No matter how badly Isadora treated Liora in the Ravella mansion, she never made it look like that in public. She played the perfect mother like it was second nature. Always smiling, always praising both her daughters equally, always talking sweetly about "her girls" in front of others. But Liora knew the truth. Seraphina knew it too. And because of that, Isadora made sure Liora had the most beautiful dress for her coming-of-age ceremony, custom-ordered from one of the most prestigious boutiques in the capital.
It wasn't love. It was just to keep up appearances. A show.
Even so, Isadora refused to attend the event. Something about coming-of-age ceremonies unsettled her. Perhaps a buried memory, or the ghost of a decision she once regretted. Whatever it was, she turned her back on the ceremony and told the Marquess she'd stay home. He didn't press her.
Liora had no date. No one to accompany her. She wasn't going to ask her father, that man was practically a stranger ever since her mother passed away. Liora had been just eight years old when she lost her, and after that, everything good slowly drained from her life. The few childhood friends she had eventually slipped away, one by one, until only the silence of the estate remained.
Three days before the ceremony, rain brushed softly against the windowpanes. A gentle drizzle, almost shy, coated the mansion in a dim gray light. Inside her room, warm from the crackling fireplace, Liora sat before the tall gold-framed mirror. She looked like a shadow of herself, elegant but withdrawn, the candlelight catching the gold flecks in her brown eyes. Her maid, Lyran, stood behind her, brushing her long black hair with care, her touch gentle and familiar.
"If I find any good man in this ceremony... I can escape from this hellhole, right?" Liora muttered under her breath.
"My lady," Lyran said softly, "it's not about a good man. It's about finding the right one. Someone who respects you. Who sees you."
"Who will see me past the name Ravella?" Liora replied bitterly.
Lyran paused. "Do you believe in soulmates, my lady?"
Liora let out a tired chuckle. "Are you joking, Lyran?"
"When I was your age... I did. I believed I'd find someone who would respect my choice to serve your mother forever. I thought I'd find someone like that. But when Her Grace passed, I realized what my life was really about. You. Taking care of you. But that doesn't mean you won't find someone. Sometimes people appear when you least expect it. Maybe yours will come now."
"What if I don't?" Liora asked, her voice low.
"Then, unlike me, don't just wait. At the ball... talk to people. If someone asks you to dance, speak to them. Look at how they act. What they say. What they want. You might see something others miss."
"I don't even have a date," Liora whispered.
"His Grace might accompany you."
"I don't want Father to take me," she replied without hesitation.
"Then... perhaps you could write a letter to"
"Lyran," she cut in, "how can a lady write a letter asking a man to take her to a ball? That's shameful."
"I'm sorry, my lady," Lyran said, bowing her head as she tied the last ribbon.
What neither of them knew was that someone had been listening.
Seraphina stood quietly behind the slightly ajar door. The hall was cold, the stone floor freezing beneath her bare feet. She didn't move, didn't breathe too loudly. Just listened. Her chest felt tight, like guilt had wrapped around her lungs.
It was her fault. Her mother's fault. Liora was going to that ceremony alone because of them.
Seraphina turned and ran.
Her room was in the east wing, smaller, less grand. It still had the smell of old parchment and burning wood, the scent of simpler days. She slammed the door shut, grabbed a piece of parchment, and threw herself at the writing desk. Wind blew in from the cracked window, brushing her hair into her eyes. Her hands trembled as she dipped the quill in ink.
Before she could start, her eyes flicked to the wall where a single ribbon hung, a memento of the first and only time someone treated her like she belonged.
It was from the tea party.
When Isadora had first become Marchioness, she threw a lavish gathering to prove her new status. Every noble family attended, bringing their children, each of them beautifully dressed, well-mannered, and cruel. Seraphina had stood there in a new dress, looking like a girl pretending to be someone she wasn't. The whispers had followed her everywhere: "The maid's daughter." "Not even real Ravella blood." "She doesn't belong."
At that time, she didn't understand why they hated her.
But there was one boy who didn't look at her like that. Emeric Winvale. The Count's son.
He had walked right up to her and asked, "Do you know sword fighting?"
That was it. That was the start.
They became friends quietly. They exchanged letters a few times. He never treated her with pity. Just curiosity. Like she was just a person. And now... he was the only one she could think of who might be kind to Liora.
"Emeric,
Hey. I know it's sudden and totally out of the blue, but I need a favor. A big one. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important.
It's about Liora. Her coming-of-age ceremony is in a few days, and... she has no one to go with. She's not going to ask anyone. She won't even think about it. But I don't want her to go alone. I just, I want her to feel like she's not invisible. That someone sees her.
If you're free, can you maybe go as her partner? You don't have to do anything fancy. Just don't let her stand there alone
like she's not worth noticing.
Please. Do this for me.
—Seraphina"