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As a child, Serra dreamt of love. But as she grew older, she found that an orphan is not given love like one who has a family is. They have to find it.
This is thebitter past that Serra covers up with her boisterous personality and cheerful behavior. Spoilers if you don't know much about Serra's childhood or her support conversations with Hector.
Even though I screamed and wailed at them, implored them to have faith that I still had parents, they didn't believe me. They wouldn't let me go home. I arrived there in the summer and the whole abbey was unbearably hot. They forced me to share a room with twelve other girls. Imagine, a young countess like me, stuck with those filthy orphans! The other children didn't like my attitude. They played pranks on me. Reptiles in my bed, insects in my food, mud constantly appearing on my few sets of clothing no matter how many times I washed them. And if I protested, they laughed. They all just laughed. If I complained to the adults, the other kids would gang up and deny it and say I was lying, and I would be punished.
I spent many nights in the prayer room, alone. Sleeping on the floor was uncomfortable, but at least I was spared the taunting of the others. I preferred the loneliness to being overcrowded. The dim light of the candles on the mantle would cast an orange glow that flowed from the front of the room and faded out towards the back. It was the kind of light that is comforting. Sunlight is too bright, too invading. Candlelight will always be my favorite light. The silence in the room was so complete that if I so much as shifted, the mere rustle of my clothing sounded as loud as the roar of an ocean. By day I can talk, by day I can scream, by day I can make as much noise as I can and try my hardest to draw attention to myself, but when night falls I want my quiet, my glow, my solitude, my peace.
Fall came and the leaves fell. I remember clearly the day we children were all herded outside to see the leaves. I ran to a tree. My tree. The tree I ate my meager meals under and the tree I did my studies under and the tree I thought about life under. It, too, had lost its leaves. I cried. I hugged my tree. My tree was dead. Dead like the other trees. Dead like the bird Lylie had thrown a rock at. Dead like I finally realized my parents were. The sound of the others playing in the leaves, showing the true meaning of 'to frolic', echoed emptily in the background. I could barely hear them that day, although they were all around me. Laughter surrounding me as I cried.
The nights grew colder. The only blankets to be found were in with the other children. None to spare for the little Etrurian countess who sleeps in the prayer room. When the snow fell, when the world went dead, when the night became so cold that it bit at my body and chafed at my skin, I left for a different world. I found my way out through a book I found in a shelf near the back of the prayer room. A silly romance novel it was, where everyone found happy endings. This love it spoke of fascinated me. I had long since forgotten love. The memories of even my mother's embrace died with the passing time. But this love the book spoke of, this love I read about by the waning light of a small candle, it was different. It wasn't of family, but of couples. A man and a woman. They found eternal happiness together. The next day I spoke to the other children, told them of this love. I tried to explain it, but the words fell beyond the reach of my mind, and my tongue could not do justice to this love.
The resurrection of the world was coming. Spring was making its way towards our small, depressing convent. The nights grew steadily warmer. We were all gathered in the largest room of the building. The walls were a dreary gray, but the spirits of the children were sparkly and happy. They were all playing games. And I sat in the corner with my book, re-reading it for the seventeenth time. I was at my favorite part, the part where the man pledged to protect her, promised to care for her, begged to become an irreplaceable part of her life, when the older girl came over to me. She had never spoken a word to me before.
"That book is complete poo." she said haughtily, and I looked up at her in shock.
"It is not!" I retorted, "It's about love!"
"What does love matter to us? We've taken vows of chastity. We can't have that kind of love. Forget your childish dreams and face our reality. We're some of the few pure people left in this world. We will all be clerics one day, no matter who you think you are, and we will never fall in love or be loved in return." she told me, and walked away, leaving me devastated. I left the room and went outside. The air was still cold, but the buds on the trees promised warmth soon. However, all the blooming flowers in the world couldn't thaw the ice that coated my heart that day. I heeded the girl's words and threw out my dreams. That night, when I was once again in the frigid prayer room, I picked up one of the dimming candles, the wax burning my hand, and I set fire to my dear book.
The next morning, I went into my studies with a passion that had never existed before. I practiced all day with the staves, and when night fell, I continued to practice in the prayer room. By morning, I could use the staff. I could heal. I could heal all the children's bruises, their scrapes, their broken bones and aching muscles. I became popular with the others. They loved me, their healing Serra. I grew stuck-up, materialistic, and obsessed with my appearance, but maintained my absolute purity. My white light was undying. The phoenix that had risen from the ashes of my dreams gave it never-ending power. That spring, I became a true cleric. At age eight, I became a cleric.
"Serra! If you ever need anything, you talk to me or Oswin."
Hit fast-forward, watch the many days of healing and prayers, tears in the night and smiles in the day, all blur into one. Watch my life flash by to bring me to this moment.
"We're your family, or at least, we are until your parents your parents come for you."
The tears that had stopped not long before started again, but this time they fell because of joy, not sorrow. The cycle of life had shown itself again. The dream that had lived and died was reborn.
"Hector!" I cried. He may not be as pure as I, but his light shone just as white that day.
"Right? So, let's go."
I have never experienced the love of that romance novel, and I may very well never, but I have regained the family love. The kind of love that embraces you and tells you everything is alright. The love that lets you know you have someone who's like you, just a little different, and loves you through all your differences. The white kind of love. The pure love of family.
"You are a bit…untidy to be a member of my family. But I suppose I can tolerate that…if I must. Yes." I said and smiled.