Eva's Letter Home to Mother Rosalind Morvain

Dearest Mother,
(written with her usual neat script, the ink slightly heavier in the more serious parts)
 
I’m sure Caelith has already written to you—probably with some wild theory about treasure beneath the school or secret passageways behind the fireplace. Don’t worry, he’s still very much alive, and very much himself.
 
The school is… incredible. I love it here, truly. The lectures are challenging, the professors are brilliant—especially the Dean. I know Caelith keeps trying to prank him (I’ve given up trying to stop him), but the Dean is far more patient than I expected. Maybe he sees potential in Caelith. Maybe he’s building a case for permanent kitchen duty. Hard to tell.
 
I did want to speak to you about something more serious. One of Caelith’s roommates is Braedon Caerthall. You may recognize the name—he’s the son of the man who killed Father. Braedon doesn’t know who I am, and Caelith has been very careful not to let it slip. I’m… grateful for that. It’s not easy, seeing that name every day. Even if he isn’t to blame.
 
What’s strange—what hurts in an odd way—is that Braedon is doing the same thing I’m trying not to do. He’s angry. He’s trying to take it out on a girl whose father killed his father. The irony is exhausting. Caelith, in his Caelith way, is trying to help. He’s making jokes, pointing things out without really pointing them out. He’s trying to help me see how grief, left alone too long, starts to fester.
 
He’s not wrong.
 
I’m trying. I don’t know what forgiveness looks like yet, but I don’t want to carry this anger for the rest of my life. I see what it’s doing to Braedon. I don’t want that to be me.
 
Caelith drives me mad most days, but he’s also right more often than I like to admit. Maybe he’s not just good at finding secret doors. Maybe he’s good at opening them, too.
 
Love,
Eva
 
P.S. I am still pretending not to believe in the Vault of Eldrimor.
P.P.S. But if he finds it, I’ll be the first one through the door.