but I never really got to tell you the most important thing," she said without looking away from the sun.

"The most important thing?" asked, not diverting her gaze from her mother's profile.

"How I met you, my daughter."

"Me?"

She turned to Beatriz and said:

"You are Henry's daughter."

At that moment, everything crumbled for Beatriz. She understood why she had felt uncomfortable and distant when showing affection toward her, why she had tried to hide their relationship and get closer to Sargonas. However, something felt strange to her, and she asked a question:

"Doesn't Henry know?"

She remembered many moments when Henry was affectionate, which made her suspect that perhaps, just perhaps, her mother had hidden the truth from him.

"He doesn't know. In fact, if he had known, maybe…"

Beatriz stood up and ran out of the room, tears in her eyes and highly disturbed by what her mother had revealed. Life wasn't fair, she always knew, but she believed that as long as she stayed with Henry, none of that mattered. Now, she felt a pain in her heart that threatened to tear it into a thousand pieces. She began to hate her mother for deceiving her for years and Henry for betraying her with Sargonas.

Her mind wandered between possible realities: what if Sargonas had never arrived? Would she be happy? Or would she prefer never to have been born to avoid carrying these heavy feelings in her heart?

She began to remember how Henry caressed and paternalistically kissed all her sisters, including her, in his displays of affection. She understood that she had always deceived herself into believing she was special among them. However, when she approached him, kissed him as a lover, and expressed her true desires, he always responded, "We can't do this." And she, insecure, replied, "Are you afraid others will know about us?" What if he never really wanted her? What if, in her eagerness to seek paternal affection, she had overstepped, and he didn't want to reject her to avoid hurting her?

When she entered the living room, she saw Sargonas holding Henry's arm. Her heart couldn't bear it anymore, and she ran towards the one who had stolen her most precious possession.

"Beatriz?" exclaimed a surprised Henry.

"You still haven't told her about us," said Sargonas mockingly.

Beatriz stepped closer and slapped her hard, the sound resonating throughout the room. The Fidonia sisters, who were chatting animatedly in the dining room, turned in surprise towards the noise.

"I hate you! I wish you had never come to this mansion!"

The other sisters approached quickly, surprised by the scene unfolding in the room.

"Ow! You still haven't told her about us?" complained Sargonas, rubbing her sore right cheek, looking at Henry.

Angered by her words, Beatriz raised her hand to strike her again, but Henry quickly stopped her, holding her arm tightly, a force that didn't harm her physically but did emotionally.

"This is my fault," said Henry, releasing Beatriz's hand.

"No…"

"Wait! If I had told you from the beginning, this would never have happened, I'm sorry," Henry rushed to say.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, on the verge of tears.

"I am in love with Eleuteria…"

Beatriz began to cry inconsolably, falling to her knees as Sargonas had done some time ago. Sargonas, who now stood triumphant next to the man she loves, looked on in victory.

Her sisters approached in a semicircle, unsure how to console their sister, equally desolate by their master's revelation. They all loved him unconditionally, even the young Pipi.

The small salamander clung to Pipi's skirt, a bit taller than her. However, those tears reminded her of her past, and she began to get nervous, secreting her viscous poison through her skin, staining her elder sister's maid uniform, who watched the scene in amazement like the rest.

"Beatriz!" exclaimed Eliza, panting from the grand hall; she had run there.

"Eliza?" she quickly turned upon hearing her voice.

"It's my fault, master," she said, advancing slowly into the room. "I lied to you, manipulated you, and hid a secret about her for a long time…"

"NO! DON'T TELL HIM!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, covering her ears and bending her head almost to the ground.

Her mother hesitated for a moment at her daughter's plea, but she made a decision, one of those irreversible decisions.

"She is your daughter!"

Henry turned paler than the marble floor, and cold sweat began to break out on his face. He took a few steps toward the couch, moving away the semicircle that had formed around Beatriz, and sat down. He covered his mouth with both hands to prevent himself from vomiting, and tears began to fall, streaming through his fingers to the floor.

Eleuteria hurried to him, concerned, and sat beside him. She tried to hug him, but Henry barely reacted.

"What's wrong?" Eleuteria asked alarmed.

"She's my daughter?" he repeated over and over, almost in a whisper.

Eleuteria stood up furiously and walked toward Beatriz, who was crying inconsolably on the floor.

"You wanted to sleep with your father! Disgusting!" she yelled.

"IT'S NOT TRUE!" she replied, not looking her in the face.

"That's why Henry started avoiding you, he can't stand conflicts, and you took advantage of that! You're a bad person!"

"I DIDN'T KNOW!" she replied, squeezing her ears even tighter.

"Enough!" Henry exclaimed, finally waking from his daze. "We need to talk, Eliza."