She’s growing too fast
“She’s growing too fast.”
The words came quietly.
Soft enough that nobody downstairs could hear them.
But Malachi heard them.
Of course he did.
The Bone Fairy stood beside Morticia on the second-floor balcony overlooking one of the estate’s many sitting rooms.
Neither had announced their presence.
Neither intended to.
They were simply watching.
Watching their daughter.
Watching time move far faster than either of them wanted.
Only four years had passed since her birth, yet Murina already looked and spoke like someone on the cusp of adulthood.
The healers had no explanation.
The courts whispered about it in secret.
Malachi and Morticia simply called it “the price of the bond.”
What should have been a normal childhood had become something else entirely — rapid growth, an ancient mind waking too soon, and questions no one could answer.
Below them, Murina sat at a long table surrounded by books.
Far too many books.
Books on fairy history.
Human history.
Ancient treaties.
Languages.
Monster classifications.
Court politics.
A stack so large Bella had threatened to remove half of them.
Murina had immediately finished the remaining half before lunch.
Now she sat listening attentively while Lucien attempted to teach.
Attempted being the important word.
Because Murina already knew the lesson.
She usually did.
“Who signed the Treaty of Hollow Vale?” Lucien asked.
Murina raised her hand.
Ava groaned dramatically.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You already know the answer.”
Murina lowered her hand.
Lucien sighed.
“Murina.”
She smiled.
A dangerous smile.
One she inherited from Morticia.
“The Treaty of Hollow Vale was signed in 1847 following the Southern Fairy Uprising. The agreement prevented territorial expansion beyond designated woodland boundaries and established neutral zones for monster migration.”
Silence.
Lucien stared.
Bella stared.
River stared.
Ava dropped her pencil.
“You read ahead again.”
“I was curious.”
“You read the entire textbook.”
“I was very curious.”
Ava looked offended.
Murina looked pleased with herself.
The room dissolved into laughter.
All except Ava.
Who narrowed her eyes.
Then immediately threw a balled-up piece of paper at her sister.
Murina caught it without looking.
Still reading.
Ava gasped.
“Show off.”
“Jealous.”
“Annoying.”
“Slow.”
River nearly fell out of his chair laughing.
Lucien pinched the bridge of his nose.
Bella simply gave up.
Which happened often.
Above them, Morticia smiled.
Malachi did not.
Not because he wasn’t happy.
Because he was thinking.
Again.
Always thinking.
Always worrying.
Morticia noticed immediately.
“Malachi.”
Nothing.
“Malachi.”
His eyes never left Murina.
“She’s physically seventeen.”
The statement hung between them.
Heavy.
Familiar.
Painful.
Morticia’s smile faded.
Because she understood.
Every parent worried about their child growing up.
Their situation was simply…
Different.
Malachi watching her with a mix of pride and worry: “She shouldn’t be this tall already.”
And yet she looked almost the same age as Ava now.
The little girl Morticia once carried on her hip had disappeared.
Replaced by someone tall.
Graceful.
Beautiful.
White hair cascading down her back.
Icy blue eyes.
Silver vines faintly visible beneath pale skin.
Not identical to either parent.
A perfect mixture of both.
And she just kept growing.
Faster.
Faster.
Faster.
Until finally it had stopped.
Or seemed to.
The court healers believed her aging would cease entirely at eighteen.
One final birthday.
One final change.
Then eternity.
Immortality.
Or something close to it.
Morticia wasn’t sure which possibility frightened her more.
“I know.”
Malachi remained silent.
Downstairs Murina laughed at something River said.
The sound echoed upward.
Warm.
Happy.
Alive.
The tension in Malachi softened slightly.
Only slightly.
Morticia reached for his hand.
His fingers immediately intertwined with hers.
Automatic.
Instinctive.
After all these years they no longer thought about it.
They simply found each other.
Again and again.
“I miss when she was small.”
The confession surprised her.
Because Malachi rarely admitted things like that.
Morticia smiled softly.
“You hated when she was small.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
His glare was immediate.
Morticia laughed.
“You followed her around every second.”
“She attempted to eat a beetle.”
“She was two.”
“She succeeded.”
Morticia laughed harder.
Malachi looked entirely justified.
“Then she attempted to befriend a swamp creature.”
“She named him Gerald.”
“He was dangerous.”
“He cried when she left.”
The memory finally cracked his composure.
A reluctant smile appeared.
Tiny.
Rare.
Beautiful.
Morticia leaned against him.
Comfortable.
Familiar.
Below them Murina suddenly stood.
Ava immediately looked suspicious.
“Where are you going?”
“The library.”
“You were just in the library.”
“I finished those books.”
Ava looked horrified.
“You finished six books.”
Murina blinked.
“Seven.”
Lucien made a strangled sound.
Bella laughed so hard she nearly spilled her tea.
Murina genuinely didn’t understand why everyone found it amusing.
And that—
That was perhaps the strangest thing about their daughter.
Not her strength.
Not her appearance.
Not her intelligence.
People.
Murina didn’t understand people.
Facts?
Easy.
History?
Easy.
Politics?
Easy.
Human emotions?
Impossible.
Sarcasm frequently escaped her.
Flirting completely escaped her.
Social cues might as well have been written in another language.
Morticia often found herself explaining things most people learned naturally.
Murina understood monsters better than humans.
Animals better than people.
Creatures better than conversation.
And somehow that worried Morticia more than any supernatural ability.
Because eventually—
Their daughter would have to find her place in the world.
And the world wasn’t always kind.
“She’s lonely.”
The realization slipped out before Morticia could stop it.
Malachi looked down.
Murina was laughing with Ava.
Smiling at River.
Listening to Bella.
Arguing with Lucien.
Surrounded by people who loved her.
And still—
There was truth in the statement.
A loneliness.
A distance.
As though she stood slightly apart from everyone else.
Not intentionally.
Simply because nobody saw the world quite the way she did.
Malachi’s jaw tightened.
The protective instinct immediately surfacing.
Morticia felt it through the bond.
The concern.
The worry.
The need to fix it.
To protect her.
To shield her from every possible hurt.
Unfortunately for him—
Murina was his daughter.
And inherited every ounce of stubbornness from both parents.
As if summoned by the thought, Murina suddenly looked upward.
Directly at them.
Despite neither making a sound.
Neither moving.
Her eyes narrowed.
Then she smiled.
“Oh no,” Morticia whispered.
Malachi sighed.
Too late.
Murina abandoned the lesson immediately.
Crossed the room.
And appeared at the top of the stairs moments later.
“Father.”
“No.”
“You don’t know what I’m asking.”
“No.”
“I haven’t asked yet.”
“No.”
Morticia covered her mouth.
Trying not to laugh.
Murina folded her arms.
Exactly like Malachi.
The resemblance was terrifying.
“There is a hunt next week.”
“No.”
“There have been reports—”
“No.”
“I am seventeen.”
“No.”
“I am stronger than most court guards.”
“No.”
“I have completed every training course.”
“No.”
“Mother.”
Morticia immediately looked away.
Cowardly.
Smartly.
Murina pointed.
“He’s impossible.”
“Correct.”
“I heard that.”
“Good.”
Murina groaned dramatically.
Malachi looked entirely unmoved.
The battle lines had been drawn.
And judging by the look in their daughter’s eyes—
This argument was far from over.
Somewhere below, Ava laughed.
River placed a small bet with Lucien.
Bella shook her head knowingly.
And for the first time in years—
The greatest threat facing the estate wasn’t a monster.
It was a seventeen-year-old girl determined to convince her father she was ready for the world.
And a father absolutely unwilling to let her go.
