"Come now, my lady, the morning sun will not wait for us," said Elys with a gentle smile, her wrinkled hands smoothing the folds of a deep crimson gown laid neatly upon the bed. The old maid's voice carried both care and patience, the kind that Amara had known since childhood.
Amara sat before the tall bronze mirror, the light of morning spilling softly through the window. Dust motes danced in the golden air, and outside, the faint melody of lutes from distant streets echoed through the city. The scent of blooming lilies, gathered fresh from the courtyard garden, filled the room.
Elys brushed Amara's long black curls carefully, each strand shining like silk beneath the sunlight. "You've grown into such grace, my lady. Were your mother here, she would have been proud."
Amara smiled faintly at her reflection, her soft gray eyes carrying the calm of morning dew. "You always say that, Elys," she replied kindly.
"And I'll say it until I can no longer speak," Elys chuckled, fastening the final ribbon at Amara's back.
The gown shimmered as Amara stood. It was a deep scarlet trimmed with gold thread, the kind worn by noble families during market days. A thin veil rested upon her shoulders, flowing like pale smoke when she moved. On her neck hung a delicate chain with a small silver moon pendant her mother's last gift.
"Will this do?" she asked, turning lightly.
Elys nodded proudly. "You'll outshine the sun itself, my lady."
With that, they stepped out of her chambers. The hallways of the Aurelia manor stretched wide and grand marble floors gleamed, tall columns lined the corridors, and sunlight spilled through colored glass windows depicting the city's ancient founders. Servants bowed as Amara passed, their voices murmuring, "Good day, my lady."
Once outside, a soft breeze touched her face. The scent of fresh bread and roasted herbs drifted from the lower streets. The city of Veyra, her home, was alive. Stalls filled the square with laughter and color, the chatter of merchants and the creak of wagon wheels blending into a melody of daily life.
Amara met her two closest friends near the old fountain at the center of the market. Clara, a bright-eyed girl with chestnut hair, and Elene, who wore a violet dress that matched the flowers woven into her braid.
"Amara!" Clara waved eagerly. "You're finally here! We thought your father would keep you trapped in that grand house forever."
Amara laughed softly. "He tried, but I told him I needed to see what the world looks like beyond polished floors."
Elene giggled. "Then let's make sure you see every dusty corner of it."
They linked arms and began their walk through the lively streets.
The market stretched far and wide banners of red and gold fluttered overhead, children ran with sticks pretending to be knights, and the air was thick with the smell of spices, sweet fruits, and baked pies cooling on wooden tables. Blacksmiths hammered metal in rhythm nearby, sparks flashing like fireflies.
They passed a group of street performers juggling and playing flutes. Clara tossed them a silver coin, clapping as the men bowed dramatically.
"Did you hear," Elene whispered as they continued walking, "that Lord Halden's son was caught sneaking into the west garden again?"
Clara gasped. "With Lady Mirelle?"
"The very same," Elene smirked.
Amara chuckled at their whispers, covering her mouth with her hand. "You two speak of others more than bards sing of kings."
"Oh, come now," Clara teased. "It's our way of keeping the city interesting."
They stopped by a stall selling glass trinkets that caught the light beautifully. Amara picked up a small glass moon and smiled faintly at how it glimmered in her palm. For a moment, she thought of the clock tower in her dreams — its cold chime and pale moonlight.
"Amara?" Clara called. "Are you well?"
She blinked, hiding her unease with a smile. "Yes, just lost in thought."
They continued their stroll, stopping at a baker's stand where the scent of honey and cinnamon filled the air. They each shared a pastry, laughing as crumbs fell on their dresses.
"Do you think the rumors about the old clock tower are true?" Elene asked as they ate. "They say when it strikes midnight, it calls out to those destined by fate."
Amara froze for a heartbeat, the image of the clock's frozen hands flashing in her mind. "Rumors often carry more fear than truth," she said softly.
"Perhaps," Clara said. "But some truths are born from rumors."
Their laughter soon returned, chasing away the unease. As the sun climbed higher, the streets glowed golden. The bells of the city chimed from a distance not the eerie tone of her dreams, but a soft melody of life continuing.
By the time the afternoon waned, Amara felt both peace and a quiet tug in her chest as though the ticking of some unseen clock was waiting for her to listen.
After hours of laughter and walking through the crowded market, Amara and her friends wandered into the quieter streets of the city. The sound of merchants faded behind them, replaced by the distant hum of birds and the faint strum of a lute from an open window. The cobblestone path glowed faintly beneath the light of afternoon, and the air smelled of parchment, ink, and dry paint.
