Chapter 11: "Mama"
Inside the Eisenthurn Mansion
The dining room of the Eisenthurn mansion was grand in a way that made Asteria’s chest tighten just from looking at it. The table stretched long enough to seat twenty, polished like a shining mirror, with elaborate centerpieces of fresh flowers and crystal candelabras that looked like they belonged in a museum.
The walls were paneled in dark wood, hung with oil paintings of ancestors whose stern faces seemed to judge everyone who walked beneath them.
A chandelier the size of a small car hung overhead, its crystals catching the morning light and scattering rainbows across the ceiling.
They had served breakfast for Asteria at that massive table—plates of eggs, fresh fruit, pastries still warm from the oven, and a silver carafe of orange juice that sweated in the cool air. But Asteria couldn’t even bring herself to sit down with the Eisenthurns.
She stood near the doorway, her hands clasped in front of her, her eyes darting from the table to the floor, to the window and back again.
She felt look like an intruder. Someone who had snuck into a world she don’t belong to and was waiting to be discovered and thrown out again.
Faye noticed her shyness immediately. Her sharp, kind eyes had been watching Asteria since the moment she walked in, noting every flinch, every hesitation, every small sign of a woman who had been taught that she did not deserve to take up space.
"Asteria, dear." Faye’s voice was warm, inviting, the kind of voice that could coax a stray cat out from under a porch. "Come sit with me and your future father-in-law."
Alfonso looked up from the newspaper he had been pretending to read and grinned broadly. "Yeah! Come sit with us." He pulled out the chair for his wife with practiced ease, and after Faye settled into her seat with a soft thank you, he walked around to his own chair at the head of the table.
The chair for the head of the family. The throne from which he had once ruled an empire. "I’m sure Keres will be arriving later," he added, as if that was supposed to be comforting.
But Asteria was still hesitant. Her feet felt glued to the floor, her legs heavy and uncooperative. She looked down at her feet—at the borrowed slippers the maids had given her—and shame washed over her like a wave.
It ruined her composure, stripped away what little confidence she had managed to gather, and left her feeling small and exposed.
"Uhm... Madam~" Asteria’s voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper, timid and trembling. Her fingers fidgeted against each other, twisting and pulling, a nervous habit she had never been able to break.
"I... I think... I... I’ll eat in the kitchen?"
Faye’s eyebrows shot up. "Huh? No." She shook her head firmly, her lips pressing together in something between disbelief and determination. "No, absolutely not, my dear. Please, have a seat."
But Asteria shook her head and smiled—a polite, hollow smile that didn’t reach her eyes. The smile of someone who had learned to perform gratitude even when there was nothing to be grateful for.
"I... I don’t think... I... I deserve a seat here."
The words landed like stones dropped into still water.
Faye and Alfonso were taken aback. Both of them froze for a moment, their expressions shifting from confusion to something softer—sadder.
They hadn’t expected Asteria to say that, especially not in their home, where every chair was offered freely and every meal was shared with family.
"I... I’ll go now, Madam and Sir." Asteria bowed—a deep, formal bow, the kind you gave to employers or distant royalty—and began to turn, her legs already moving to carry her away from the table, away from the kindness she didn’t believe she deserved, and away from the warmth that felt like it might burn her.
"Eh? W-Wait—!" Faye called out, half rising from her chair, her hand outstretched as if she could physically stop Asteria from leaving.
"Who said you’re leaving without eating breakfast?"
The voice was familiar—low, commanding, sharp as a blade—and it cut through the room with enough force to stop Asteria in her tracks. Her feet ceased their movement. Her body went still.
She didn’t need to turn around to know who had spoken. She could feel the presence behind her, the weight of it, the way the air itself seemed to shift and part for Keres Eisenthurn.
Asteria slowly turned her head.
Keres was approaching, and even in the morning light, she was intimidating. Tall—so tall that Asteria had to crane her neck just to see her face—with broad shoulders and a lean, powerful build that her tailored clothes did nothing to hide.
