Chapter 92: The Shape of Stillness
It was a still afternoon in early spring, and sunlight spilled through Ainsley's towering windows like gold - dusted silk, draping the marble floors and antique furnishings in a quiet opulence. The mansion was unusually hushed — no echo of heels on parquet, no rustle of staff behind closed doors, no murmured voices from distant drawing rooms. But the silence wasn't hollow. It was reverent. As if the house itself was holding its breath, cradling something rare and fragile in its timeless bones.
Eva lay curled in the corner of the reading room, her tiny body tucked into the window seat beneath the velvet curtains, a leather-bound book too big for her lap resting atop her knees. She wasn't reading — her lips weren't moving. Her small fingers idly traced the spine, trailing over embossed gold leaf, but her eyes weren't following the text.
They were searching.
Waiting.
She didn't have to wait long. The moment she heard the soft click of low heels on marble, Eva perked up like a blossom toward sun. Her tiny hands slid off the book, and she scrambled upright just in time to see the figure she'd been hoping for enter the room.
Seraphina.
Wearing that long, dark red velvet coat and high boots that clacked gently on the tile, her hair pinned back in a loose knot, strands of auburn escaping at her temples. Eva didn't say anything at first — she simply stared. And then, like a tide drawn back to its moon, she bolted from the window seat and ran into Seraphina's arms.
Seraphina caught her without hesitation, one arm encircling her small waist as the other steadied them both. Eva didn't wait to be lifted. She scrambled upward like she'd done a hundred times, wrapping her legs around Seraphina's waist and arms around her neck, burying her face against the collar of her coat.
"There you are," Seraphina murmured, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. "I wondered where you were hiding."
"I wasn't hiding," Eva whispered against her neck, cheeks warm. "I was waiting for you."
Something in Seraphina's chest pulled taut, like a string caught mid - note. She sat down on the chaise, adjusting Eva in her lap, brushing her hair gently from her face.
"You always wait for me," she said softly. "Even when you know I'll come."
"Because you always do," Eva said, without hesitation. "Always."
Seraphina smiled faintly. "And if one day I didn't?"
Eva's lips pouted. "I'd come find you. I'd follow the sky to you."
Seraphina couldn't reply to that. Not with words. She pulled the girl closer, folding her arms around her like a protective shell. Eva, still so tiny, so impossibly bright with that terrifying purity, just melted into her without resistance.
"I missed you today," Eva murmured.
"You saw me this morning."
"It's not the same."
A silence settled, warm and private. Outside, the breeze made the ivy whisper against the windows, but inside, there was only the sound of breathing — of two hearts moving toward one another without words.
"Eva," Seraphina said quietly after some time, "what are you thinking about right now?"
Eva tilted her head up, her nose nearly touching Seraphina's chin. "That I like you better than anyone."
Seraphina smiled. "Anyone?"
"Yes. Even the stars. Even chocolate. Even that old poem book."
"That's serious."
"I am serious."
"I believe you."
Eva reached up and kissed her cheek, then the tip of her nose. "Do you love me?"
The question was soft, like the flutter of a sparrow's wing, but it landed like an avalanche in Seraphina's chest.
"I do," she answered. "Of course I do."
Eva beamed, that radiant light that seemed to dissolve the walls around people, and she nestled closer, forehead to Seraphina's collarbone. "When I grow up, I'll love you even more."
Seraphina didn't say it — but she thought it.
You don't have to wait. You already do.
That evening, as the house stirred back to life, Vivienne entered the room, halting at the sight before her. Eva was fast asleep on Seraphina's lap, her head tucked under Seraphina's chin, both arms clinging like ivy. Her legs still straddled Seraphina's waist as if she had climbed onto her like a koala and simply fallen asleep there, lips parted in a soft pout, the kind only children and angels wore.
Vivienne raised an eyebrow, one hand going to her hip.
"Well, well," she drawled. "And here I thought we were raising a Ainsley, not a barnacle."
Seraphina glanced up, an amused glint in her otherwise tired eyes. "She had a long day. It wasn't easy for her."
"She's five, love. Her version of a hard day is probably being offered the wrong jam with toast."
"She's sensitive."
"She's yours," Vivienne said knowingly. "And don't think I haven't noticed the way she sticks to you like thread to silk."
Seraphina didn't answer. She just rested her chin atop Eva's curls and closed her eyes.
Vivienne leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. "You know," she added, half - laughing, "her Maman is starting to think you've cast some kind of spell on her."
"I haven't," Seraphina murmured. "She just… sees me."
"She's five."
"She still sees me."
Vivienne softened. She watched the two of them, the way Seraphina never shifted despite sitting in the same position for hours, never once letting the child slip, her arms forming a cradle even in sleep.
"You love her."
Seraphina's eyes fluttered open slowly. "Is that a question?"
"No," Vivienne said. "It's a certainty."
L
Later that night, in the soft stillness of Eva's room, moonlight spilled across the edge of her bed like silk. The walls were lavender - toned, quiet and warm, and the stars on her ceiling glowed gently in the dark.
Eva lay curled beneath her constellation blanket, her fingers clutching the fabric tight. She'd refused to sleep alone, insisting Seraphina stay beside her — no arguments, no compromise.
Just as the light brushed her cheek, she stirred.
Her brow was furrowed, even in sleep. One small hand reached out, searching, until it found Seraphina's.
Only then did she settle.
The air smelled faintly of lavender spray and something sweeter — like the strawberry shampoo Eva always used. It was quiet, but not empty. The room held its breath, as if guarding something precious.
Seraphina didn't move.
She just lay there, holding on. Watching over her.
She wasn't letting go. Not tonight.
"I'm not sleepy anymore," Eva whispered, her voice scratchy with fatigue and dreams.
"Mm, that makes one of us," Seraphina replied, smoothing a hand down her back.
"Will you say something?"
"Like what?"
"Anything. Just you."
Eva thought for a moment, then softly whispered:
Capilli undantes, color autumnalis,
more florum in vento cor meum tangis.
Eva smiled slowly, her face hidden in the curve of Seraphina's neck.
"Wavy hair, autumn's hue," Eva translated, "like flowers in the wind, you touch my heart."
"You made that up."
"I did."
"For me?"
Eva hesitated. "Yes. For you."
Eva kissed her shoulder and snuggled deeper into the crook of her arm.
"I'm going to write one for you too. But better."
"I'm sure you will."
"You'll always love me, right?" Eva mumbled.
"Always."
"Even when I'm older?"
"Especially then."
"Even when I'm grumpy?"
Seraphina smiled. "Yes, even then."
Eva was quiet a moment, her breathing slowing again. Just as Seraphina thought she'd slipped back into sleep, Eva murmured against her skin:
"You're my favorite person. My home. My Ina."
And Seraphina, who had never known what it meant to be someone's home, just closed her eyes and let herself hold onto that.
For tonight, at least.