The sky was shrouded in storm clouds, swallowing every trace of moonlight. Thunder rumbled, its echo carrying across the darkened sky, while a cold breeze slipped through the tall window, tugging at the soft curtains. There, a young woman stood in silence, her figure touched by the restless air, marked with quiet elegance of someone born to wealth and privilege.
She was wearing a crisp white blouse with puffed sleeves and a high collar, fastened neatly with a cravat. Over it, a corset-like waist armor cinched her figure, its chains and ornate filigree gleaming in subtle display of wealth rather than utility. Slim black trousers, traced with golden embroidery, gave her freedom of moment— tailored for precision and poise, as one might need for fencing or a duel. From her waist trailed a sheer overskirt, its long, translucent fabric flowing behind like a veil of elegance, while the front remained unencumbered for agility.
Her hair, dark as midnight, had been swept back into an intricate updo. Soft waves coiled upward, framing her crown with quiet authority, while a delicate side part allowed gentle strands to cascade into the gathered twist. At the back, the waves folded into a refined bun— a style both disciplined and regal, where every lock seemed deliberately placed. It carried the effortless refinement of nobility, tempered with a strength that did not need to be declared.
.
.
.
She gazed at the sky, her emerald eyes sparkling, but shadows of sorrow darkened their glow— a silent testament to a heart mourning someone gone.
.
.
"Looks like it might rain soon...," she said, her voice calm but hesitant.
.
.
"This weather... it... reminds me the of that... time..."
A sudden knock at the door shattered the quiet.
"Madam Grace, everyone has already gathered, and they're waiting for you," said the man, standing outside the door, his voice carrying the steadiness of experience.
"Alright, I'll be there in a minute. You go ahead and start the preparations," Grace replied, her gaze lingering on the dark, gloomy sky.
"As you wish, madam," the man said with a respectful nod before stepping away.
After staring at the sky for a moment, she turned and walked toward her closet.
Her room was filled with lavish furniture and timeworn antiques. A large bed dominated the space, draped in deep green bedding layered with blankets, each embroidered with intricate designs. on either side, ornate wooden nightstands stood, their carved details catching the faint light of classic lamps that cast a warm, golden glow.
The walls bore a dark, aged stone finish, textured and touched with gothic flourishes. From the ceiling hung a grand chandelier, its flickering flames casting dancing shadows across the room. A massive arched window framed the room, its ironwork patterned with delicate intricacy.
Despite the richness of the décor, the room was dimly lit. The lamps gave only a muted radiance, as if the occupant deliberately shunned bright light.
.
.
She opened her closet and took out a small treasure chest— it's surface made of shimmering blue crystal and gemstone panels, framed in ornate gold. The metalwork was alive with curls, floral motifs, and intricate baroque designs, as though the chest itself guarded a forbidden treasure.
Inside the chest lay a locket— an oval piece of gold, its surface adorned with intricate engravings and a teardrop design that caught the light softly. She held it gently in her left hand, the chest still resting in her right. When she opened the locket, it revealed two tiny portraits of her late parents, their faces captured in quiet warmth and love. For a moment, time seemed to still; her eyes glimmered as she gazed at them, emotion rising gently beneath her calm expression.
"Mother, Father, it's been eight years already. The night feels just like that one— the same gloom, the same stillness," she murmured.
Before she could go on, a soft knock interrupted her thoughts.
"Sister, are you in there?" came a gentle voice from behind the door.
"I am," Grace replied.
"Can I come in?"
"Yeah, come in," she said quietly.
The door creaked open, revealing a thirteen-year-old boy standing in the doorway. Grace quickly slipped the locket back into the chest and returned it to its place in the closet.
He came closer, his steps soft against the floor, and stopped near her. Grace closed the closet gently, then looked at him.
"You came here for something?" Grace asked softly.
"Yes... I wanted to see you," the boy stammered.
Grace smiled "See me? You see me every day."
He blushed. "I know... but it's your birthday. I wanted to see you first.. see how beautiful you look today."
Leaning closer, Grace teased, "And you say that every day. What's different now?
He looked down "It's your coronation. After today, you'll be queen... and busy."
Grace knelt, lifting his chin gently. "Afraid I won't have time for you?"
He nodded.
"Don't worry," she said, smiling. "No matter how busy I get, I'll always make time for you two."
His eyes lit up. "Promise?"
"Promise," she whispered.
She stood, glancing at the door before looking back at him. "Where's Rui? I don't see her."
"She is asleep," he replied.
"Already?" I thoughtshe'dexcited," Grace said, surprised.
"She was... so worked up she just crashed," he smiled.
Grace chuckled. "We should wake her before the ceremony, or she'll be mad."
He nodded, and she took his hand.
They left the room and walked down the corridor. After passing two chambers, they stopped before a massive white door, its surface adorned with intricate golden carvings that gleamed in the light. Two guards stood at either corner, bowing to Grace and the boy. She returned a small boy, and they smiled. Grace grasped the handle, and they entered together.
The room was brightly illuminated, its glistening lights casting a warm, inviting glow— so unlike Grace's dimly lit quarters. The ceiling was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, adorned with intricate plasterwork and delicate reliefs. Arched curves swept gracefully across it, giving the space and airy, majestic feel. At the center hung a grand chandelier, dazzling like a cluster of stars.
The bed stood as the room's crown jewel— a towering four-plaster with finely carved wooden posts. Heavy drapery cascaded its canopy, lending it a regal, almost throne-like presence. Every piece of furniture echoed the same luxury, with ornate carvings and plush velvet upholstery.
Tall windows framed with opulent curtains and tasseled ties let in soft light, while a marble fireplace adorned with gilded details added warmth and grandeur.
The palette of ivory, cream, and gold bathed the room in elegance and brightness— radiant and refined, without the weight of darker tones.
They took a few steps forward and stopped beside the bed.
Lying there was a little girl, about nine years old, fast asleep. The boy stepped closer, reached out his hand, and gently shook her shoulder to wake her.
"Wake up, Miss Ruivienne. Howlongareyouplanningtosleep?" the boy said teasingly.
"Ugh... who's this?" the girl mumbled, slowly opening her eyes too see the boy standing there.
"Oh, Ray— it's you," she said, rubbing her left eye with a small yawn.
"Wait— the ceremony! Is it over already?"
She shot upright and glared at him. "Why didn't you wake me up? I told you to, didn't I?