She was dressed simply today: black slacks, a white button-down with the sleeves rolled to her elbows, and a silver watch that caught the light with every movement.
Her black hair was loose, falling past her shoulders in silky waves, and her eyes—those sharp, calculating eyes—were fixed on Asteria with an intensity that made her breath catch.
How could a woman be that tall? Asteria had heard the rumors, of course—everyone had heard the rumors about Keres Eisenthurn. But hearing that she was 195 centimeters tall was nothing compared to seeing it in person.
Standing next to her, Asteria felt like a child. And she could see, clear as day, the evidence of why everyone went crazy for Keres.
The confidence. The power. The way she moved like she owned every room she entered—because she probably did.
"Sit down." Keres’s voice left no room for argument. "You need to eat."
She reached out and took Asteria’s arm—not roughly, but firmly, her fingers warm through the fabric of Asteria’s sleeve—and guided her back toward the dining table.
They walked together, Keres’s long legs shortening their stride to match Asteria’s slower pace, and when they reached the table, Keres pulled out a chair for her.
"I’ll be sitting beside my dad," Keres said, nodding toward the head of the table where Alfonso sat watching the exchange with barely concealed amusement. "So sit next to me."
Asteria had no choice but to obey. She lowered herself into the chair, her body stiff and awkward, and Keres pushed the seat in for her before walking around to her own place beside Alfonso.
She sat down with a casual grace that made everything look effortless, spreading her napkin across her lap and reaching for the coffee pot like she hadn’t just commandeered the entire situation.
Faye was smiling. She couldn’t help it. Her face was practically glowing with happiness, her eyes darting between Keres and Asteria like she was watching her favorite romance unfold in real time. This was clearly the best day of her life.
"Uhm... Ms. Keres." Asteria’s voice was hesitant, her fingers twisting in her lap. "About last night—"
"Just eat." Keres didn’t even look up from pouring her coffee. Her voice was flat, dismissive, but not cruel. "You don’t have to think about it. I already fixed it."
Faye couldn’t contain her giggles. They bubbled up from her chest, high and delighted, and she pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle them—but it didn’t work.
The giggles spilled out anyway, filling the dining room with a sound so warm and genuine that even the stern ancestors in the paintings seemed to soften.
"Mom." Keres’s jaw tightened. "Stop it."
Faye burst into laughter—full, loud, unrestrained laughter that echoed off the walls and made the chandelier crystals tinkle. "Hahaha! Sorry, sorry." She waved her hand, trying to compose herself, but her eyes were still bright with mirth. "I just couldn’t. This really made my day, you know. I did not expect things to go this well."
Keres sighed—a long, weary exhale that seemed to come from somewhere deep in her bones. "Well, I hope you’re happy enough." She picked up her cutlery, the fork and knife glinting in the morning light. "You won this time."
Faye just smiled and reached across the table to squeeze her husband’s hand. Alfonso squeezed back, his thumb brushing over her knuckles, and for a moment, the two of them shared a look that spoke of decades of love and partnership and quiet understanding.
Keres was ready to eat. She lifted her fork, about to take her first bite, when she noticed that Asteria hadn’t even picked up her own cutlery.
"Aren’t you going to eat?" Keres asked, her fork hovering in mid-air.
Asteria’s cheeks flushed a deep, embarrassed pink. She stared at the knife and fork laid out beside her plate—so many pieces, so many rules, so many ways to get it wrong. Her hands stayed frozen in her lap.
"Err... I..." She swallowed hard, her throat tight. "I don’t know how... To use the fork and knife."
The words came out small and shameful, and Asteria felt her face burn even hotter. She frowned, looking down at the table, unable to meet anyone’s eyes.
Shame continued to pile up inside her, layer after layer, until all she wanted to do was run away and hide somewhere dark and quiet where no one could see her.
