After dinner, Stella headed to her room, feeling the familiar weight of the day's exhaustion settle over her. As usual, since she had handed over her duties at the library, she took one of the books with her to read and try to distract herself.
She sat at the small wooden table by the window, where a gentle evening breeze drifted in, flipping the thin pages of the book she held. For a few minutes, she tried to focus, her eyes scanning the words, but the heat was oppressive.
Within moments, she closed the book with a sigh and wiped the sweat beading on her forehead.
"Ugh, it's so hot!" she complained softly to herself, "I thought this region was supposed to be cooler than the south. That must have been false information." The Eastern Region was supposed to have mild summers, at least according to the old texts and travel accounts she had read.
But the reality felt different, the air heavy and thick even as the sun set.
Outside, the homeowners were enjoying cold juices and fresh fruits, their laughter echoing faintly down the hall. Stella could smell the sweet scent of citrus mingling with the coolness from the kitchen.
The servants, however, had to make do with cold water. Fruit was a luxury here, expensive and rare because the soil in the eastern lands was harsh and rocky, unsuitable for most crops.
The fruits they did eat were imported from the western region, where fertile lands and gentle weather made fruit farming a thriving business.
For Stella, these simple pleasures weren't enough to combat the stifling heat.
She was used to the comforts of modern life, air conditioning that filled rooms with crisp, cool air, ice cream in endless flavors, and frozen treats that seemed like small miracles in summer's heat.
But here, none of those things existed yet, or at least not openly. Even though she knew how to make ice cream from her childhood recipes, she couldn't risk trying. The novelty would draw too much attention and suspicion, leading to endless questions she wasn't ready to answer.
Still, she knew she had to do something soon about her discomfort and the problems she faced. She lay back on her bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, her mind racing.
"In three days, those guests will arrive," she thought, turning the idea over and over. "What kind of people will they be? What will they want? Hah… well, no matter who they are, I'll do my best to take advantage of this opportunity. Who knows? Maybe I'll find a way to solve my problem."
Three days later, the guests arrived at the house, their arrival marked by the rhythmic clip clop of carriage wheels on the cobblestone path.
There were three people, a married couple and their daughter. Mr. and Mrs. Loran waited in the reception room, standing tall and composed, while Mrs. Howard and several servants greeted the newcomers at the door with polite smiles.
The family arrived in a beautifully crafted carriage, its polished wood gleaming in the afternoon sun. They were accompanied by ten assistants and servants, all dressed in neat uniforms, moving swiftly to tend to the family's needs.
Stella watched the scene from an upstairs window, standing beside Annie, who seemed slightly tense but composed. The three guests shared the unmistakable traits of the northern region: blond hair shimmering like spun gold, fair, almost translucent skin that seemed to glow in the sunlight.
Curious, Stella asked Annie quietly, "Who are they?"
Annie replied with a slight note of irritation in her voice, "This is the Linden family, a friendly family to us."
Stella noticed the small sigh that escaped Annie as she said this and wondered why the arrival of these guests seemed to bother her so much.
Taking a closer look, Stella observed the guests more carefully.
The man was of medium height, his frame slender but dignified. His face, lined with age but still handsome, suggested he was in his fifties. His wife was nearly the same height, with a graceful, delicate beauty and a slender figure that defied her reported age in the forties.
Behind them walked their daughter, a striking young woman with long, flowing golden blonde hair and delicate features tinged with innocence and quiet confidence.
She moved with a calm grace, her steps soft and measured, as if she belonged to a different rhythm than the rest of the world. Her eyes, deep and thoughtful, seemed to observe more than they revealed, holding stories unspoken. There was a certain stillness about her presence, subtle yet impossible to ignore, like a shadow that lingers just beyond the light.
They all wore elegant outfits, crafted from fine fabrics in classic, understated colors that spoke of wealth and taste without excess.
There was a subtle simplicity in their style that seemed intentional, perhaps to avoid drawing too much attention while still clearly marking their high status.
"Oh, they must be incredibly wealthy indeed," Stella thought to herself, admiring the quiet power their appearance commanded.