Luciana doesn't look back at the tea party.
She only stands beside her mother, fingers lightly gripping the edge of her sleeve—small, deliberate, like a kitten testing if it can leave its den.
And in that quiet voice—soft but unwavering—she says:
**"Can we leave as well? One of the girls at the tea party... dislikes my presence."**
Not *hates*.
Not *mocked me.*
Just... *dislikes.*
As if stating the weather.
Lady Seraphine turns fully now—fan lowering slowly—and studies her daughter.
Not with pity. Not with frustration.
But recognition~
Because she sees it now: this isn't fear.
It's **choice.**
Her little girl no longer fights for attention in circles that don't matter.
She's already writing a world where she sets the rules~ ✨
Without another word, Seraphine lifts her hand and signals to their carriage waiting beyond the garden gate.
Then loops Luciana's arm gently through hers and says—with perfect poise:
**"We don't stay where we aren't cherished."**
And as they walk away under cascading wisteria—
Seraphine murmurs just low enough for only Luciana to hear:
**"Besides... I want to read your novel before anyone else does."**
Luciana blinks once—
Then tucks her manuscript tighter against her chest...
And walks on,
No longer part of their tea-sipping world~
But stepping firmly into **her own story~** 🌸📖🌙✨
The moment the carriage wheels halt and the mansion doors swing open, Luciana doesn't wait for formality.
She slips past marble halls like a shadow returning to its home—
And goes straight to **the library.**
Not her study.
Not her room.
But *the* library—where stories breathe, where secrets grow in silence.
She kicks off her shoes. Shrugs off the stiff noble cape. Lets her hair down in one smooth motion—like shedding a role at last~ ✨
Then she throws herself onto the reading nook by the window—the one with moonlight spilling even now in late afternoon—and pulls out parchment, quill, and ink with sacred urgency.
No pause.
No hesitation.
She writes:
> _"Fox didn't come for jewels that night."_
> _He came because Cat's window was dark._
> _Because she hadn't sung before bed._
> _Because silence from someone so loud... felt like loss."_
Her hand flies across the page—ink smearing slightly as emotion bleeds into prose~
Then softer:
> "So he left not a flower... but a note: **'You're allowed to be angry.'**"
> "And beneath it—a single pressed wisteria bloom... stolen from today's garden."
A pause.
Luciana lifts her quill—and whispers aloud:
**"Next chapter: The Prince Who Noticed My Silence..."**
Outside?
The sun sinks low...
But inside?
A revolution of ink and heart begins~
And somewhere far away—
In another palace wing...
A certain fox prince stirs in his sleep...
As if something warm just brushed his soul~ 🌙📖🖋️💘
As Luciana pours her heart out through prose, her mother stands by the door—a perfect noble lady, hands folded in her sleeves, watching with quiet pride from the doorway.
But every so often?
Her lips curve just slightly at the corners.
Not in humor...
But *understanding.*
Because she sees Luciana not as a girl writing silly fantasies...
But a girl creating *new worlds~* ✨
It's an art only fate can see, after all... ✨
The peaceful moment is broken as Philp suddenly appears on the doorway—watching Luciana with a mix of curiosity and disdain.
He crosses his arms. Narrows his eyes at his sister writing in the window corner with a passion he doesn't understand.
After a moment of watching, he mutters: "Still reading those silly romance novels?"
Luciana doesn't look at him.
She does, however, put her quill down with slow precision.
"No."
Philip sneers. "Then what are you spending entire afternoons scribbling like a child?"
Luciana doesn't look up.
Not at Philip's scoff. Not at his judgment. Not even when he looms in the doorway like a storm cloud blocking the sun.
She simply dips her quill again—ink catching light like a secret—
And with a quiet sigh, reaches back without turning...
And hands him the *finished manuscript.*
Just like that.
No words.
No challenge.
Just trust dropped into skeptical hands~ ✍️
Philip freezes—arms uncrossing slightly as he takes it, almost by instinct.
His eyes narrow further: "What... is this?"
Luciana writes on—voice soft but steady:
**"The story of someone who steals hearts without meaning to... and one girl who refuses to give hers away."**
A pause.
