Plenty of changes circulated through the mansion; Rinoa simply wished to ignore them.

Julia's absence marked the obvious occurrence. No, not an absence—dead. Not sleeping peacefully, not elsewhere lost in her own devices—simply and utterly dead, never to return. Little comforted Rinoa when glaring death in the eye. People said Julia was in a better place now. But compared to what? Compared to the home she lived in? Compared to being with her family?

Compared to creating music?

Then there were those who claimed it was meant to be—that it was in everyone's best interest to cherish the memories of Julia's vibrant life instead of wallowing in woe. Maybe there was truth hidden behind that. Mourning wasn't permanent, or so the adults explained. There would come a point when she'd continue living her life like nothing happened.

Rinoa waited for that moment. After days, weeks, and months passed by, she wondered if it would ever come.

Julia's demise echoed throughout the mansion. It was in the empty chair at the end of the dinner table. It was in the silence within the parlor. It was in the words never spoken again by her father.

Together with Julia, they showered love upon Rinoa. Now she was lucky if he tucked her in at night along with a bedtime kiss. No more stories, no more lullabies. Rinoa learned to stop asking for them.

Fury's tense, quiet nature was but a scratch on the surface. He opted for extra hours of work instead of tending to their home and thus Rinoa. She met plenty of odd faces attempting to replace the void meant for a parent while Fury was gone. In time, they lasted several weeks tops before storming out and throwing away the job opportunity. Each one left on different circumstances, but the catalyst remained the same—Rinoa.

They spoke of her rebellious, reluctant nature ranging from refusing to go to bed on time to neglecting their homemade meals for her to outright ignoring her superiors.

"You're not my Mommy!" was the most common phrase she shrieked in their faces.

And with each new caretaker entering the mansion, Rinoa swallowed back her resentful tears. Julia was never coming home. No one to sweep Rinoa into their arms, beyond tender and loving, and pepper her cheeks in kisses. She hid under the piano after screaming matches with another stranger feigning compassion, wishing to simultaneously to be alone and not.

The quitting streak reached double digits. Not that Rinoa kept count, but Fury did. His previous lectures revolved around elbows on the table and slouching in chairs, none of which were proper for a young lady. Those days were long gone.

"You need to grow up," he snapped. "This isn't a game, Rinoa. These people are here to look out for you. All you're doing is making their jobs far more difficult."

"But I don't want them to look out for me!"

"Then perhaps if you weren't so childish, I wouldn't be concerned with hiring another person to keep an eye on you."

Rinoa jutted her lower lip out. "Why can't you look out for—"

"Rinoa, we've had this discussion. Daddy is busy with work—"

"You never were before."

"And times change. I have more on my plate and you need to behave like a young lady, do you understand? I will not tolerate you running amok in this household, for if another caretaker leaves due to your behavior, I'll be sure to find a soldier to look out for you in their place."

Soldiers had only frequented the mansion during holiday parties. They lacked a sense of humor and tolerated Rinoa at best. The thought of being stuck with one day after day lowered Rinoa's head and stilled her tongue.

Fury knelt down and caught her eyes. "No more goofing around. Do I make myself clear, young lady?"

"Yes, Daddy."

Except he didn't, though she didn't dare question him. How was she to be mature and not childish at the mere age of six?

Being a young lady sucked.

She lost more than a mother that day; she lost the man she once loved as her father, too. When was the last time he smiled or hugged her? Was he happy with paying someone else to do all of that for him? The distance between them expanded like an abyss.

Yet she still convinced herself to call him Daddy.

It was gradual, over the course of several years. The family pictures once adorning every corner of the mansion vanished: toddler snapshots of Rinoa, the overly staged holiday photographs, and the forever smiling face of Julia. All gone. Maybe one of the maids was cleaning them elsewhere or they were in a new location or someone stole them in the night. Rinoa fidgeted with each scenario popping into her mind. No one noticed but her.

Then Fury's prized possessions disappeared. Not all of them, but specific ones. Rinoa gave no second thoughts to the gaudy paintings and ornate silverware removed from the premise, but she remembered his favorite cuff links and ties were all gifts—gifts from Julia.

And her mother's possessions went missing, from her clothing to her CD collection to her vanity stand. Rinoa clutched the small jewelry box Julia once bestowed her with. No one could pry it away from her.

Though she would have given away all of it if it meant the piano would stay.

Movers shuffled in, their boisterous voices cracking through the mansion with plans to remove the grand piano. Her eyes widened and her heart plummeted to her stomach. Abandoning her activities, she rushed to the parlor just in time to find them hauling the instrument up from the floor.

Stomping towards them with balled-up fists and a scrunched-up face, Rinoa yelled, "You can't take this!"

One of them raised an eyebrow and lowered his end of the piano. "Kid, we got a job to do. Your dad paid us to get rid of this—"

"Get rid of it?!" Rinoa confronted the man like she was prepared to initiate a bar brawl. "It belongs to us!"

"Not anymore."

When they worked on lifting the piano again, Rinoa scrambled onto the closed keys and sprawled out. The additional weight left the men cursing before settling it down.