But instead of judging her—instead of laughing or sneering or looking at her like she was something disgusting—Keres simply set down her own cutlery and reached for Asteria’s plate.
She took the knife and fork in her hands—long, elegant fingers, nails trimmed short and clean—and began to cut the steak into small, bite-sized pieces.
She worked in silence, her movements precise and efficient, her expression completely neutral.
No pity. No condescension. Just the practicality of someone solving a problem.
After she finished cutting, Keres demonstrated how to hold the fork properly—tines down, index finger along the back—and how to use the knife to guide food onto it. She didn’t lecture. She didn’t explain too much. She simply showed Asteria, then handed the utensils back to her.
"O-Okay." Asteria’s voice was soft, focused. She took the fork and knife, her grip awkward at first, and tried to mimic what Keres had shown her.
Her first attempt was clumsy—the knife slid off the meat, the fork wobbled in her hand—but she didn’t give up.
"Yeah, like that." Keres nodded, watching her closely. "You don’t have to cut it perfectly. Just enough so you can chew it properly."
Asteria tried again, and this time, she managed to cut a small piece of steak. She speared it with her fork and lifted it to her mouth, her movements careful and deliberate.
When she bit down, the meat was tender and flavorful, and something in her chest loosened just a little.
The two young women were busy—Keres occasionally glancing over to correct Asteria’s grip, Asteria slowly gaining confidence with each bite—while Faye and Alfonso watched them from across the table.
They didn’t interrupt. They didn’t comment. They just watched, their hands still intertwined, their hearts full.
Faye held Alfonso’s hand tighter and smiled at her husband—that same smile she had given him when they were young, when they were reckless, when they had first fallen in love and promised each other forever.
Alfonso felt something fill his chest, something warm and familiar. His wife’s smile always made his heart flutter, even now, even after all these years. He still saw her as the most beautiful woman she had been back when they were young, and he suspected he always would.
~~~•••~~~
After Breakfast
They gathered in the sitting room, a cozy space with overstuffed couches and a fireplace that crackled softly despite the morning hour.
A large television was mounted on top of a expensive wooden cabinet and Faye had turned it to the news channel, her remote clutched in her hand like a trophy.
The interview was playing.
Keres stood in front of a sea of microphones, her posture relaxed but commanding, her expression cool and composed. She looked like she had been born to stand in front of cameras, to have lights shining in her face and questions thrown at her like weapons.
The reporters shouted over each other, their voices overlapping into a wall of noise, but Keres waited until they fell silent before she spoke.
"That girl from the Auclair is not some whore I fucked last night."
Asteria flinched at the word, her hands curling into fists in her lap.
"She is my fiancée." Keres’s voice was steady, unwavering. "And her name is Asteria Csilla Auclair. I do hope this clears up all misunderstandings about me and Asteria. I hate how our privacy was compromised like this, but I hope that whoever did this should be punished by the law."
The news continued—commentators analyzing Keres’s statement, speculating about the engagement, digging up old photos of the Eisenthurn and Auclair families—but the sounds faded into the background.
Asteria couldn’t hear any of it. Her ears were ringing, her vision blurring, and before she knew it, tears were streaming down her cheeks.
Faye noticed immediately. She shifted closer to Asteria on the couch, her arm wrapping around the younger woman’s shoulders, pulling her gently against her side.
"Dear, don’t cry." Faye’s voice was soft, motherly, the kind of voice that had soothed countless fears over countless years. "You’re safe here."
Asteria shook her head, her tears falling faster, and wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand. "I... I’m really sorry, Madam Faye." Her voice cracked, broken and raw. "I-I know... I know I have bothered you and your family enough—"
"Shhh!" Faye pressed a finger to Asteria’s lips, silencing her. "Don’t say that." She looked into Asteria’s eyes, her gaze firm but loving. "You’re part of the Eisenthurn family now. You have been for a long time. You just didn’t know it yet."
