The days leading up to the Moonlight Dance passed like petals in the wind—drifting, slow, beautiful in their own way, but gone too quickly to grasp.
The academy buzzed with energy. The courtyard was decorated with floating lights that flickered to the rhythm of soft music drifting from the open windows. Students rushed to finalize outfits and booth assignments. Claire, predictably, was everywhere at once, dragging decorations from storage while barking half-joking orders at the council volunteers.
Camille, ever the dramatic visionary, had converted the Drama Club's booth into a whimsical photo station complete with charm-powered illusions and floating petals. "If people are going to be confessing their hearts," she said, "they should at least look good while doing it."
Diana kept things from spiraling into chaos, appearing at key moments with a clipboard and an arched brow, her cool demeanor doing more than any spell to stop panic in its tracks. She never said anything directly to me about the upcoming dance—but her presence lingered. Watching. Waiting.
Tessa helped string charm lanterns from the tallest balconies without a word, her fire and wind magic precise and smooth, her eyes occasionally drifting to me. When I caught her once, she didn't look away.
And Lillian… Lillian never pushed. She stayed close, but never possessive. When we crossed paths, she'd brush my hand with hers. Just a touch. Just enough to make me remember that I'd asked her. That she had said yes. And that somehow, I was ready to stand beside her—not as the scared girl hiding behind someone else's name, but as myself.
The night of the Moonlight Dance arrived like a secret.
It was cool and clear. The sky above the academy was painted with stars, and the floating lanterns lit the grounds with warm, golden hues that pulsed gently, like the heartbeat of a living dream.
I stood in front of the mirror, smoothing my uniform jacket and trying not to panic. Lillian had offered to meet me under the crystal tree in the center of the courtyard—the tree that only bloomed under moonlight once a year. It was tradition. Romantic. Obvious.
And I was nervous out of my mind.
'Breathe,' Chloe's voice whispered dryly in my head. 'You're not facing a monster invasion. It's a dance. You've fought monsters. You can handle a girl in heels.'
I almost laughed. Almost.
The moment I stepped into the courtyard, I realized the world had shifted again. Everything shimmered. Music swelled around me like silk, and students twirled across the marble floor beneath the open sky. Laughter, magic, and light wove together in a breathtaking tableau.
And standing beneath the crystal tree, glowing like the heart of a dream, was Lillian.
She wore a gown of soft starlight—a pale silver dress that flowed like water, with light pink details that made her eyes seem even greener. Her hair was pinned half-up with tiny white blossoms that sparkled with faint magic. And when she saw me, she smiled.
That smile unraveled me.
I took a step forward, then another, the world fading around me.
"You came," she said softly.
"I'd have come even if the world ended today," I breathed.
She held out her hand.
I took it.
And together, we stepped onto the dance floor as the music shifted into a slow, gentle waltz.
I wasn't a great dancer. Lillian was better—graceful, certain, practiced. But she let me stumble once, twice, three times without a single sign of impatience. Her hand was steady on my waist, her other hand resting gently in mine, guiding, never controlling.
"You're tense," she whispered with a small smile.
"I'm trying not to step on your feet."
"You're doing wonderfully," she said. "And if you do… I won't mind. I've had worse injuries in battle."
I laughed, the tension slipping off my shoulders in pieces.
We twirled slowly, the petals falling around us in a soft cascade of light.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Diana watching from the garden archway, a wine glass in hand. She raised it in a small toast, her smirk less playful tonight—more sincere.
Claire was spinning two other students in chaotic circles near the refreshment table, her laughter echoing through the courtyard. When she caught my eye, she winked—quick and wild and full of heart.
Camille leaned against the fountain edge, chatting with a few Drama Club girls. Her eyes met mine for a moment. She smiled—but then she nodded, as if to say, "I know. It's okay."
And Tessa… Tessa was standing beneath the balcony, leaning against the marble railing, watching the stars. Her expression unreadable. But I felt her gaze drift to me and pause there, just for a moment. Like she was reminding me, I'm still here.
