At nine years old, Celestia had learned that power came in many forms. The autumn morning painted her study in shades of gold and amber, sunlight filtering through grape vines that had grown more abundant with each passing season. While the duchy celebrated her twin's gradual improvement and Rosalind's growing beauty, the east wing had become an invisible force in House Blackwood's prosperity.
"Young miss," Clara entered the study, now expanded to include a small laboratory where Celestia experimented with combinations of holy power and natural ingredients. Crystal lamps cast precise light over her workstation, their glow responding to each successful combination. "The merchant guild's quarterly reports arrived."
Celestia looked up from where she'd been studying a peculiar reaction between holy-infused water and herb extracts. The morning light caught the silver-blonde hair she now carefully tucked away whenever visitors approached. In her previous life, such combinations had revolutionized medical treatment. Here, with magic and holy power at her disposal, the possibilities seemed endless.
The crystal lamps brightened slightly as Clara's water magic created delicate patterns in the air, matching her barely contained excitement. "And?" Celestia prompted, noting how even the grape vines seemed to lean closer, as if sharing their anticipation.
"Our investments through the third-party merchants have yielded triple the expected returns." Clara's water magic danced with pleasure, creating miniature fountains that caught the morning light. "The duke's treasury minister is baffled by the duchy's sudden prosperity."
James added from his position by the door, "They're calling it the 'Blackwood Blessing' in the market district." His voice carried the quiet amusement of someone who knew the true source of this 'blessing.'
Celestia allowed herself a small smile. Elizabeth Crawford would have appreciated the irony—the cursed child bringing fortune to those who shunned her. The crystal lamps pulsed gently with her satisfaction, their light reflecting off the various bottles and instruments in her laboratory.
A commotion from the garden drew their attention. Through the window, they could see Rosalind, now eight, hosting a tea party for other noble children. The duchess supervised proudly while servants scurried about with treats and decorations. The autumn air itself seemed to sparkle around the gathering, as if nature conspired to make the youngest Blackwood daughter shine brighter.
"Lady Rosalind is so accomplished," a visiting noble lady's voice drifted through the window, carried by a breeze that made Celestia's grape vines rustle. "Unlike... well, we don't speak of the other one, do we?"
"No," the duchess replied sharply, her power making the crystal lamps in the east wing flicker momentarily. "We don't."
Celestia turned back to her work, used to such dismissals, but caught sight of Theodore standing apart from the gathering. Their golden thread hummed with shared discomfort, its light barely visible in the autumn sunshine. At eleven, he had grown stronger, though few knew the true source of his improvement.
"Clara," Celestia said quietly, her voice carrying the same measured tone Elizabeth Crawford had used in delicate negotiations. The crystal lamps dimmed slightly, matching her careful mood. "What else have you heard?"
Clara's expression grew serious, her water magic forming more complex patterns that spoke of intricate information networks. "There's talk of marriage arrangements beginning for Lady Rosalind, despite her age. The duchess seems... eager to secure alliances."
"And Theodore?" Celestia's hands stilled over her experiments, holy power creating small halos around the crystal vials.
"The duke boasts of his heir's recovery, claiming it's the temple's treatments that saved him." James's tone held carefully controlled anger, his loyalty evident in how he positioned himself protectively near Celestia's workstation. "Though we all know whose power really helped."
Celestia nodded, mind already working through implications. In her previous life, early marriage arrangements often indicated political maneuvering. Something was changing in the duchy's power structure—she could feel it in the very air, like the pressure before a storm.
Later that evening, as she made her way through secret passages for her nightly visit to Theodore, she heard voices from the duke's study. The crystal lamps in the hidden corridor dimmed automatically, as if helping her remain undetected.
"The girl is becoming a problem," the duchess was saying, her voice tight with barely contained anxiety. The crystal lamps in the duke's study cast sharp shadows across the gap beneath the door. "The east wing's influence grows too strong. Servants whisper about her 'innovations.' If anyone discovers—"
"No one will discover anything," the duke cut in, his power making the hidden passage's air grow cold. "She's contained, and soon she'll be—"
Celestia moved on, filing the information away with the same precision Elizabeth Crawford had used to catalog corporate threats. The passage seemed to darken around her, the crystal lamps responding to her careful steps until she reached her laboratory.
At her workstation, she reviewed her latest creation—a healing salve that combined holy power with natural healing properties, something that could help people without revealing her direct involvement. The crystal vials caught the evening light, their contents shimmering with combined magical and holy energy.
"They're afraid," Clara observed, helping to package the salves for discrete distribution to local healers. Her water magic created protective seals around each container, adding an extra layer of preservation to Celestia's work.
"Fear makes people dangerous," Celestia replied, remembering corporate takeover attempts from her past life. The grape vines near her window seemed to grow more densely, as if trying to create stronger protection around their mistress.
"For what, young miss?"
"For whatever they're planning."
That night, as she worked late into the darkness, Celestia felt the weight of both her lives pressing upon her. Elizabeth Crawford had lost everything once. Celestia Blackwood wouldn't make the same mistake.
The crystal lamps cast steady light over her preparations, while outside her window, impossibly, roses began to bloom in winter—another sign that some powers couldn't be contained, no matter how hard others tried.
In the distance, temple bells rang their evening song, their sound carrying both warning and promise. Change was coming to House Blackwood, whether they were ready or not.