Across the room, Keres shifted uncomfortably. Her jaw tightened. Her shoulders tensed. She couldn’t watch this—couldn’t sit here and listen to Asteria cry while her mother played the savior.
She pushed herself up from the couch and walked toward the door, her movements sharp and agitated.
"I’ll go talk to Keres," Alfonso said quietly, rising from his chair. He followed his daughter outside, the door closing softly behind them.
Faye turned back to Asteria, her full attention now on the crying woman beside her. She took Asteria’s hands—cold, trembling—and held them gently in her own warm palms.
"Dear." Faye’s voice was gentle, patient. "Tell me. Tell me everything that scares you. I won’t judge." She paused, her thumb stroking across Asteria’s knuckles. "You’re like a daughter to me. You don’t have to be afraid."
Asteria didn’t know how to say it. The words were trapped in her throat, tangled up with years of pain, silence, and learned helplessness.
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. What could she even say? That she was afraid of everything? That she had been afraid for so long that fear had become her natural state of being?
Faye seemed to understand. She didn’t push. She just waited, her hands steady around Asteria’s, her presence a warm anchor in the storm.
"Tell me whatever you want or need," Faye said softly. "As long as it’s within my reach, Mama will give it to you."
Asteria froze.
The word hit her like a wave—Mama—warm and foreign and impossibly tender. No one had ever called themselves that for her. No one had ever offered to be her mother, to fill that hollow space in her chest that had been empty for as long as she could remember.
Asteria calmed down a little. She breathed deeply, her chest rising and falling, and held onto Faye’s hands like they were the only solid things in a world that kept shifting beneath her feet.
"C-Can..." Her voice was barely a whisper, fragile as spun glass. "Can I call you... Mama?"
Faye’s face softened into something almost indescribable—joy and tenderness and a fierce, protective love that seemed to radiate from her like heat from a fire. "Of course! Of course, dear. You can!" She squeezed Asteria’s hands tightly. "I would love to hear you call me Mama. Tell me what you need. I’ll immediately let you have it."
Asteria hesitated. Her needs had always been so small, so easily dismissed, that she had almost forgotten how to ask for anything at all.
But there was one thing. One small thing that Tessa had given her, once, that had felt like sunlight after years of darkness.
"Uhm... A hug?" Asteria’s voice was shy, almost embarrassed, as if asking for affection was something to be ashamed of.
"T-Tessa... My friend... She... She taught me what a hug is." Her eyes grew distant, remembering. "And... And it... It felt... It felt good, Mama."
When Asteria said the word—Mama—calling Faye by that name for the first time, something shifted in the room. Faye’s expression softened even further, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, and she immediately pulled Asteria into a tight, warm embrace.
"Is this good?" Faye asked, her voice muffled against Asteria’s hair.
Asteria broke down.
The tears came faster now, harder, wracking her entire body with sobs she couldn’t control. She buried her face in Faye’s shoulder and cried—really cried, the kind of crying she had never allowed herself to do, not in front of anyone, not ever.
Years of pain, fear, loneliness poured out of her in a flood, soaking into the expensive fabric of Faye’s blouse.
But Faye didn’t pull away. She didn’t flinch or sigh or look for an escape. She just held Asteria tighter, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other rubbing slow circles on her back.
She whispered soothing words—soft, meaningless sounds that were more about tone than content—and rocked Asteria gently, like a mother soothing a child after a nightmare.
"There, there." Faye’s voice was a lullaby, warm and steady. "It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay, my child."
Asteria cried until she had nothing left. And when the tears finally slowed, when her sobs faded into shaky breaths and occasional sniffles, she realized something that felt both wonderful and impossible to believe.
The Eisenthurn family was not her real family. They had no blood ties to her, no obligation to care for her, no reason to treat her with kindness.
But they treated her like she was the most precious daughter they had ever had. More than the Auclairs ever had. More than her own flesh and blood had ever done.
And for the first time in her life, Asteria allowed herself to believe that maybe—she deserved it.
