Selene’s existence unfolded under a shadow of isolation and demand. The Akvis had always distinguished themselves as a hermetic lineage, possessing a power as vast as their own reserve. Although Selene had a brother, he already belonged to another world; he was an older man, with a wife and offspring of his own, who had managed to detach himself from the oppression of the family mansion. That escape was the recurring longing that assailed Selene every morning as she sought her own reflection in the mirror before facing the day.

  She was molded under the yoke of a frigid discipline. Her memory held the vivid image of her father waking her at dawn, of the ritual bath, and of the endless hours seated at the table with books balanced upon her head. That torture of equilibrium and rectitude was her only company until the age of twelve.

  Her father was the architect of that severity; her mother, a faded replica who tried to emulate her husband's hardness, though her true concern was not her daughter’s upbringing, but rather avoiding any fault that would make her look bad in the eyes of that implacable man.

  The days opened at six in the morning. After washing, there followed an austere breakfast: black coffee, bread, jam, and butter. No excesses were permitted. Mr. Akvis maintained the maxim that lingering at the table was a waste of vital time. He was always the first to emerge from the shadows; the house remained mute, plunged in a deathly silence reminiscent of a cemetery, until Selene and her mother made their appearance.

  Selene’s refuge was her bow. She practiced with a fierce determination, seeking to surpass her own limits every day. She climbed to the treetops to shoot from impossible positions: upside down, in full stride, or atop a galloping horse. Any challenge to perfect her aim was a welcome distraction from the emptiness of her home.

  Lunch repeated the monotony of breakfast, albeit in a strange disparity of dishes. Mr. Akvis, a devotee of red meat, consumed large steaks bathed in dense, unknown sauces, despising vegetables with the exception of a solitary final apple. Mrs. Akvis opted for light creams and salads, always accompanied by a glass of wine. Selene moved in a middle ground, preferring poultry over heavy meats, escorted by some legumes and a glass of crystalline water.

  One afternoon, at the conclusion of the meal, Mr. Akvis’s voice broke the mutism before he retired.

  —Selene, go to my office when you are finished.

  —Yes, sir. —she replied, watching her father's back.

  Her mother directed a look charged with suspicion at her, as if searching for a non-existent fault. Selene usually ignored these maternal scrutinies; sometimes she felt that hatred was the only bond that united them, though she could not decipher the reason.

  Upon reaching her father’s study, she knocked on the wood with caution. After receiving permission, she entered and took the chair in front of the desk.

  —The congregation is going to meet tomorrow. —he stated without looking up from his documents. Selene kept an absolute silence, aware that in that house, speech was a privilege granted only after being questioned. —And you are going with me.

  Surprise was reflected in her features. Her father had always been a skeptic regarding female participation in any matter of relevance. Selene did not even understand what "the congregation" was, but she limited herself to nodding.

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  —We need you to be helpful and attract young women; we need everyone’s support for this. —he added, returning his attention to the papers.

  Selene remained motionless. Support for what? Her father’s terseness only fed a growing confusion. —You may leave now.

  As she stepped into the hallway, her mother intercepted her. She gripped her arm with a rough force, devoid of any trace of maternal tenderness.

  —What did he tell you? Is he angry? Mrs. Akvis’s gaze was a mixture of anxiety and morbid curiosity, ignoring that her fingers were sinking violently into her daughter's wrist.

  —He is taking me to the congregation tomorrow; he needs me to help him attract young women to something...

  —What thing? —she inquired quickly.

  —I don't know. —Selene replied, breaking free from the grip with a sharp movement—. Ask him yourself.

  She took refuge in her bedroom and observed her wrist; the skin was inflamed, red, though she knew it would leave no physical mark. She lay on the bed for hours, a castaway in her own thoughts, until a light knock on the door returned her to reality. It was not the imperative strike of her parents; it was a soft sound, almost timid.

  A man entered and closed the door behind him. Selene sat up abruptly upon recognizing Danzel, whose kind smile she had not seen in years.

  —Danzel. —she threw herself into his arms, seeking that safe harbor she had missed so much.

  —We were passing through the kingdom and I wanted to come see you. —he held her tightly, letting out a low laugh

  —. Don't make too much noise; I don't want to run into Mom and end up in those infinite talks with my father about why I don't have children.

  —It's alright... —she whispered, clinging to her brother.

  —Are you okay?

  —Our father is going to take me to the congregation tomorrow.

  —What congregation?

  —I don't know, I thought you would know something; you're the firstborn, he used to take you everywhere.

  —I remember he used to meet with friends at the church to complain about politics, but I don't think it's that. Did he not tell you anything else? —He told me he wanted me to help him attract young women.

  —It must be the low attendance at the church; you know he has many business dealings with the bishop.

  Selene added nothing more, limiting herself to embracing him in a silence charged with nostalgia. He pulled away gently and held out a small box.

  —This is for you. I found it in India; they have wonderful jewelry there.

  —I wish I could travel as much as you. —she said, flashing a genuine smile.

  —Believe me, if I could, I would take you with me.

  Selene opened the case. The necklace rested in her hands as if it had been created for her. The golden chain, fine and discreet, fell with an almost silent elegance, holding an oval pendant of delicate craftsmanship. The frame, worked with antique filigree, seemed woven from forgotten leaves and symbols, each relief carefully chiseled, as if it held a story that only a few knew how to read.

  In the center shone a deep purple gem, dark as aged wine and luminous as a twilight trapped in stone. Upon tilting it, the light broke across its faceted surface, revealing violet flashes that seemed to throb, alive, against the warm metal surrounding it. The design was enclosed with stylized ornaments at the ends, giving it a noble and ancient air. It was not a frivolous adornment: it was a symbol.

  —It’s beautiful.

  —And expensive, so use it on special occasions. —Danzel joked.

  —I will. —she nodded, returning the jewel to its safeguard.

  —I must leave, but I will keep writing to you, alright? —he said goodbye with one last prolonged hug before crossing the threshold.

  —Goodbye, Danzel.

  Selene tucked the gift into her desk, alongside her treasure of letters and memories from her brother. She looked out the window; the sun was sinking into the horizon, announcing the imminence of dinner. She changed her clothes and looked at herself in the mirror one last time. In that instant, she felt fragmented, strangely broken. A solitary tear traced her cheek, but she wiped it away with haste. Crying was a surrender, and in that house, there was no place for the weak.

  She exhaled a deep sigh and left the room, surrendering once more to the mute and painful routine that her lineage imposed upon her.