"This way!" Clara said, her voice filled with excitement. "They say the Academy of Arts just opened its exhibition today! And Amara—you must come, there's someone you'll want to see."
"The Academy of Arts?" Amara asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes," Elene replied, practically bouncing with energy. "It's where the most talented artists in Veyra are trained. My cousin said a young man there paints like the gods themselves. They say nobles are already offering to buy his work!"
Clara leaned close, whispering dramatically, "And they say he's… terribly handsome. A noble by birth. The perfect kind of man that could make any maiden sigh."
The girls giggled, their voices echoing down the stone road.
Amara smiled faintly, though her curiosity stirred. "You sound like you're describing a fairytale hero," she said, her tone teasing.
Clara grinned. "Perhaps! But I'll believe it when I see it."
The Academy stood at the far edge of the district, surrounded by white stone arches and flowering vines that climbed its walls. Statues of poets and painters stood guard near the entrance, their marble faces serene and timeless. Through the open courtyard, sunlight spilled across canvases displayed on easels. The smell of oil paint and wood shavings filled the air, and the soft sound of brushes against canvas echoed from nearby rooms.
Everywhere, students moved quietly, their fingers stained with color. The walls were decorated with portraits of kings, gods, and forgotten lovers paintings so vivid they almost seemed alive.
"This is where brilliance begins," Elene whispered in awe. "Imagine, to see your name written here one day…"
Clara twirled, pretending to pose like one of the painted women. "I'd rather have my face on a painting than my name!"
Amara laughed softly, watching her friends with fondness. The lightness of their joy made her heart warm.
But as they wandered deeper into the courtyard, her gaze was drawn elsewhere past the laughter, past the art, toward something quiet.
A great tree stood beyond the marble archway at the edge of the courtyard. Its leaves shimmered gold beneath the sunlight, and each branch swayed gently as though it were breathing. The sight caught Amara's breath it was simple, yet unspeakably beautiful.
She stepped closer, drawn by a feeling she could not name. The wind carried the faint scent of lilacs and paint. Her footsteps slowed when she noticed a small open door nearby. Through the gap, she saw a room filled with light.
Inside, the air was thick with the smell of turpentine and fresh pigment. Canvases leaned against the walls some half-finished, others breathtaking in detail. Scenes of skies, faces, and dreams she couldn't describe filled the room like silent stories.
Then she saw him.
A man sat before a canvas near the window, brush in hand. His posture was relaxed, as though he had been working since dawn. His shirt was white, sleeves rolled to his elbows, faint smudges of paint marking his skin. His hair, dark and unkempt, fell slightly over his forehead. The sun touched his bronze skin, outlining the curve of his jaw and the sharp lines of his face.
But it was his eyes that held her still deep brown, sharp yet distant, like someone who had seen too much and forgotten how to rest.
He was painting the sky.
Amara's heart beat faster as she stepped closer to the door, unable to look away. The sound of her friends' chatter faded behind her. The world outside that moment disappeared, leaving only the warmth of light, the scent of paint, and the slow motion of his hand as he brushed the canvas.
Then, as though he had felt her gaze, he lifted his head.
Their eyes met.
The man set his brush down slowly, his gaze fixed on her. His expression was unreadable at first blank, distant, like a soul lost in memory. Amara froze, the sunlight between them glimmering softly like a veil.
For a long second, no one spoke. Only the faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the hall could be heard.
Then—
"Amara!" Clara's voice rang from behind. "There you are! Come, we've found the gallery hall!"
Amara blinked, startled. The spell was broken.
But before she could turn away, she noticed something change the man's gaze softened. His eyes, once empty, now held something gentle… something familiar. He didn't smile, but the warmth in his look said enough.
She hesitated, her heart strangely heavy.
"Amara, hurry!" Elene called again, laughing.
She turned quickly, forcing a small smile as she walked away, her pace fast though her mind lingered behind.
When she looked back one last time through the corner of her eye, he was still watching her. But now, the sunlight caught his face in such a way that his eyes no longer seemed hollow they glowed, gentle and almost… kind.
Amara didn't know why, but her chest felt tight as she rejoined her friends.
And far behind her, inside the quiet room, the man Severin looked down at his unfinished canvas. The sky he had been painting now held the faint, soft outline of a woman standing beneath a golden tree.