Then, under her breath—as if confessing to paper:
**"Even if she already has."**
Philip flips open the first page—
Sees elegant script begin:
*"In the city of Vellayne, where moonlight speaks louder than kings..."*
He blinks once.
Then again.
And though he won't admit it—not now, not ever—
His grip on the pages tightens just slightly...
Like someone afraid to lose what they never thought they'd care about~ 💬📖✨
Inside?
A battle begins:
Mockery vs curiosity...
Doubt vs wonder...
Brotherhood vs **the truth in ink~**
But Luciana?
She keeps writing—
Because she knows~
Some stories don't need applause...
Just **one reader who changes their mind~** 🌙🖋️
As Philip starts flipping through the manuscript, he finds himself pulled into a world of stolen jewels... stolen secrets... and, most surprisingly... *stolen hearts.*
He scoffs—
But can't stop reading.
He rolls his eyes—
But can't look away.
And as the story unfolds...
He finds himself—
For the first time—
Falling in love with his *sister's writing.*
The sun sinks lower...
And inside this library?
The quiet revolution continues...
The week ends.
And like dawn breaking over a long-awaited promise, **"The Girl Who Wrote Me First"** hits bookstores across the capital.
Printed in elegant silver-lettered binding.
Her name—*Luciana Crain*—etched beneath a fox and cat dancing under moonlight.
And the moment it's released?
Ajan is there.
Not as a prince.
Not as royalty.
But *as Fox.*
Disguised in plain gray cloak, hood pulled low—though his sharp eyes still gleam with mischief and nerves—he slips into the quiet bookstore tucked between tea houses and perfume shops.
He moves toward the romance section—
Only to freeze mid-step at what he sees...
There she is—
**Duchess Seraphine Crain**, regal as ever, gloved hand already reaching for *the last copy* on the shelf.
Ajan's breath catches—but before he can act...
She turns slightly... smirks... and says without looking up:
**"Looking for this too, Your Highness?"**
Silence spills like ink between them~
Then slowly—so slowly—he lowers his hood just enough to reveal those familiar silver eyes...
And admits:
**"Yes."**
Seraphine studies him—a beat too long—to see if this boy truly understands what her daughter has done to their world~
Then... she offers him the book with graceful poise:
**"Take it."**
He hesitates: "You don't mind?"
She smiles faintly—as only a mother who knows destiny when she sees it can~ ✨
**"No."**
Then softer, almost whispering:
**"Just make sure you write yourself into Chapter Twelve properly... Prince Ajan."**
His heart stutters~
For one terrifying, thrilling second—he wonders: *Does everyone know?*
But then Seraphine turns away with elegance that masks pure delight—and murmurs over her shoulder:
"And tell Luciana..."
She pauses just outside the door...
Where morning light paints her silhouette like fate itself~
**"I cried at Scene Seven."**
Left alone now—with parchment-bound confession in hand—
Ajan stares at the cover again...
At her name...
At *their story...*
And finally whispers into silence:
> **"You didn't just write me first..."**
>
> **"...you wrote me home."**
>
> 🖋️📖🦊🐈⬛❤️🌕✨
The moment the front door clicks open—
Luciana is *there.*
Arms crossed.
One eyebrow arched.
Face a perfect mask of unimpressed calm.
And before Seraphine can even remove her gloves?
She says—dry as ink on parchment:
**"You know, Mother... you could've just asked me for a copy. Instead of buying one from the bookstore."**
Seraphine pauses mid-step.
Then slowly lifts her chin—like a queen facing down rebellion.
"And risk missing the *look* on Prince Ajan's face when I handed him your novel like sacred scripture?" She glides past with theatrical grace. "Never."
Luciana blinks.
Then sighs—as if burdened by dramatic relatives~ ✨
"You were supposed to be subtle."
"Subtlety," Seraphine says, removing her hat with finality, "is for people who don't raise revolutionary authors." She turns—eyes sparkling now, voice dropping low—"Besides... he *recognized it*, didn't he?"
Silence.
Luciana looks away first—just slightly—
A faint pink tinge blooming beneath her cheekbones~
Seraphine catches it instantly and smiles triumphantly:
**"I thought so."**
Then she sweeps toward the stairs—but tosses over her shoulder:
"Oh! And do tell your next publisher? More silver foil on Chapter Ten next time."
