"My two natures had memory in common."
- 31st of Zi'da, 716
- Andráska stopped in front of the orphanage, three books from the library tucked under his arm. A dirty face stared back at him from the second story window, its pane streaked with snot and frost. The eyes of the child were lifeless, the boy's mouth set into a thin line of suspicion. András lifted a hand to wave, but the boy retreated further inside, disappearing from sight.
Just then, another face, this time a young girl with brunette hair, popped up in another. She smiled shyly, her grin toothy when she giggled. Andras smiled and took a step away, but paused, something not quite letting him pass by.
The door the the establishment opened, “Can I help you, sir?” The voice was kind enough, belonging a middle aged woman with large breasts and broad hips. The apron she wore over her brown dress was covered in flour and bits of it had dotted her hair and flushed cheeks. In her youth, he could tell she had been beautiful, and by circumstance or passion, now devoted her life to the city's parent less children.
“Uh....” Could she? He glanced skyward to see if he could see more faces of the children, “Do you mind if I come in for a bit?”
This seemed to surprise her, and she looked the noble up and down, “Of course, sir. It's just... You're so young. Usually those wanting to adopt have been married for awhile.” She was not trying to be rude, and knew she shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, “But please, the children would enjoy the company, I'm sure.” Andráska said nothing about this comment, and followed her into the building.
Inside was unremarkable, and not at all what he had been expecting. Well, he wasn't quite sure what he was expecting. There was very little color and the walls were a dull gray. The wooden floors were sturdy but in need of a shine. The moment he walked in, a few small bodies watched him from the stairs and doorways, their pants or skirts patched. The few pairs of stockings worn were ripped and stitched, and when he looked to the Matron, she seemed subtly embarrassed. “Would you like me to call the children down?” she asked.
“Ah, no, I mean. Yes. But, I was actually interested in your work here.” He began, looking around, “My name is Andráska Venora,” he extended a hand, watching recognition of his surname light up the woman's eyes, “I was passing through. Is this a bad time?”
He nodded towards her state, “Oh! Seven no. I was just preparing bread for the children tomorrow.” she took a step back in the direction of the kitchens, wiping her hand on her apron as if it could rectify her state of dress before the higher class.
“May I have a tour?”
“Of course, Lord Venora.” she glanced around, spotting the curious faces, and shoo'd them away. “Would you like to start in the bedrooms, or the foyer, perhaps?”
“The kitchen is fine.”
If she seemed surprised by his choice, she said nothing. She started to lead the way, the details of the place not lost on Andras. The few paintings on the walls were old and dusty, but overall the place was clean enough. There were no toys around, which was the most notable absence. Maybe they were upstairs in the bedrooms, “How many children are in your charge at this time?”
“Ten at this moment, others come and go, depending...” Depending on the parents. Or illness. Depending on many things, he imagined.
Into the kitchen they walked. It was larger than he had thought it would be, but that was a good thing. The pots and pans needed scrubbing, and the island was covered in flour, a ball of dough waiting to be recovered, “Please,” Andras began, sliding into a chair, “Continue with the bread. You can tell me about them.”
He smiled genuinely, and it was then the woman knew he wasn't here to assess the orphanage, or use his authority to judge it. He was honestly curious about her work, about the livelihood of the common class; Of the children that society liked to ignore.
“Of course,” she repeated, this time more relaxed. And then she began to talk...
