#strikeled

It had been a decade or so since she’d celebrated her own birthday. Her grandmother hadn’t been interested in those sorts of things, and to mark the passage of time by herself seemed both self-absorbed and insignificant. The fifth day of the ethereal moon was no different from any other day, as far as Lillibridge Kaine was concerned, and these days, she scarcely remembered it.

Yet, it had not always been so. Far back in the recesses of her mind lurked memories of earlier times, happier times. When her mother had been with her, when the young girl had been encouraged to live beyond their meager means, if only for a single day each year. She could remember each special meal prepared by the earnest, if unskilled, hands of her mother, each homemade gift crafted to perfection by an overworked woman with neither time nor money to spare.

When Lilli had left behind her mother, so too had she left behind such childish indulgences.

The news that the birthday of the Imperial Princess was approaching brought a frown to her lips. Was Edelgard not embarrassed to hear that others were making such a fuss over her? Even with her father stripped of power, there were scant few who occupied positions of greater privilege than her. Her birthdays were no doubt lavish affairs, feasts and gifts and entertainment that stretched on for hours and hours. Their lives couldn’t have been more different, and so Lilli refused to even try to understand why anyone would bother preparing a gift or celebration for a girl who could have anything she desired with a snap of her fingers.

It was by happenstance that she learned of what had happened to Edelgard’s mother. A footnote in a personal account of recent Fódlan history, buried between long passages of dry politicking. Lilli had known of the upheaval in Adrestia - it had partially informed her own move to Faerghus, after all - but hadn’t heard of what happened to the Emperor’s consorts.

In light of that, her mother gone, her father a feeble, ailing puppet... Perhaps Edelgard hadn’t had a particularly happy birthday in some time either. And so, on the evening of the twenty-second day of the garland moon, a small package appeared outside the princess’ door, containing many small bags of Adrestian-style leaves and spices for tea, all personally harvested from the gardens in and around the Monastery, as well as a bookmark pressed with dried potpourri that lent a faintly pleasant scent.