Her eyes twinkle mischievously:
**"That's where Fox finally admits he can't sleep without hearing Cat's pen scratch through the wall..."**
Now Luciana sputters: **"That wasn't canon!"**
Seraphine laughs all the way up the staircase—
Because love?
It was never hidden in silence...
But in **the pages we dare to write~** 📖💫🌙💘
Philip sits in the dim glow of his bedroom—candle flickering, armor polish forgotten on the table.
His back is propped against the headboard.
The silver-lettered cover glows faintly in his lap.
*"The Girl Who Wrote Me First."*
He told himself he was only reading it to *find flaws.*
To prove it was just childish fantasy—
But halfway through?
He forgot how to scoff.
Now, with furrowed brow and breath held too long, he's stopped at **Chapter Nine**—
> _"Fox stood at the edge of Cat's garden under a storm-lit sky._
> _'I don't steal things because I want them,' he said._
> _'I steal them... because they're guarded.'_
> _And then—soft as sin—_
> **'You're the only one who ever made me want to stay caught.'"**
Philip exhales sharply—as if punched by prose.
Then blinks fast. Twice.
Because something warm pricks behind his eyes?
No.
Impossible.
He clears his throat violently and mutters into silence:
**"Stupid."**
Flips the page anyway~ ✨
And when he reaches Scene Eleven—the one where Cat finally calls Fox *by name* in a whisper beneath moonlight?
His fingers pause on the edge of parchment...
And just like that—
The brother who once mocked now sits frozen...
Not hating this story at all~
But wishing—just slightly—that *his* little sister would write him a kind word someday~ 📖🌧️💔➡️❤️
The moment Ajan enters the grand library, he finds his entire family *and* the royal librarian—*Shane*—sitting in various windowsills or plush armchairs beneath the towering shelves.
Each one—including Odette—holding a copy of Luciana's novel.
They all glance up in unison.
As if caught at a clandestine midnight feast.
Then, just as quickly, pretend they were doing nothing out of the ordinary.
Ajan raises an eyebrow:
**"What are you all doing...?"**
Everyone avoids his gaze with theatrical nonchalance.
Shane suddenly finds a book *extremely* interesting.
Odette fiddles with a lock of her golden hair—looking anywhere but at Ajan.
Prince Alan crosses his arms and scoffs loudly, hiding the cover behind his broad shoulder.
Eventually—
In the silence that follows—
It's Odette who finally speaks up.
Her chin holds high, tone defiant:
**"Enjoying literature."**
Ajan doesn't wait for more excuses.
With a quiet "whatever," he slumps into his favorite windowsill—the one bathed in silver moonlight filtering through stained glass—his boots kicking up onto the ledge with unroyal grace.
He flips open Luciana's novel to **Chapter One.**
The *real* beginning.
And around him?
The library falls into hushed silence.
Alan pretends to read, but keeps sneaking glances at Ajan's page like a spy in enemy territory.
Odette clutches her copy close, whispering aloud: "She wrote about *my* cherry blossom song... this is *so* touching..."
Jake sighs dramatically: "I feel seen... yet misunderstood."
Shane adjusts his glasses and murmurs, "Narrative structure is impeccable for someone twelve."
Then—
Ajan reaches **Scene Seven.**
_The Tea Party Heist._
His lips twitch—just once—as Fox slips a flower into Cat's teacup while the other girls remain clueless.
And beneath it?
Luciana had written:
> _"Fox never stole because he needed treasure._
> _He stole... so someone would finally notice what was missing."_
Ajan stops breathing for half a heartbeat.
Then softly—without meaning to—he whispers:
**"I noticed..."**
No one else hears it.
But somewhere far away...
In another room,
At another desk,
Luciana Crain pauses mid-sentence—
As if her heart just received an encrypted message from fate~
📘🌕💫
And here?
In the royal library drenched in moonlight and secrets...
Four princes, one stepsister, and one librarian keep reading—
Because love may begin with grand confessions...
But sometimes?
