Chapter 3 The Chosen One

One crisp autumn morning, the orphanage was abuzz with excitement. Rumors whispered from room to room about the arrival of a distinguished couple-a count and countess-seeking a child to raise as their own. The sisters spoke of them with reverence, saying how rare it was for nobility to look for a child among common folk.

"Zazriel," Sister Miriam said gently that morning, kneeling to adjust the flower in Zazriel's hair. "They asked to meet you first. Remember to be yourself, dear one, and let your kindness shine."

Zazriel's heart fluttered. She tried to still her hands, smoothing down her worn dress. Her mind whirled with thoughts of what life outside the orphanage might be like, but she calmed herself. All she wanted was to make a good impression.

In the main hall, Count Emile and Countess Marguerite stood with poised grace. They had a warmth that softened their formal manner. Their eyes, tired but kind, lit up as Zazriel entered. She curtsied, giving them her brightest smile.

The countess extended a gloved hand, taking Zazriel's small fingers in hers. "What a lovely child," she said, her gaze softening. "You have a light about you."

"Thank you, my lady," Zazriel replied, cheeks warming under their approving eyes. She thought for a moment that her dreams might just come true.

But Elza, standing near the doorway, watched with steely eyes. Seeing Zazriel chosen, even considered, stirred a storm of jealousy within her. As she watched the couple fawn over Zazriel, Elza's mind raced. She couldn't stand the thought of Zazriel leaving first, of her gaining a life Elza had always imagined for herself.

Later that day, Elza slipped into Sister Miriam's office with tears in her eyes. Her voice quivered as she told her story to the sisters.

"I thought you should know... that Zazriel isn't as perfect as she seems. She's always sneaking out... going to town alone. She talks back to us children, and... and she stole a book from Sister Anne's room last week. I didn't want to say anything, but I can't bear the thought of the count and countess being fooled."

The sisters were taken aback. They didn't want to believe Elza's words, but the sincerity of her tears left them with doubts. And, just as Elza had hoped, whispers of her story reached the count and countess. By evening, they called for a private word with Sister Miriam.

Zazriel waited by the door, listening as the words drifted through. Her heart sank as she heard phrases like "untrustworthy" and "troublemaker." She felt the sting of betrayal but couldn't prove her innocence.

When the day came to make their decision, the countess took Zazriel's hand in hers. "Dear child, I had hoped you were the one, but perhaps this isn't the right time. I do wish you well." Zazriel felt the weight of the rejection settle in her chest as the couple turned and embraced Elza, choosing her instead. Zazriel watched, her vision blurred by tears as Elza cast her a triumphant smile over her shoulder.

---

As Elza settled into her new life at the count's estate, she reveled in luxuries she had once only dreamed of: fine dresses, silk ribbons, and a grand room all to herself. She walked through manicured gardens, dined at opulent tables, and strolled through markets where merchants bowed in respect.

But every so often, she would catch sight of Zazriel in town, still wearing her faded dress, a basket on her arm, carrying loaves of bread or herbs for the sisters. Zazriel would glance over, trying to smile despite the hurt that lingered, but Elza would only laugh, savoring the difference between them.

"Oh, look, it's little Zazriel!" Elza called out one market day, loud enough for all to hear. "How is life in that crumbling orphanage?" Her tone dripped with mockery as she twirled in her fine gown. "You must miss me there. All those poor children... what a shame you'll never know a life like this."

Zazriel's cheeks flushed, but she said nothing, only nodding politely before continuing on her way. As she walked back to the orphanage, she tried to shake off the humiliation, holding onto Sister Miriam's words about kindness. But it was hard-hard not to feel the sting of envy, the ache of longing for a life she had lost.

Over time, however, Zazriel's strength grew. She poured herself into her work, helping the sisters with new resolve, teaching the younger children, and making her life rich with purpose and compassion. And as she grew, her heart became as resilient as the flower she was named for, strong enough to withstand even the bitterest of winters.

One evening, as she sat in the garden beneath the starlit sky, Sister Miriam joined her. "My dear Zazriel," she said, wrapping a shawl around the girl's shoulders, "remember this: life isn't measured by riches or titles. It's measured by the warmth of your spirit and the love you give."

Zazriel nodded, letting her sadness fall away, allowing hope to bloom again in her heart.