The Moonlight Merchant was never meant to be a home, but it was the closest thing Rossetta and Marian had between their wanderings.
After weeks of quiet rest in its hidden floors, the time came again to vanish—to fold themselves into new lives and let the world believe they were nothing more than ordinary women. It was the only way for those cursed never to age.
A decade in one place, no more. Then another mask, another hearth, another village to slip into like ghosts.
The next destination was a modest village nestled in the shadow of a distant count's lands. There, Marian was taken in as a gardener, her gentle hands welcomed among roses and wild thyme. She worked beneath the sun with a smile, weaving her care into vines and soil, until even the most stubborn flowers leaned toward her touch.
Rossetta, ever the shadow, played her role as Marian's elder sister—a fragile soul who was often "ill," kept inside to embroider, write letters, and serve as companion. It was the story they wove, a mask that let them blend into mortal rhythms.
For ten long years, they lived as such. Marian tended the count's gardens until they flourished, and Rossetta, from her seat by the window, watched her ward bloom in ways she never thought possible. Sometimes, in the silence of her room, Rossetta caught herself smiling. Marian's laughter had that effect—it made her forget, for a moment, that she had sworn never to trust again.
But even the gentlest roots cannot anchor forever. After their decade, they left as quietly as they had come, the garden behind them still radiant, though its keeper was gone. Their names faded into whispers. Their faces blurred into memory.
The next stop was another estate—this time under a count who prided himself on old riches and louder feasts. But fortune was a fickle thing. Within five years, the household fell into ruin. Debts spread faster than vines, and the grand mansion with its stone walls crumbled into silence. Servants were dismissed, fields left barren. Marian and Rossetta departed early, moving on before the decay touched them.
It was then, by chance or by fate, that an opportunity opened. A newly appointed baron, young and eager to plant his own legacy, announced positions in his household.
Through the Moonlight Merchant's quiet network, Marian was accepted again as a gardener. Her reputation, though carefully obscured, was carried forward by whispers of her skill—how flowers bent toward her hands, how gardens seemed to breathe brighter where she walked.
For Rossetta, the baron's mansion was merely another hiding place, another decade borrowed from the ticking clock of suspicion. For Marian, however, it was soil yet untouched, waiting for her to coax it into bloom.
And so, the cycle continued. Another mask. Another garden. Another chapter in their endless wandering.
For it was not where they stayed that mattered—it was the act of staying together, of surviving side by side. In every village, in every estate, they planted not just roots in soil, but in each other. And no matter how often they moved, that bond was the one thing that never needed to be hidden.
Luke caught sight of Marian leaving the house, her apron dusted with soil and her hair carrying the faint scent of herbs. Concern lingered on his face.
"How's your sister?" he asked gently, lowering his voice.
"Rossetta… is she all right? She fainted yesterday, and she looked like she was suffering."
Marian paused, then offered him a reassuring nod, her smile warm but practiced.
"She's fine now. This happens to her from time to time—nothing to trouble yourself too much over."
Luke frowned, unease still etched in his brow.
"Still… is it safe to leave her alone after what happened?"
At that, Marian chuckled softly, a light sound that carried both amusement and something almost wistful. To her, it was oddly sweet—the thought of her cold, distant sister somehow drawing the genuine worry of a stranger.
Before she could answer, another young man approached, clapping Luke's shoulder with casual curiosity.
"What incident?"
Luke hesitated, his gaze flickering to Marian. It wasn't his story to tell. What had happened yesterday felt too personal, too private, for him to speak of.
So Marian stepped in, her voice calm and composed, carrying just enough truth to hide the deeper wound.
"My sister collapsed yesterday," she explained with a smile.
"She tends to push herself too hard. But thanks to Luke's quick response, we managed to get her to bed and let her rest."
The words slipped easily, a shield crafted from half-truths. To the villagers, Rossetta's sudden fainting would be nothing more than the flare of an incurable sickness. A weakness in the body, not a mark of sorcery. After all, who could imagine a witch—creatures whispered to wield endless power—suffering as any frail human might?
That impossibility was their cover. And Marian, with steady voice and kind smile, made sure no one ever questioned it.
"By the way," the newcomer said with an easy grin, "I'm Frank. I actually saw your sister yesterday, tending the plants while some kids whispered nonsense around her. Do you think that's why she fainted? Stress, maybe? Ugh—if I find those brats, I'll spank them myself."
Marian couldn't help a soft laugh.
"Don't worry about it. Even without the neighbors' scorn, she's bound to feel pain… even while doing nothing at all. Let the children be children—it's normal for their imaginations to run wild. That's part of the fun of being young." She dipped her head politely.
"But I must excuse myself. Today is my first day at work, and I shouldn't be late."
Luke raised an eyebrow, glancing at Frank. "Aren't you supposed to be working too?"
Frank scratched the back of his head sheepishly, his grin faltering.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. I should get going." He shuffled back a step, then lifted a hand in farewell.
"See you around—ahhh… what was it again?"
"Marian," she supplied with a smile.
"Right—Marian." He gave a clumsy wave before jogging off down the road.
Luke, more composed, inclined his head in parting.
"Take care on your first day."
"Thank you," Marian replied warmly.
With that, they each went their separate ways—Luke down the cobblestone street, Frank vanishing in his careless stride, and Marian toward the gardens where her new work awaited.