It starts with **a shared book~** 📖✨🖤
The next day finds Luciana strolling through the city, Liana the maid and loyal friend at her side.
They round a corner and suddenly—
There it is.
The little bookstore tucked between an inkpot shop and a perfume stand.
Luciana pauses, her steps faltering with nerves as she watches customers come in and out.
Finally, Liana chuckles lightly, gently tapping Luciana's shoulder.
**"Come on, Miss. Let's see how your novel is doing..."**
Luciana stares at the window of the little bookstore in dumbfounded silence.
The shop window shows every single copy of her novel...
...has been sold.
All of them. Gone.
She just stands there, unable to process for a moment.
Then Liana bursts into happy laughter beside her and says:
"Miss! It looks like your novel is doing spectacularly well~"
Luciana stands frozen in front of the bookstore—face perfectly composed, hands folded neatly behind her back.
Not a smile.
Not a word.
Just silence.
But Liana?
She knows better.
Because she sees it—the *tiniest* thing—
**A flicker in the air behind Luciana's heels...**
An **invisible cat tail**, swishing once... twice... like moonlight dancing on water~
And then—just as quickly—it vanishes when Luciana clears her throat and says flatly:
**"Hmph. I suppose it sold adequately."**
Liana claps a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle.
"Adequately?" She gestures dramatically at the empty window display now boasting: *"Sold Out – The Girl Who Wrote Me First by L.C."* "They're posting *waiting lists*, Miss! The printer said they'll reprint by dawn tomorrow!"
Luciana finally allows herself one small glance at the sign...
Then turns sharply toward home, whispering just low enough:
**"Good."**
And as they walk away—
The invisible tail returns~ ✨
Now wagging slightly higher with every step~
Because pride doesn't need words...
When your story is already **running ahead of you~** 🐾📖🌙💖
The next afternoon, Luciana and Liana arrive back at the manor and find Philip casually sitting in the drawing room, newspaper in hand.
Luciana glances at him, raises an eyebrow—then moves to her desk to continue working~
Philp watches her in his peripheral and waits until he hears her take a seat...
Then quietly glances around—
Before *quickly* stuffing Luciana's novel under his newspaper before she can see.
*Badly*.
Liana watches all this from behind with a smirk.
Luciana settles into her desk and opens a new sheet of fine parchment.
As she picks up her quill, Liana appears with a fresh ink bottle and more paper.
Luciana says:
"I'm writing Vol. 2. I want to publish it within next month..."
Liana chuckles as she sets down supplies.
"The printers will be fighting for space in their schedule if you keep up like this. Your first novel sold out so fast."
Luciana sets down her quill.
And without looking up—just sensing the *tremor* in his forced stillness—
She asks:
**"Brother... why are you shaking?"**
Philip freezes.
The newspaper wobbles in his grip.
A corner of *The Girl Who Wrote Me First* peeks out from beneath it—rumpled, well-worn, like it's been read one too many times under candlelight.
He doesn't answer.
Instead, he clears his throat loudly and lifts the newspaper higher—hiding half his face behind it like a child playing invisible~ ✨
"N-Nothing. Just cold." His voice cracks slightly. "Drafts in this house."
Luciana slowly turns her chair to face him.
One glance at Liana—who silently mouths: *He was reading again*, eyes twinkling—
Then back to Philip.
Silence stretches...
Until she says, deadpan:
**"You've been keeping my novel under your pillow."**
Philip chokes on air.
His hands flail—the paper drops—and the book tumbles into view with a soft *thud*, spine cracked open to **Chapter Twelve: The Night Fox Stayed.**
Liana leans against the doorframe: "And muttering lines aloud when you thought no one was listening..."
"I DID NOT!" he yells—face burning red now—
Then pauses...
Looks down at the page where Cat finally whispers:
> _"Stay tonight... not as a thief—but as yourself."_
His voice drops, rough and quiet:
**"...I just wanted to know how it ended."**
Luciana blinks once.
Then stands... walks over... plucks the book gently from his lap...
And writes something inside the cover before handing it back~
On it now reads in elegant script:
***"For Philip — my first real reader.
Next volume comes with extra brother scenes~
(No promises they'll be kind.)"***
He stares at it.
