2

Beneath the starry sky that night, Amber and her mother, Miriam, sat side by side on a wooden bench outside their small cottage. The air was cool, the night still, and behind them on the front porch stood a weathered sculpture of a handsome man—Amber's late father, immortalized in stone.

Amber's patched dress shimmered faintly under the moonlight, its humble fabric glowing as though kissed by stardust. Crickets chirped in the grass around them, a natural lullaby weaving through the silence.

Miriam's face was soft and kind, but the years of hardship were etched in its lines. With affection, she brushed Amber's hair gently from her face, both women smiling through misty eyes.

"Amber, my star," Miriam said, her voice quiet but firm. "We don't want to part, but my body's too weary now. A little work and I fall ill. If you don't go, we'll starve."

Amber clung to her mother tightly, her arms wrapping around her like she might vanish. "Mother, don't worry. I'll go," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

"It's okay," Miriam said gently, pulling back to wipe away Amber's tears with her thumb. "I'll be right here. Waiting. Every time you return."

She cupped her daughter's face, eyes full of sorrow and love. "Life isn't a bed of roses, Amber. But I give you a mother's blessing. You'll live better than I have. Favor will find you and stay with you. Now, look up at the stars."

Amber tilted her gaze to the heavens. The sky above was scattered with brilliant diamonds, each one twinkling with ancient promise.

"One day," Miriam continued, "you'll shine like that."

"Thank you, Mother," Amber said, her heart warmed by hope. "That will be the day I'm wealthy enough to help everyone in the village."

She paused, then added, "Now I give you a daughter's blessing. May you live to see that day, and eat the fruit of your labor."

Miriam smiled, tears glistening. "Thank you. And remember, my star—let love and faithfulness guide you. Wear them like a garment; etch them on your heart. Then favor and a good name will follow you—before God and man."

Amber nodded solemnly as tears spilled down her mother's cheeks.

"Don't cry, Mother," she said, reaching up to brush the tears away. In that moment, something stirred deep within her—a quiet strength born of love and purpose. A strength she hadn't known she possessed.

That strength carried her to sleep later that night, still in her patched dress, curled on the small bed in her modest room. Everything in it was old and worn—the mirror, the table, the single chair, and the creaky wardrobe. And yet, the strength stayed with her. It wrapped around her like a shield, giving her courage to face what lay ahead.

The next night, it helped her sleep again, even as she wrestled with the pain of leaving home. And as she drifted into dreams, she imagined morning had come. She dreamed of a bigger room—bright and clean—and a pretty nightdress on her body. She dreamed of a new beginning.

When her eyes fluttered open, she realized it wasn't a dream.

The room was, indeed, different—larger, brighter, filled with unfamiliar furnishings. Her nightdress was soft and new. Reality struck: she had spent her first night in Isis's house, arriving late the night before so she could stay with her mother a few more precious hours.

Her mother had protested, worried for her safety, but Amber had insisted.

To her surprise, Isis had received her warmly, giving her food, clean clothes, and this very room. Perhaps Cressida had been wrong, Amber thought. Maybe this place wouldn't be so bad after all.

She sat up in bed, breathing in the unfamiliar scent of the room. A new day awaited her. She rose and walked to the wardrobe, where an old box sat tucked away. Opening it, she reached into a secret compartment and retrieved a small framed painting—a wedding portrait of her parents, smiling in love.

She smiled softly, recalling the sculpture on their porch that kept her father's memory alive. Carefully, she placed the portrait on the table and turned to the mirror.

"May peace and joy follow me here," she whispered.

A knock startled her. When she opened the door, she was met by Rhea, Isis's daughter. Amber had seen her from a distance—a haughty girl, nose perpetually in the air. But now they would be sharing a roof. She hoped they could be friends.

"Good morning, Rhea," Amber offered warmly.

Rhea gave her a frosty look. "We're the same age."

She said it like a curse.

Amber blinked. "Yes, we are."

"I preferred our last maid," Rhea continued flatly. "At least she was older."

The words hit Amber like a slap. So much for friendship. Rhea turned and walked away, tossing one last remark over her shoulder.

"You'd better go to Mother. You're already breaking a rule."

Amber barely had time to steady herself before she found herself downstairs in the parlor, standing before Isis, who now looked nothing like the gracious hostess from the night before. Dressed casually, her aura was cold and commanding.

"You're up late."

"I'm really sorry," Amber replied quickly, anxiety bubbling inside her.

Isis stared for a moment, then said, "I'll forgive you. It's your first night. But from now on, rule number one..."

Amber braced herself.

Yes—rules. She could follow them. Her mother had raised her well. Hardworking, respectful, obedient—qualities that would keep her safe here.

She let Isis's words imprint themselves in her mind.

"There must be coffee on the table every morning at seven."

Amber took it to heart. Each morning, she prepared two cups of coffee, placing them on the dining table before Isis and Rhea came down, often still in their nightwear.

"The house must be cleaned after your coffee chore."

She would dust the parlor, clean the floors, and tidy every corner, hearing Isis's voice like a taskmaster in her head.

"Our rooms, spick and span."

She obeyed without complaint. She had just finished Rhea's room and was now inspecting Isis's. The bed was smooth, the air fresh with polish. Satisfied, she turned for the door.

As she moved to complete her chores downstairs, her eyes drifted again to the prince's portrait on the wall. A flicker of the dream returned—his voice, his gaze. "You are mine..." She shook herself, cheeks warm, but her feet refused to move. Something about him felt... familiar. She didn't know what it meant yet, but the way her heart stirred, she couldn't ignore it.

"Amber!"

Isis's sharp voice rang out, startling her back to reality.

Amber didn't like this life, but it was hers now. And the strength—the one born from love and need—held her steady. She was ready to work, ready to endure, as long as it meant caring for her mother... and helping others in need.

That strength had found her on a bench beneath the stars. And now, it would carry her through.