At seven years old, Celestia had established what Clara jokingly called "the shadow duchy" within the east wing. Morning light spilled through windows now adorned with thriving grape vines, illuminating what had evolved from simple survival into a complex network of operations. Crystal lamps, more numerous and responsive than ever, cast their steady glow over ledgers and planning documents that spoke of Elizabeth Crawford's business acumen reborn in this magical world.
"Young miss," Clara entered Celestia's study—once a forgotten storage room, now efficiently organized with books and strategic planning materials. At twelve, Clara had grown into her role as spymaster, her water magic creating intricate patterns that mapped information flows through their network. "The steward is asking questions about our winter preparations."
Celestia looked up from the account books she'd been studying, the crystal lights brightening slightly to match her focused attention. "Which aspects?"
"The grain storage mainly. He can't understand why the east wing's supplies are better managed than the main house's." Clara's water magic rippled anxiously around her fingers, creating tiny whirlpools in the air. "James overheard him speaking with the duke."
This caught Celestia's full attention. In her previous life as Elizabeth Crawford, she'd learned that success, no matter how quiet, always drew attention eventually. The crystal lamps dimmed slightly, responding to her cautious mood.
"We'll adjust the records," Celestia decided, her child's voice contrasting with her practical planning. The morning light caught her silver-blonde hair as she reached for fresh parchment, momentarily highlighting the Blackwood coloring she usually tried to keep in shadow. "Make our efficiency look like—"
A scream from the main house cut her off. The golden thread connecting her to Theodore pulled taut with panic, its usual gentle pulse becoming a desperate throb. The crystal lamps flared in response to her sudden alarm, casting sharp shadows across the room.
Without hesitation, Celestia ran. Through passages she'd mapped meticulously over the years, past servants who deliberately looked away, into the main house where she was forbidden to go. The marble floors echoed her quick steps, each sound marking a breach of unspoken boundaries.
She found Theodore in the grand hall, collapsed at the bottom of the stairs, while their younger sister Rosalind stood frozen at the top. Blood—bright and terrible against the white marble—stained his fair hair, the same shade as hers. His vessel, which she'd worked so hard to strengthen through secret nightly visits, was cracking under stress. She could see the fissures in his power, golden light leaking away like water from a broken cup.
"He just fell," Rosalind whispered, tears streaming down her face, her usual golden radiance dimmed by fear. "I only wanted to play..."
"Step away from him." The duchess's voice cut like ice through the grand hall, making the crystal chandeliers above tremble. Her power—sharp with fear and fury—made the air itself grow cold.
Celestia ignored her, gathering her power with the same focused determination Elizabeth Crawford had used in corporate crises. Years of practice had taught her control, precision. Golden light bloomed between her hands, turning the morning air thick with holy energy. The crystal chandeliers responded to her power, their light merging with hers to cast the scene in ethereal radiance.
"I said step away!" The duchess moved to intervene, her elaborate gown rustling against marble like angry whispers, but Clara appeared from nowhere, a wall of water magic materializing between them. The barrier caught the light, creating rainbow patterns that danced across the hall's high ceiling.
"My lady," James stepped forward from where he'd been working in the hall, his frame positioning itself protectively near Clara's water barrier. "Please, let her help. Look at young master Theodore..."
"Guards!" The duke's arrival sent servants scattering like autumn leaves in a storm. His power rolled through the hall, making the crystal lights flicker wildly. "Remove her before she takes what's left of his life!"
But Celestia had already finished. The wound closed under her gentle touch, color returned to Theodore's cheeks, and his vessel stabilized—stronger now than it had been before the fall. The golden thread between them hummed with renewed vitality, pulsing in time with their shared heartbeat.
As guards approached, their boots echoing against blood-stained marble, she caught her twin's hand and whispered, "Be stronger than they think you are."
His fingers squeezed hers briefly—their first conscious interaction. In that moment, the crystal lights above them blazed with unexpected brilliance, as if marking the significance of their touch.
The guards escorted her back to the east wing, their grip firm but uncertain—as if they weren't sure whether to handle her as a child or a threat. The crystal lamps in the corridors flickered as she passed, responding to her carefully contained emotions. Behind her, she could hear the duchess's sharp orders for healers, though they both knew none would be needed now.
That evening, confined to her rooms while the duke and duchess raged about her "dark influence," Celestia sat calmly at her desk, reviewing their contingency plans. The setting sun cast long shadows through her grape vines, their leaves seeming to whisper secrets in the evening breeze.
"They can't prove anything," Clara insisted, pacing across Celestia's study. Her water magic created agitated patterns in the air, catching the light from crystal lamps and transforming it into nervous rainbows. "The water barrier was mine, and the monthly priest visit isn't for another two weeks. By then, they'll only see Theodore's improvement."
"Still, we need to be more careful." Celestia's mind worked through possibilities, Elizabeth Crawford's strategic planning merging with her new world's necessities. The crystal lights dimmed and brightened with her thoughts, like a visual representation of her planning process. "James, how secure are our supply routes?"
"Safe, young miss." He stood near the door, his stance protective despite his youth. "The merchants value our business too much to gossip."
A soft knock interrupted them, different from any they'd heard before. Through the door came a whispered, "Sister?"
Celestia froze. Theodore had never sought her out before. The crystal lamps pulsed once, strongly, matching her heart's sudden leap.
"Thank you," he whispered through the wood, his voice carrying traces of their shared power. "I... I've always known it was you. Helping me."
Celestia touched the door, feeling the golden thread pulse between them. The wood itself seemed to warm beneath her fingers, responding to their combined energy. "Get stronger," she said softly. "I'll keep watching over you."
Later that night, after everyone had gone, Celestia stood at her window. The grape vines she'd accidentally grown now covered the entire wall, bearing fruit that shouldn't exist in this climate—another secret she had to keep. Their leaves caught moonlight and transformed it, creating patterns that matched the flow of her dual powers.
Clara appeared with evening tea, her expression determined. "The duke's ordered more restrictions on the east wing."
"Then we'll work with those restrictions." Celestia smiled slightly, remembering Elizabeth Crawford's lessons about adapting to challenges. The crystal lamps brightened with her resolve. "After all, Clara, sometimes the strongest powers are the ones no one sees coming."
In his room across the garden, Theodore stood at his window. Their golden thread hummed with shared understanding—a connection no decree could sever. The crystal lights in both their rooms pulsed in perfect synchronization, marking a bond that transcended the family's fears.
And in the shadows of the east wing, a small empire continued to grow, built by a seven-year-old girl who remembered running a much larger one in another life. The night air itself seemed to hold its breath, waiting to see what changes this unusual child would bring next.
After all, as Elizabeth Crawford had known, true power often grew best in shadows, nurtured by those wise enough to wait for the perfect moment to step into the light.