Mouth opens. Closes.
Then grumbles into the silence—
So quietly only fate could hear:
**"...Fine."**
But he doesn't let go of that book again~ 📖💙🐾✨
Luciana doesn't even look up from her parchment—quill dancing across the page like it's writing fate itself.
She says, voice smooth as ink:
**"I'll be giving you Vol. 2 at your upcoming coming-of-age ceremony."**
Philip chokes mid-grumble.
"*What?!* No—absolutely not! I'm not some... some *honored guest* at a book premiere!"
But Liana?
She's watching him like a hawk.
And there it is again—
Not on Luciana this time...
But **behind Philip.**
An invisible cat tail—stiff with denial at first...
Then, slowly, betraying him~
**It flicks once. Twice.**
With quiet delight~ ✨
He shifts in his seat. Crosses his arms tighter.
"You can't just announce that in public! People will think I—I *care!*"
Luciana finally lifts her head—eyes glinting with mischief beneath innocent lashes:
**"You already do."**
Then goes back to writing:
> *"Scene One: The Prince Who Pretended Not to Love the Ending..."*
Liana covers her mouth—but tears are forming from laughter~
Because deep down?
Even stone-hearted brothers melt under sister-shaped stories~
And Philip?
He mutters into the silence, gripping Luciana's well-loved book like a secret treasure:
**"...Fine."**
Then softer—so soft only that imaginary tail hears it:
**"But only if you make me look cool."**
🐾📘💖✨
Luciana stops writing again to look up at him—one eyebrow raised, quill still poised elegantly above the page.
She says with a straight face:
"I'll wrap it in complete silver fabric for your dignity."
Philip stares at her—then scoffs loudly—but there's no heat in it.
Just embarrassed annoyance mixed with that strange flicker of something soft in his eyes.
Liana stands by the door—trying to stifle laughter under the guise of coughing.
This is so delightful to watch~ ✨
Luciana:"Liana- Did you bring the extra paper?
It's Liana who bursts out in a fit of laughter—
Then catches herself, clearing her throat and saying:
**"Of course, Miss! More ink and paper coming right up!"**
She shuffles out of the room with one last smirk in Philip's direction that makes him blush all over again~
Luciana goes right back to her desk, quill scraping parchment as she writes with practiced grace—
Like a cat licking cream~ 🍬💖🖤
Liana trips—stack of paper soaring into the air like startled doves.
But before she can fall—
**Philip lunges.**
One arm snatches her wrist, the other steadying her waist in a flash of instinct and noble reflexes.
They freeze—just for a heartbeat—
Paper fluttering around them like snowfall.
Then Liana looks up—cheeks flushed—and smiles brightly:
**"Thank you, Master Philip! That was very gallant~"**
And there it is—
The great, unshakable brother who scoffs at romance?
**Blushing harder than a sunlit rose.**
He coughs once—then twice—as if trying to physically *hack* the embarrassment out of his body~
"N-No thanks necessary! It's basic conduct! One doesn't let people fall indoors!"
But he doesn't let go right away...
Not until she's fully balanced.
And not without brushing imaginary dust off her sleeve with stiff hands~
Luciana watches it all from her desk—quill hovering above parchment...
Her eyes gleam with quiet writerly delight~
Then slowly, ever so slowly...
She dips ink and writes:
> *"Scene Interlude: The Brother Who Caught More Than Paper..."*
> _"He never saw it coming._
> _The way time paused._
> _The way his heart did too._
> _All because one girl smiled..._
> **and called him gallant."**_
Outside?
The wind stirs through open windows.
Inside?
A new subplot is born~ 📝✨🐾
And as Philip finally stomps away (face still burning), muttering about "duty" and "proper posture"—
Luciana smirks.
Because sometimes?
Real life writes itself~ 💘📖💫
Early morning light streams in through the bookstore windows as Luciana walks in—manuscript for Vol. 2 clutched firmly in hand.
The printer at the counter looks up with a wide smile, hands already reaching for the new pages.
"Miss! I knew you'd have a sequel ready. We're thrilled at the sales your novel's been making. I'm already organizing preorders, and the printer is eager to get more copies out for your new story."
