Ch 2-Promises in the dust

The attic was quiet that afternoon, sunlight slipping through the windows in thin golden sheets that stirred the dust. Nora sat cross-legged on the floor, a rag tossed carelessly beside her, grateful for a short break from polishing the rails downstairs. Across from her, Aine lay on her back, idly nudging a pebble with the tip of her shoe.

“Three more kids got adopted today,” Aine said softly, almost as if stating a fact about the weather.

Nora made a noncommittal hum. Not surprising. Children were always leaving our orphanage. Some came back with horror stories. Some never came back at all. The not-knowing was worse.

Aine rolled onto her side, golden hair fanning across her shoulder. “Do you ever feel bad… like maybe we’re just being stubborn?”

“We’re not stubborn,” Nora said, picking at a splinter in the floor. “We’re realistic.”

Aine gave a tiny smile — the kind that belonged to someone still hoping the world could be better, even after seeing enough to know it often wasn’t. “Some families are kind.”

“And some aren’t,” Nora countered. “And adoption means two separate homes — guaranteed.”

Aine didn’t argue. She didn’t need to. They’d heard enough from the kids who came back, and enough from the ones whose letters slowly stopped arriving.

It wasn’t that Nora and Aine were unwanted. They were polite enough, bright enough, social enough. The problem was simple: going with different families would split them apart. And neither of them was willing to gamble on the world alone.

Aine sat up and dusted her skirt. “Eighteen’s not that far away.”

Nora shrugged, hiding a spark of anticipation she didn’t bother denying. “We’ll leave then. No papers, no signatures, no being separated.”

“And we’ll go anywhere we want,” Aine added, eyes bright with quiet excitement. “Not because we were chosen — but because we choose ourselves.”

That was the difference. They weren’t rejecting adoption out of fear. They rejected it because belonging to strangers had never appealed to either of them.

Nora unfolded the map they’d been building for months — a patchwork of stolen scraps, half-remembered geography, and whispered rumors. Aine leaned over her shoulder, pointing to a coastline drawn just days ago.

“Start here?” she asked.

Nora considered it. “Sure. A fishing village isn’t the worst way to meet the outside world.”

“And maybe it’ll be nice,” Aine said lightly, the kind of optimism that wasn’t foolish, just… hopeful.

Nora snorted softly. “If it’s horrible, we’ll go somewhere else.”

“Exactly!” Aine said, pleased. “No being stuck.”

The attic door groaned open downstairs, and Sister Imelda’s sharp voice called for evening chores.

“Girls! Get a move on before I come up there myself!”

Aine flinched slightly—not from fear, just from having to interrupt their daydreaming. Nora rolled her eyes, but a small smirk tugged at her lips.

They descended the stairs, their skirts brushing the worn wood, and completed the usual chores in silence. After the last dish was scrubbed and polished, they finally returned to the attic, where the golden light had long since faded and shadows pooled in the corners.

They weren’t desperate to escape the orphanage out of terror. They simply didn’t want their futures dictated by other people.

The world outside might be cruel. It might be kind. Most likely, it would be both.

Either way — they would face it on their own terms.

Not as lost children.

As young women choosing their own lives.

And tonight they prepare for their Great adventure ahead,Nora pulled out the few things they had collected over months: scraps of metal, old needles, bits of string, and a small dagger she’d hidden under her mattress. “If we’re serious about leaving,” she said, “we need tools. Anything that could help us survive out there. Weapons, locks, rope… even something to barter if we have to.”

Aine rummaged through the attic corners, finding old tin cans, shards of glass, a rusted pair of scissors. “Not much,” she said, shrugging. “But every little bit counts.”

They sorted the items carefully, imagining how each could be useful in the streets, at the market, on a train, or by the harbor. “A needle can fix clothes… or… hurt someone if we need it,” Nora said grimly. “These scraps could turn into traps or signals. Every scrap matters.”

The attic was still, the shadows pooling in the corners like liquid ink. Nora and Aine crouched over their scattered tools and scraps — a dagger, shards of glass, rusted scissors, string, and tin cans. Every small thing might help them survive once they were outside.

A faint creak from below froze them. Footsteps—soft, deliberate—heavy.

Curiosity pricked at them. Slowly, Nora and Aine crept to the narrow hallway, inching towards the outside garden. Shadows moved ,Two figures: Sister Imelda and one of the elders, voices hushed but clear.

“…the next ones,” a smooth, low voice said, “are those two girls from the attic.”

Nora’s stomach sank. Aine’s fingers clutched hers.

“They’re beautiful, clever enough, the voice continued, almost like reassurance. “Noble households will pay a heavy price. They can be… useful. At least as mistresses, if not more.”

Then another voice, softer but filled with guilt, trembled through the candle lit darkness: “Nora and Aine? They’re barely seventeen… and they have plans. They dream of leaving. They don’t deserve this…”

It was Sister Imelda. Her tone was different — quieter, gentler, almost human. Not like the harsh, calculating voice of the elder. The girls exchanged a glance. She doesn’t sound like a soul-harvesting demon today… she sounds more humane compared to the harsh callous words of the elder.

The elder’s voice came again, smooth, almost consoling, cruel in its calmness. “Don’t worry, Sister Imelda. For the pretty ones, it’s… good. They’re cared for. They’ll serve noble households. Mistresses, companions… a life they might even find tolerable if they accept it. And the others? The ones not deemed perfect? Sold. Slaves. Put to work for far greater purposes than they’ll ever imagine.”

A quiet pause. Imelda didn’t reply — she wouldn’t. But the slightest catch in her breath, the gentle hesitation in her words, the softening of her otherwise strict features — all betrayed her conflict. She couldn’t intervene. She couldn’t argue. Yet somehow, even through the rules and cruel system, she carried a thread of care for these girls.

Aine’s fingers pressed to her mouth. Nora’s hand clenched the dagger tighter. Every word pierced like a knife.

Nora’s jaw tightened. She’d heard rumors before, but this—hearing exactly what awaited girls who stayed—made her chest ache. “We can’t wait until eighteen,” she whispered. “If we do, it’s too late. We have to go—before they decide for us.”

“They expect them before this week,” the elder said casually, as if discussing a commodity. “The good-looking ones are claimed first. The rest… sold, traded, or kept as servants. No exceptions.

The faint sound of Imelda’s retreating footsteps carried a quiet weight of guilt. The girls felt it — the difference between her and the elder. Sister Imelda was powerless, but she sympathized. She wasn’t a demon today.

Nora’s jaw tightened. “We were never waiting for eighteen,” she whispered. “We were being delivered.”

Aine’s eyes widened. “They’ve already chosen for us…”

“No,” Nora said, voice low but sharp as steel. “They’ve chosen what they want. Not our lives. Not our freedom.”

Her gaze swept over the scattered tools, the map, the small hidden dagger. Every scrap suddenly became essential.

“We leave,” Nora said, her voice hard, fierce. “Tonight, tomorrow—doesn’t matter. Before they can touch us. Before anyone can decide for us.”

Aine nodded, determination blazing in her eyes. “Every scrap, every hidden thing… it’s survival now.”

The attic was quiet again. Shadows pooled in corners, waiting. Somewhere, unseen, a presence lingered — patient, calculating, watching.

But for the first time, the girls weren’t afraid. Their eyes were fixed on the map, the routes, the alleys. Every hidden path, every tool, every scrap suddenly mattered more than ever.

Tonight, the attic wasn’t just a refuge. It was a war room.

Their escape had just become urgent — not for adventure, but for survival.

​

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***