News and Old Tales (Geronimo Stilton fanfiction)

3

White Feta Springs, 1993

One would think that fate is kind enough not to let mice like Geraldine have more children than the one that she is already neglecting to great extent, but thinking that, one would actually be wrong.

It was a crisp autumn morning when the cries of G's sister reverberated through the walls of the tavern for the first time. This time, Geraldine did not even bother to give the little mouse a single letter that would serve as a name; she merely looked at the small bundle in distaste and handed it over to Cheryl.

The past four years had not been kind to Cheryl. Shuffling about in the tavern, mopping the floors, and serving the grumpy customers day by day – it all wore on her, even more so than it had done when she was marginally younger. So, when Geraldine's second child arrived, Cheryl no longer had the energy to get up in the middle of the night and soothe the crying infant.

That, however, was not the case for G. He would yawn and rub his eyes with his tiny paws, but he always waddled over to the small crib when his sister's cries woke him up.

"Why are you crying so much, hm? What's wrong? Are you hungry again?" he would question the baby's intentions in hushed tones.

Mostly, the wee mouse with steel gray fur and Geraldine's violet eyes seemed to crave her brother's presence more than anything. Sometimes, she didn't even need the bottle; just G holding her in his tiny arms was enough for her cries to slowly die down.

Though practically still being a toddler himself, G mastered the art of changing diapers, bottle feeding, and singing lullabies in the course of a few weeks. As the baby grew older and began peering up at him with her violet orbs more often than not when he held her, he often made googly eyes at her, and then started to talk.

"Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, there was a big kingdom. The Byzantine Empire, it was called. Now, for a couple of years, this Empire was governed by an empress named Theodora," he would tell her.

And then, one time, as the baby cooed softly while listening to her brother's voice, G broke off mid-sentence, his features assuming a contemplative expression.

"You look like a Theodora, actually," he said then. "Do you want to be a Theodora, too?"

Now, this went on for about two years, until the tavern gained somewhat of a new clientele. These new customers were not like the previous ones, who had averted their gazes when seeing Theodora crawling around on the dirty floor, or G carrying her around on his back while being tasked with bringing pint after pint of beer to the tables. No, these customers took action, and soon, some social workers from the nearby, bustling city had gotten involved, and G and Theodora were whisked away to an orphanage.

G cradled his little sister in his arms as he watched the landscape outside swish by through the window of the car that would take them to the big city. At least Theodora was with him, but that was also the one good thing about all of this. He was afraid, he did not know what was going to happen to them, and the car was moving too fast for his liking. He closed his eyes, leaning down to press his forehead against Theodora's. He felt so sick.