Lillian pulled me just a little closer, her breath warm at my ear. "This night is for you, Sera. Not who you were, not who you're trying to be. Just you."
I closed my eyes.
And let myself be held.
The music swelled.
And as we danced beneath the moonlight, I realized something deeper than I had words for:
This wasn't the end of a love triangle.
This wasn't even the middle.
This was the beginning of something that didn't need labels yet.
Something fragile. Something real.
The song eventually faded into silence, replaced by soft applause and laughter as the crowd shifted, partners exchanged, and the rhythm of the night resumed. But I didn't move from Lillian's arms. Not yet.
We stood beneath the crystal tree in a shared stillness, her hands resting gently at my waist, mine curled near her shoulder. The lanterns overhead swayed gently in the breeze, casting fractured moonlight across her features. It felt like we were suspended in time—like this moment belonged to us and no one else.
"You're still blushing," she said softly, brushing her fingers along my cheek with a teasing smile.
"I'm still overwhelmed," I whispered back.
"Is that a bad thing?"
I looked up at her—into those sparkling green eyes that had always seen too much of me, even when I tried to hide. "No. Not tonight."
She leaned in, her forehead brushing mine, and for a second I thought she might kiss me again.
But she didn't.
Instead, she just held me there in the quiet, in that tender space between want and patience, between affection and restraint.
"I meant what I said," she murmured. "You don't have to decide anything. You don't owe us anything."
"I know," I whispered, breath catching. "But that doesn't stop me from… feeling."
She pulled back enough to smile at me, brushing a stray piece of hair behind my ear. "Then let yourself feel, Sera. That's what this is all about."
I nodded slowly, swallowing the knot in my throat. "I'm glad I asked you."
Her smile softened. "I've never been happier to say yes."
A new song began behind us—something brighter, more playful. Claire's voice rang out over the crowd, shouting something about a spinning competition. Camille could be heard sighing dramatically. Diana's amused tone followed right after, probably offering commentary.
The girls.
They were part of this moment, too.
And I knew—deep in my chest—that this arc of soft dances and blooming feelings, of laughter and shared stares and blushing confessions—it wasn't an interruption to the plot.
It was the plot now.
A different kind of battle.
And I was slowly letting myself win it.
Lillian stepped back with one last squeeze of my hand. "You should go to them," she said gently. "They'll want to see you tonight. Be with you."
"You make it sound like I'm leaving you," I said.
"You're not," she smiled. "But I'm not the only one who loves you."
My heart skipped.
She kissed my cheek, soft as moonlight. "Go."
I nodded.
And I walked—slowly, my steps still unsteady, but sure—back into the heart of the festival.
Claire saw me first.
"There she is!" she cheered, grabbing me by the wrist before I could say a word and spinning me straight into a ridiculous, completely off-beat dance. "You missed the wind charm challenge! I almost blew Diana off her feet."
"You did blow Diana off her feet," Diana corrected from nearby, arms crossed, but her lips curved.
"She caught herself with grace," Camille added as she glided over. "But not before knocking over the punch bowl."
"I was pushed," Diana muttered.
"By the wind," Claire beamed proudly.
And then Tessa stepped into view, her eyes soft in the dim light. "You look… happy," she said quietly.
I smiled at her. "I am."
For the rest of the evening, I didn't belong to anyone. I just… belonged. With them. Among them.
Camille pulled me aside to dance. Claire dragged me to try fried strawberry cakes from a booth she insisted on judging. Diana made me promise to help organize next year's event because "you clearly have a knack for gathering attention." And Tessa stayed close—saying little, but offering everything in the calm presence of her gaze, her touch, her quiet understanding.
It wasn't perfect. It wasn't resolved.
But it was real.
And somewhere between stolen dances and starlit laughter, I realized something else:
Love isn't a single choice made in one perfect moment.
It's a thousand small ones.
Every day.
And tonight, under the lanterns and moonlight and the gaze of five incredible girls, I made my choice again and again—
To stay.
To feel.
To open my heart just a little more.
And that was enough.