Today is my birthday, or so the Matron says. Exactly three years ago, she found me at the front door of the orphanage, in the middle of a snowstorm, wrapped in curtain cloth, too quiet, too pale.
She tells people that story like it belongs to her. The storm. The lantern light. The glow around the basket. She never adds anything else. She never says why she bothered to open the door that night, or why she looked twice before turning away. Maybe she doesn't remember. Or maybe the story works better with fewer details. It doesn't matter. It's still the only birthday I have.
I didn't want today to be special. I didn't want sweets or songs or the older children clapping too loud and pretending they knew me. I didn't want attention, or a paper hat, or Matron putting her hand on my head like she does with the others, like that's supposed to make them feel like they belong. I didn't want any of it. I only wanted to spend my time with Evelune. That would be enough. That would always be enough.
The morning started like every other in winter. Cold floors. Dim light. Someone crying in the hallway because they missed breakfast or lost a mitten. I tucked the blanket tighter around Evelune and kissed the top of her head, even though she was still sleeping. Her breath was soft against my chest. Her fingers still clutched the ear of her purple bunny. I let her sleep longer while the rest of the house moved around us. They would forget soon anyway. No one remembered birthdays unless the Matron told them.
The kitchen smelled faintly of boiled oats and salt. I sat on the edge of the hearth with Evelune in my lap, our knees tucked under the old bench so we wouldn't be asked to move. She was heavier now, but still small enough to hold easily.
Her hair was growing fast, curling at the ends, falling into her eyes. I smoothed it back gently. She blinked up at me, and I smiled. She didn't smile back, but her gaze stayed on my face longer than usual, like she was trying to read something invisible there. I whispered happy birthday to myself, just once, under my breath. She didn't say anything, but she leaned her head back into my shoulder. That was enough.
I didn't expect anything to happen. Most birthdays passed like regular days, except for a scrap of hard candy or a quiet nod from Matron if she remembered. But today Evelune gave me a gift. Not wrapped. Not planned. Not even on purpose, maybe. But it was the most beautiful surprise I had ever been given.
She walked without falling.
We had practiced for weeks. A few steps here and there. Wobbling. Stumbling. Catching her before her knees hit the floor. But today, she pushed herself up from my lap, took five steps forward, turned, and looked at me.
She didn't fall. Her arms were out like always, stiff with focus, her lips pressed tight, her brow furrowed with effort. But she didn't fall. Her legs held. Her steps were slow and even. She looked like a little reed moving through still water.
My mouth opened without thinking. I didn't speak. Just watched. And when she reached the other side of the room, she turned around and walked back. Six steps. Maybe seven. I counted them all in my head like stars. My fingers gripped the edge of the bench so tightly I thought it might splinter.
When she reached me again, she didn't fall into my chest like usual. She stood there. Straight. Breathing lightly. Her eyes locked on mine. I touched her cheek. She touched mine back. Then I held her.
I didn't say anything. There weren't words big enough. Just warmth. Just the feeling of something rising in my chest like light. I kissed the top of her head again. She let me. The bunny fell to the floor and neither of us picked it up for a long time.
Later, after the sun had shifted behind the wall and the hallway shadows grew longer, I brought her back to our place under the stairs. She walked the whole way. Slowly. Carefully. Her fingers brushed the wall as we went. Her steps were quiet, like mine. She didn't hold my hand. I didn't offer. She didn't need it.
She sat beside me on the mattress, curled her legs under her, and watched while I opened the spelling book again. I pointed to the letter E. She looked at it. Then at me. Then back again. I didn't ask her to speak. I didn't ask her to copy it. I just let the letter sit between us like a candle.
That's when the cat came.
I hadn't seen him in days.
The snow had piled too high around the garden. The wind had been too sharp. But now, through the crack in the window, I saw him. Perched on the edge of the windowsill outside. Black fur. Green and gold eyes. Tail flicking once, then still.
I didn't move.
He didn't either.
Then, without sound, he dropped something onto the windowsill. It didn't bounce. It just landed with a soft thud. He blinked once, turned, and slipped out of sight, his tail the last thing to vanish.
I stood up. Opened the window a little. The cold hit my face. I reached out.
A ribbon. Satin blue, with silver trim. Folded once, tied in the center like a soft knot. My name—Elarion—was sewn on one side in tiny white stitches. Careful. Neat. Almost invisible unless the light caught it just right.
I didn't know how. I didn't ask. I felt like I knew already.
It smelled faintly like cold air and old wood. Like something that had been carried for a long time before being given. I closed the window and held it in my hands, running my fingers along the seam. Evelune crawled closer, touching the corner of the ribbon with two fingers, as if checking if it was real.
I didn't speak. I didn't need to. I took the ribbon and tied it around my wrist. The knot wasn't perfect. The tails of the ribbon draped over my hand like silk threads. It felt warm, even though it shouldn't have. I pressed my wrist to my heart, and closed my eyes.
That night, I didn't want to sleep. I sat near the window again, Evelune beside me, wrapped in the blanket. She had fallen asleep against my arm, the bunny held loosely in her grip, her breath soft and even. The ribbon caught the faint lantern glow from the hallway, shimmering gently.
Outside, the snow had stopped. The cat didn't come back. But I felt him near. Like a breath behind the glass. Like the soft echo of footsteps in fresh snow.
No one else had given me anything today. No one else had said my name. But Evelune walked for me. And the cat left me a ribbon with my name. And that was enough. More than enough. That was the most beautiful birthday I could have ever imagined.