Legacy's Wake

Stitch remained indoors for the time being, as the weather outside was far from inviting. The skies were draped in thick, gray clouds, and the rain poured steadily, creating small streams along the uneven streets of Cascade Cradle. It wasn't the kind of day for wandering about, so she busied herself at home instead.

Their house was modest, built from worn materials that had seen better days. It wasn't the sturdiest structure, nor the most comfortable, but it was home. It provided shelter, and that was enough.

With little else to do on such a dreary day, Stitch dedicated herself to her craft, skillfully stitching together various fabrics, creating small garments and unique flags purely for her own amusement. Despite her young age, her hands worked with remarkable precision, the needle gliding effortlessly through the fabric as she sewed intricate designs. It was more than just a pastime—it was in her blood. Needlework had been a tradition in her family for generations, passed down from one pair of hands to the next. And now, it had become second nature to her.

Beside her, resting motionless on the table, was her newest creation—Mendy, the doll she had chosen just days ago. Its stitched-up button eyes stared blankly ahead, and though it was nothing more than fabric and thread, it somehow felt like it was watching.

Meanwhile, across the small room, Sendal rummaged through an old wooden drawer, her expression shifting as she pulled out a stack of worn, crumpled papers. She flipped through them carefully, her brow furrowing deeper with each page. The ink had faded slightly, but the words were still clear enough to read.

Debt.

Every paper in her hands detailed yet another expense—unpaid loans, overdue fees, and outstanding balances for things as basic as food and rent. Some debts had been owed for months, maybe even years. They weren't just struggling—they were drowning.

The weight of their reality settled heavily in Sendal's chest as she skimmed through document after document, the numbers growing more overwhelming with each page. She already knew times were hard, but seeing it all written down in ink made it feel even more suffocating.

Their family was barely holding on. And with no money coming in, no miracle on the horizon, it was only a matter of time before the walls of their fragile home came crashing down.

Sendal let out a weary sigh as she lowered the stack of documents, her fingers lingering on the rough edges before she silently slid the drawer shut. She knew what those papers meant—knew the weight they carried—but there was nothing she could do about it right now. Instead, she turned away and made her way into the small, dimly lit kitchen.

Their diet had never been anything close to healthy. Nearly all of the money they scraped together went toward rent, ensuring they at least had a roof over their heads for days like this. Food was secondary. Stitch was far too young to work, and sewing barely brought in enough to keep them afloat. It was an unreliable trade, one that never promised security, but it was all they had.

Even so, the two of them did their best to remain optimistic. They had to. There was no other choice. Stitch, especially, seemed more carefree than one might expect. She immersed herself in her needlework, and the act of stitching seemed to soothe her, allowing her to lose herself in the steady rhythm of the needle and thread.

But Sendal… Sendal didn't have that luxury.

She busied herself with preparing what little food they had left, ensuring at least Stitch would get something to eat. It was a fragile illusion she had carefully maintained—one where she pretended to eat after Stitch had finished, always claiming she wasn't as hungry or that she would eat later. The truth, however, was that she barely ate at all. And Stitch never noticed.

It was becoming harder. She could feel it in the way her limbs grew weaker, the way exhaustion clung to her more each passing day. But no matter how difficult it became, she refused to let her sister see her struggle. She wanted nothing more than for Stitch to be happy, even if it meant shouldering the burden alone.

"Dinner's ready," Sendal finally called out, her voice light and cheerful despite the dull ache in her stomach. "Come on, let's eat before bed!"

Hearing her sister's voice, Stitch eagerly set down her needle and fabric, hopping up from her seat and making her way to the cramped dining area.

The table was already set, their simple, mismatched plates holding what little food Sendal had managed to prepare. It wasn't much—certainly not enough for two growing girls—but Stitch's eyes lit up nonetheless.

"Sendal, it looks delicious!" she beamed, practically glowing with excitement.

Sendal forced a smile in return, masking the gnawing guilt that twisted inside her. She knew exactly how little had gone into that meal—knew that she had scraped together whatever ingredients she could just to make sure Stitch had something to eat. But as her sister happily dug in, oblivious to the fact that Sendal's portion was noticeably smaller, she told herself it was enough.

Even if her body grew weaker, even if she was slowly starving—seeing Stitch smile made it all worth it.

But it wasn't long before everything came crashing down around them.

After their modest yet cherished meal, Sendal led Stitch to bed, tucking her in with a warm smile before heading back to tidy up. The last thing she wanted was for her little sister to fall ill due to the dust and clutter. Stitch, ever eager to help, offered to assist her, but Sendal gently refused.

"Don't worry about it, Stitch," she reassured, grabbing a broom as she cast a glance toward her sister, who lingered hesitantly by the doorway. "You need to rest, okay? I'll just clean up a little, and when we wake up, it'll be to a beautiful, sunny day." She giggled softly, trying to keep the mood light.

But Stitch didn't seem convinced. "You don't have to do everything by yourself, Sendal… We're in this together. If we help each other, it'll be easier—and faster too," she insisted, her voice small but firm.

Sendal shook her head with a tender smile, crouching down so she was eye level with her younger sister. She reached out and gently ruffled Stitch's hair, her touch filled with quiet affection.

"Look at you… growing up so fast. Just like our mother." Her voice carried a mixture of pride and nostalgia. "I'm so proud of you, Stitch."

Stitch, however, remained still, her small hands curling into the fabric of her nightclothes. "It's… how Mommy taught me," she murmured, her voice faltering. She hesitated before finishing, unwilling to say the rest out loud.

Before she…

Sendal's expression softened further. She knew where Stitch's thoughts had gone, but she wasn't ready to open that wound again. Instead, she cupped her sister's cheek, offering a reassuring nod.

"She taught us both," she reminded her gently. "She was wonderful… but let's not dwell on that tonight, okay?" She paused, then, with a playful smile, added, "Since you really want to help, why don't you go tidy up our room? I'll handle the dining area. It's not much, so we'll be done before you know it."

Though hesitant, Stitch finally nodded, her determination outweighing the sadness in her heart. With that, she turned and padded off to their small room, leaving Sendal behind to clean, unaware that this peaceful night would be one of their last.

To be continued...