The rays of the gentle sun broke through the glass vaults of the greenhouse, dropping golden spots on the dew-dampened paving stones. The air was filled with the scent of jasmine and lemon verbena - a familiar and native smell, absorbed into every path of the garden, where Ciel knew every tree and almost every bird by name. There was silence here, not the kind that oppresses, but a different kind - alive, saturated with the rustling of leaves, the rustling of wings and drops of water flowing from petals.

The boy, so carefree and bright, like a second sun descending from the sky, walked barefoot - neat shoes, inscribed with gold and polished by the best shoemaker in the city, from whom Ciel's father bought them with the hope that his son would treat them thriftily, were left somewhere near the fountain, where he had run a little earlier, having escaped from the tutor, who, as always, wanted to make him study these boring lectures. So be it! The garden belonged to his father, but in his soul - it belonged to the young heir. He was sure of this, like nothing else.

Ciel walked between the alleys framed by tall bushes, his fingers barely touching the cool petals. And suddenly - he froze. Behind the bend of the hedge, something was... wrong. A movement, a sound that should not be there. Someone is there.

He crept up carefully, his heart beating faster - maybe the fox had wandered in again? Or had the page been sent to look for him? But no. In the gap between the leaves, the blond saw them - a child. Very thin, in rags, with unkempt hair, where burdock thorns and fallen leaves were tangled between the tufts. They sat with legs tucked under them, and ate... no, not ate - they were just looking at the half-eaten apple core, as if deciding whether to finish it now or hide it for later.

Ciel didn't make a sound. He just stood there and looked. They hadn't noticed him yet. And suddenly Ciel felt... strange. Not scared, not anxious, but somehow deeply aching. They were about his age, but so different. Their eyes were huge and dark, as if they had absorbed the night. No fear, no insolence - only fatigue, like an old human. What were they doing here, in the Duke's garden? Where were their parents? Why were they so thin, as if made of branches and dust?

Gathering his strength, the boy took a step forward - a branch snapped. Loudly, piercingly, breaking all the serene silence of nature.

"..Who are you?.." He asks quietly, keeping a respectful distance, afraid of inadvertently scaring them away. "You.. No, it doesn't matter! Just don't run away, I'm alone!" With these words, Ciel put on a friendly, so innocent, childish smile. "Would you like an apple?" He asked and took out one of those he picked at the fountain from the deep pocket of his suede jacket. "It's sweet. From an eastern tree. Father says they gave them to him in Valmeria! Try it?"