I am Nora de Kent, six years and one month old, and I’m currently in my bedroom.

Since my birthday, I have been doing a lot of thinking. I decided to call myself Nora. That’s because I’m not really like the Eleanor in the book. I’m more like Ellie, but I’m still a child, so I’m not quite her either. To keep everything a little more clear in my head, I told everyone to call me Nora. Though my father is a bit slow to get used to it, everyone else now does.

That’s about all I’ve done. It’s not easy to think through such complicated matters when I can’t make it through the afternoon without a snack. Still, there’s a lot of years left, so I’m not in a rush.

My bedroom is fairly simple (as far as the manor goes). I have my bed, the curtains and linen all in my favourite periwinkle blue. Then there’s a desk, which is too big for me, but I’ve borrowed a spare cushion to sit on and that lets me reach. Fortunately, I don’t have much writing to do yet. Otherwise, it’s the expected furniture for clothes and a full-length mirror and the sort of toys young girls have.

Oh, that reminds me, I’m sorta back in time but not really. I don’t really know much about this world other than what was in the book, but it’s kinda medieval, kinda Victorian, I think. Really, the author probably didn’t know what she was doing and just wrote whatever. There’s hot water, but it’s magic. Ah, and I remember being annoyed reading it, because the author was, like, super-vegan. So there’s cake, but the eggs for it grow on special plants, and the milk comes from a berry. No one eats meat, or keeps pets. That especially makes me sad, because I had a dog growing up, and I would really like one now that there’s no television or anything and I don’t exactly have friends to play with. Anyway, Ellie was otherwise sympathetic to vegetarians and vegans, but the author went on for, like, three pages about how no one dared mistreat animals and, if they did, the faeries brutally murdered them and ate their flesh—or something like that. It was quite annoying.

I’m getting really sidetracked. So, my old-fashioned toys, I have a few beautiful dolls and a wonderful house for them, and even a real miniature tea set (it looks like chinaware, but I’m not sure if China exists here, so I should say it is made of porcelain). When Lottie plays with me, she brings a teapot along (as well as a few biscuits) and we actually use the little cups. By now, I’ve outgrown the rocking horse, so it will soon go to my little brother, Joshua. For my birthday, my father brought back a spinning top from Lundein (totally not London) and my mother and sister gave me a beautiful marble, the colourful swirls making it look like a sweet, but also reminding me of toothpaste.

There’s books too. Since I have Ellie’s memories, reading is easy, and that has ended up with me being given a lot of books. I’m quite happy about it, since I do like reading. I mean, I was studying English Literature, or Ellie was. Whatever. It’s fun to read all these stories that aren’t the same stories I read growing up last time.

To sum things up, I have a lot of stuff to distract me from thinking.

This includes someone knocking on my door. I huff, dragging my gaze away from the wispy clouds in the sky outside. “Yes?” I call out, walking over.

My mother opens the door before I get there, but I still walk to her. She’s accompanied by another middle-aged woman and, I look down, a young girl. I say young, but she’s around my age.

Wait, I’ve said that before, haven’t I?

“Nora, dear, this is miss Violet. Won’t you entertain her while her mother and I have a rather boring chat?”

“Of course, mummy,” I say with a curtsey. I’ve found there are very few occasions where a curtsey is inappropriate.

Violet’s mother pushes her forward at that, quietly saying, “Go on then, Violet.”

Though she’s not exactly reluctant, Violet takes the step into my room very slowly.

“We will send for you when it’s time to go,” her mother says.

“Yes, mother,” she replies.

We watch our mothers walk down the hall for a few seconds, and then they go around a corner. I turn to Violet. Another quirk of the author, she has a purple tone to her darkly coloured hair. It almost seems like a trick of the eye. Otherwise, she’s tall (if she’s my age) and slim, but still with a touch of chubbiness to her cheeks. Though, she’s maybe just pouting.

Her name isn’t familiar to me from the books. Her hair is, but I don’t really remember who has what hair colour when reading—because it’s never important. I guess Eleanor met her at school and knew her by her surname.

Violet sighs, and finally looks away from where her mother went. When her gaze comes to me, she raises her nose and says, “You call your mother ‘mummy’? How childish.”

I frown. “Well, yes. I am a child.”

She’s not exactly taken aback by my answer, but her eyes widen and then narrow. “Anyway, what kind of a name is Nora? It sounds awfully common.”

I nod, and then reach out to grab her hand. “You probably have low blood sugar, or maybe you’re dehydrated,” I say, tugging her out my room.

Maybe because she’s surprised, she follows me the first few steps before stopping. “What are you saying? Are those even real words?” she asks, trying to get her hand away.

Though I don’t let go, I do stop walking as well, and say, “Well, maybe they’re not, but what I’m saying is you might need a snack or a drink. At our age, we can get quite grumpy between lunch and supper.”

“I am not grumpy!” she says grumpily.

“That’s good. If we have cake and tea, then you can keep not being grumpy all afternoon.”

Her resolve noticeably falters. “Cake?” she asks, her tone almost timid.

“With jam and cream, even. Unless you don’t like jam, or cream, then without them.”

It takes a couple of seconds for her wary look to melt. “We don’t have to hold hands,” she says.

“It’s better for us to get lost together, that way Rosie won’t have to worry which of us to follow,” I reply.

“Why would we get lost—don’t you live here? And who is Rosie?”

I gesture behind her and say, “Rosie is the maid. She’s new.”

Violet turns around for a moment, and then looks back at me, another question on her lips before she shakes it off. “But why would we get lost?”