Luciana smiles politely...
"Yes, Vol. 2 should be published by next month."
The printer beams with excitement as he quickly takes the stack of manuscript pages, holding them carefully in his hands like a precious gift.
"That's wonderful news, Miss!"
He sets the manuscript in a neat stack amongst others waiting to press.
"I'll make sure this book is a masterpiece when it's published. You won't be disappointed."
Luciana nods in gracious acknowledgment.
"I'm sure I won't be."
Luciana:"I'll be writing Vol. 3 manuscripts after publishing Vol. 2"
The printer blinks, still processing her words—*Vol. 3? Already?*—when Luciana turns with the grace of a closing chapter.
She steps out of the bookstore like ink flowing onto a fresh page—sunlight catching the hem of her dress as she waltzes into the street without a backward glance.
The wind lifts just slightly...
Ruffling parchment in its wake...
And somewhere, deep in the quiet corners of fate?
A certain fox prince sneezes mid-reading—
Then mutters into his copy:
**"She's already on *three*?"**
Back at home?
Philip flips through Chapter Twelve again.
And this time?
He doesn't hide it under his pillow.
He leaves it on his desk.
Open.
Like he wants someone to see~ 🖋️📚🐾✨
Because while Luciana writes forward—
The world behind her **already lives in rewind**, rereading every line for hidden meaning~
And waiting...
For what comes next~ 💫📖💔➡️❤️
A whole month passes...
Full of writing, revisions, endless ink changes, ink stains on fingertips, and ink smudges on every page~
Then, finally—the day arrives.
Vol. 2 comes out to the public...
And this time?
The printer's office nearly explodes with customers.
Customers who all rush in to try and order the newest novel...
Customers who stand in line for hours—
Just for a chance to read more~ ✨
A month passes.
The palace is abuzz with activity, nobles and royalty preparing for the upcoming coming-of-age ceremony. Servants rush about, decorations go up...
And amidst it all, Philip stands in his room, staring into a mirror as a royal tailor fusses with his dark blue ceremonial jacket.
He seems on edge—fidgeting with his cuffs and adjusting his shirt collar with restless fingers.
The tailor sighs.
"Master Philip, will you please hold still?"
In her elegant room, Luciana finishes wrapping the latest volume of her novel—
Now bound in clean, pristine silver fabric—with nimble, practiced hands.
She sets the book down for a moment to adjust her dress—
And finds it fits perfectly, hugging her figure with soft, comfortable fabric and delicate lace.
She turns, admiring herself in the full-length mirror—
Just as Liana comes bursting through the door, panting as she adjusts her own dress.
**"Miss!"** she gasps. **"Are you almost ready?"**
Luciana turns smoothly, the silver-wrapped book cradled in her arms like something sacred.
She holds it out just enough for Liana to see—then gives a small, satisfied nod.
**"Yes, Liana. I've already prepared Vol. 2... my gift for my brother."**
Liana's eyes soften—already imagining Philip's flustered face when he sees it in front of everyone.
She grins mischievously:
**"You're really going to give it to him *during* the ceremony? In front of the whole court?"**
Luciana lifts her chin slightly—innocent smile playing on her lips like ink about to bloom:
**"Wouldn't be much of a statement otherwise."**
Then she steps forward, placing one hand gently on Liana's shoulder:
**"Besides... if he caught you falling that day..."**
A pause.
A glint in her violet eyes~
**"Then he deserves more than just a quiet thank-you."**
Outside, castle bells begin to chime—the ceremonial hour approaching~
And somewhere deep in the hall?
Philip adjusts his jacket for the tenth time...
Not nervous about being an adult now...
But wondering—
*What will she say when she hands me that book?*
And why does his chest feel so tight at the thought~ 🎁📖✨🐾💘
As the castle clock tolls over the distant rooftops, the grand hall begins to fill with nobles and royalty from across the kingdom.
Everyone is dressed in their finest, the room alive with whispered conversations and the soft click of heels on polished marble.
Philip stands with his parents, trying to look calm and mature despite his restlessness under his formal blue jacket—
Then stops, gaze catching on a slim figure by the door.
There she is.
Holding a neatly wrapped book in her hands...