"I still want it!" Rinoa cried with a furious glare. "It's mine as much as it was my Mom's!"

The movers all eyed one another, the one clearly in charge sighing with a shake of his head. He gestured for the others to exit the room with him. With every last one out, Rinoa lifted her head and tucked dark hair behind her ear. A smile crept upon her lips; she was triumphant.

But her victory was short and sweet. Heavy boots boomed into the room. Rinoa gasped; she had never witnessed her father so livid.

"Rinoa!" His voice ricocheted off the walls, louder than the piano ever was. "Get down this very instance!"

She froze. Maybe out of fear, maybe out of sheer reluctance. She awaited Fury's typical counting to three to insist she followed the rules—his rules—but Rinoa was older now, albeit still a child. He never entertained her with such trickery.

He latched onto her waist and ripped her away from the grand piano. Rinoa hissed in air, longing to kick and flail; the thought of potentially damaging the piano restrained her. Fury continued to lock her against him upon bringing her to the floor and her whines morphed into desperate shrieks once the movers returned to the piano.

"No!" Rinoa cried out, jerking her head about. "I don't want them to take it!"

Fury spun her around. A soft yelp jutted out of Rinoa. Solid hands slammed onto her shoulders and cemented her in place. She met her father's stare, those eyes of his burning. Neither love nor compassion humored his features—not for Rinoa nor Julia's piano.

"Are you trying to make this more difficult for everyone?!" Fury demanded.

"I don't want Mom's piano to be thrown into a junkyard!" Rinoa spat back.

Fury tilted his head. "And what exactly were you planning on doing with it? For the past three years, you've done nothing but hide underneath it. You're not a baby anymore, Rinoa. When will you ever learn to grow up and move on?!"

"I'm sorry I'm not like you and can throw out everything she ever touched!"

His fingers curled into her shoulders like talons securing prey, yet Rinoa didn't falter.

"It's a waste of space, Rinoa. We don't need it anymore. Last time I checked, you weren't turning into a budding musician, so unless you plan to change that, then I suggest you let the movers do their job and let it be."

She jerked free from his clutches, whipped around, and held her breath. The movers maneuvered the piano out the doorway. If only she could play it, then maybe it wouldn't be hauled out of the mansion. Rinoa barely recalled the C Major scale. Every last one of those memories was tainted by Julia's face and voice.

Thus Rinoa said nothing. The piano slipped out of sight and her father's hold on her loosened.

"You need to move forward," Fury continued. His voice dropped in volume, yet the threatening tone lingered. "You can't spend your whole life dwelling on the past." There was a pause and then, "Julia would have wanted it this way."

Rinoa fashioned her glare for Fury like daggers. "This way? You mean by burning everything to the ground?"

"Rinoa—"

"Did you even know Mom? She would have never wanted us to forget her. We can't erase her, Dad!"

With a single step, Fury loomed over Rinoa. "I knew her well enough to know that she wouldn't want us to be in pain. That much is certain."

"Well... I'm not in pain because of her," Rinoa sneered. "I'm in pain because you act like she never existed."

Before he uttered another word, Rinoa pivoted on her heels and ran out. She zipped past the movers and up the elaborate staircase in search for haven within her room. There, she could lock the door and breathe again. There, Fury couldn't touch the relics once belonging to Julia.

A collection of pictures sat on dressers and nightstands alike. Rinoa was far tinier then, but everyone—including Fury—smiled in those photos. And there were the concert posters from her mother and the framed vinyl records—all of them signed. A small jewelry box contained all the gems and precious metals her mother passed onto her with the promise that one day she'd be old enough to find a use for them. All the stuffed animals her mother ever gave her sprawled across her bed. All the birthday cards, all the notes, all the reminders of what once existed.

How could she possibly get rid of any of it?

"So stupid," Rinoa mumbled into a pillow she clung to. "Why can't you just understand that this is what helps me. I'm not you."

She blinked, unaware of the tears which flowed down her face. A chill crawled up her body, forcing Rinoa to draw her knees into her chest. She buried her face in the pillow, fearing if she squeezed any harder, it would burst.

"I will never be you."

She did want to remove the items at first. Doing so meant he won, in a sense, but Rinoa reminded herself over and over that she wasn't destroying it all. It was to be hidden out of sight to create the illusion of her separation from mourning. Sometimes fighting wasn't the answer; sometimes coming to terms with another—especially the one in charge of the roof she was under—meant caving in. Rinoa loathed that.

But it also meant Fury was never laying a finger on the mementos from her mother.

Rinoa placed everything she could into bins to stash away under her bed and in the back of her closet. Her room laid bare and foreign once she stripped it of everything associated with Julia. It left Rinoa nauseous, yet she swallowed it down.

When Fury first walked into her room since its renovations, he halted and paused mid-sentence. Rinoa lifted her gaze from a book she was absorbed in and noticed his shifting eyes. He never mentioned the changes, but his posture lengthened and his face relaxed. In turn, she never humored him with the topic. Or anything relevant to Julia.

Or simply anything at all ever again.