“Look, it’s a rather big house, okay?”

She looks like she wants to say something, but I am beginning to understand the power cake holds over people. After a shake of her head, she says, “Go.”

So I lead us to the end of the hall and take a step to the left. Rosie says, “Right, miss.” I clear my throat and then shuffle back, going the other way. Violet doesn’t say anything, but I think she noticed.

By the time we get to the kitchen, I’ve forgotten my earlier misstep. “Beth, I know I’m early, but is there any chance the cake is ready?”

Beth turns around, busy at the counter. “Ah, miss. Your mother suggested I might prepare something for you and your guest at this hour.”

I give Violet’s hand a happy shake. “Isn’t that great?” I ask.

She ignores me, looking over at the counter, but Beth is in the way.

“Come, let’s sit down.” I pull her to the table in the kitchen. She’s reluctant to sit, at least until Beth brings over a plate with the cake on it. I let go of her hand and sit opposite.

Beth serves us and we happily eat, Violet even having a third slice. They aren’t big slices, but, still, lunchtime wasn’t that long ago, was it? Anyway, she looks a lot less grumpy with a smudge of jam on the corner of her mouth. When I tell her that, she looks about as grumpy as before, but she’s too busy sipping tea to say anything back.

Afterwards, I lead us back to my room and I don’t even go the wrong way once (she doesn’t fuss over holding hands, probably because the cake did its job). When we get there, I let go of her hand and think which toys would be best to play with.

“Should we play dolls?” I ask.

She harrumphs, crossing her arms, and says, “How childish.”

“You don’t play dolls at home?”

It’s a slight reaction, her narrowed eyes falling to look at my line of dolls, corner of her mouth twitching. “Of course not,” she says, returning to her stern expression.

I have four dolls, one given to me on each of my second to fifth birthdays. I told my mother I had enough, so I didn’t get another one for my sixth. Two dolls is nice, since they’re best friends, and three dolls is okay, since it’s easy to notice if one is being left out, but four dolls is difficult and I don’t even want to imagine how bad it gets with five.

Looking at them, it’s hard for me to choose. I don’t really like any of them less than the others—they all have their good points and their bad points. So, rather than think of it as which one I don’t want any more, I think which one Violet would like.

“Here,” I say, picking up one and offering her to Violet. “It’s hard for me to say goodbye, but you may take Greenie home.”

“I do not want her,” Violet says firmly.

I pout, giving Greenie a quick hug. “That’s not nice to say. Besides, I picked her because I think you’ll get on well.”

“Oh you did, did you?”

“Yes,” I say, nodding. “She’s a bit shy and doesn’t talk much, but she doesn’t like being alone either, so things like reading books or watching the clouds are her favourite. And she’s a fussy eater, but she always eats her green beans because she wants to be more mature. Oh, her name is actually Gwen Finch, but, because of her hair, her friends called her Greenfinch, and now just Greenie—it’s nothing to do with green beans.”

Violet listened well, giving me her full attention. But she quickly remembers she’s supposed to look stern and not interested. “You, you say that, but you’ll tell your mother I stole her.”

“I’ll write a note, then,” I say, walking to my desk.

“You can write?” I can’t see her face, but she sounds surprised.

I pull myself onto the cushion, perching on the edge of the seat. There’s loose paper and a fountain pen for me to use for practising. “Please, don’t be impressed,” I say. “I know I seem clever now, but it’s just because I’m a child, and I will become very normal when I grow up.”

Then I focus on my writing. It’s hard to move my hand so finely, the handwriting far messier than Ellie’s was.

“There we go,” I say, tearing off the bit with words on. I hop off my chair and take the note to her.

She slowly reads it, her mouth mumbling the letters, face scrunched up. It’s very cute. I didn’t notice before, but she has eyes matching her hair, a dark brown that has flickers of purple when the light catches them just right.

“W-what’s the bit at the end for?” she suddenly asks, a pitch higher than before.

“Well, that’s obvious, isn’t it?”

“It’s not!”

I shake my head, really unsure what’s so weird. “If we’re sharing toys, we have to be friends, right?”

She has a sour look on her face, but her gaze keeps drifting back to Greenie. I move the doll’s hand so it’s like she’s waving at Violet. It doesn’t take much longer before Violet huffs, and then she slowly reaches out, taking Greenie from me.

For a long moment, she stares into the doll’s eyes. They’re only painted on, but, Violet’s so serious, I wonder if she can see something in them that I can’t.

“Now that we’re friends, I’ll do your hair,” I say as I pull her over to my mirror.

She doesn’t say anything back, clutching her doll tight.

I’ve practised a lot on myself and the maids, so I’m confident it will come out well. Her hair is nice too, smooth and long, down past her shoulders. I brush it a bit, but there’s no knots. It would be great if I could, like, braid all of it into a crown. She really looks like she could be a princess. However, I don’t know how long I have, so I go for a small braid above her fringe that looks like a hairband.

It suits her well. At least, I think it does, more so than just a ponytail.

“Miss Violet, you are requested.”

Before I can ask her if she likes it, Sarah calls out to us from the doorway, and I guess it’s time for her to go. “Thank you, Violet, I had a lot of fun today,” I say with a curtsey.

“Thank you for having me,” she replies, her voice soft. She’s still clutching Greenie tight.

Leaning close, I whisper, “If there’s any trouble with the note, tell your mother to ask me and I’ll tell her straight that Greenie is your doll now, okay?”

She gently nods.

Sarah clears her throat, not a maid to be made to wait.

So I give my new friend a hug and send her off with a smile. I really hope we can play again soon.