Chapter 100: Luminaria
Eva wrote it with ink made of violets and crushed blackberries.
The parchment was thick and textured, a creamy ivory that had been tucked away in a mahogany drawer of the Langford study for years. Eva asked for it specifically — "the paper that smells like old stories," she called it.
She was perched at the window seat in her music room, legs folded beneath her, curls unbrushed and wild with the bloom of inspiration. Morning light slanted through the glass in soft golden bands, catching the flecks of ink that dotted her fingertips. Her lips moved silently, reciting the words again and again until the syllables fell like sacred things.
"Te volo sicut stellae noctem,
Non ut lumen, sed ut forma somnii."
I want you like stars want the night,
Not as light, but as the shape of dreaming.
She scribbled furiously, then paused.
Tilted her head.
Rewrote the final line.
Then pressed a kiss to the page.
"For Yue," she whispered. "For Ina. My moon in the marrow."
Downstairs, a quieter conversation unfolded over tea.
Vivienne poured chamomile into Evelyn's favorite porcelain cup, the one with the hand - painted violets, and took her seat beside her in the sunroom. For a moment, they said nothing, simply listening to the faint sounds of Eva's L•••• muttering echoing down from the rafters.
"She's writing again," Evelyn said softly, fingers curling around the warm cup. "Third poem this week. I think she's avoiding us."
Vivienne chuckled. "She's not avoiding you. She's avoiding the memory of that playdate."
Evelyn's face fell. "Was it too much?"
"Yes," Vivienne said, blunt as always but gentle with it. "But not malicious. Just… pressure in too many soft places."
"I only wanted her to experience something outside of that constant orbit around Seraphina. The way she looks at her — like a priestess at a shrine. It's too intense."
"It is intense," Vivienne agreed. "But it's her. She was born with a symphony in her chest and no rest until it's played. We can't ask her to mute it just because it frightens the room."
"I just don't want her to be lonely."
"Then don't teach her that she's broken for feeling things the way she does."
Evelyn exhaled slowly, then turned to Vivienne with the ghost of a smile. "You're wise for a painter."
"And you're soft for a doctor."
Vivienne reached over and laced their fingers together.
Upstairs, a thud echoed. Probably Eva throwing herself on the rug again.
"We should talk to her," Evelyn murmured. "Really talk. Not to guide her away from who she is — but to promise we see her. That we love her, not in spite of the strangeness, but with it. Because of it."
Vivienne nodded. "Yes. And soon."
Then, more quietly: "She called me 'mere' yesterday. Just slipped out."
Evelyn blinked.
"She's never done that before," Vivienne continued, smiling faintly. "I didn't correct her."
"She told me last week she wished we were both her mothers."
A pause.
Then Eva's voice, carried faintly through the walls: "Yue, ego te volo semper…"
"I think," Evelyn said, cheeks suddenly tinged rose - petal pink, "our daughter is trying to raise us."
Vivienne leaned closer, smirking. "Then let's give her the wedding she's secretly planning for us."
Evelyn flushed deeper. "You think she's planning a wedding?"
"I caught her sketching rings in the margins of her poetry book."
"God help us."
*****
They found her curled up like a cat beneath the piano.
Parchment scattered around her like autumn leaves, some smudged with berry ink, others crumpled in creative despair.
"Eva," Evelyn said gently. "Can we talk, darling?"
Eva peeked out from under the bench, eyes bright with the kind of panic that only children with secrets possess. "Am I in trouble?"
"Not at all," Vivienne said, crouching beside her. "We just wanted to say… we're proud of you. You've been so brave."
Eva sat up slowly, clinging to her latest poem like a talisman. "Even though I don't like playing with the others?"
"Especially because of that," Evelyn said. "You tried. You were kind. You opened a door. And then you listened to yourself when it didn't feel right."
Vivienne added, "That's strength, little one. Not weakness."
Eva blinked.
Then she bolted forward and kissed Evelyn's cheek, then Vivienne's.
"Thank you, Maman . Thank you, mère. I love you both so much I think I'll burst." "I wish papa loves me too"
Vivienne's eyes shimmered.
Evelyn wrapped her arms around her daughter.
Then, giggling, Eva added, "mère, I wish you were my real other mama. Not just my almost. You and maman should get married. Again. For me. Then go on a honeymoon and kiss a lot. Like in stories."
"Like what we played before"
Evelyn groaned and buried her face in her hands, blushing crimson.
Vivienne raised an eyebrow and leaned toward her wife. "We should get married again. Vow renewal. Matching suits. I••••?"
"Vivienne—"
She smirked and whispered in her ear, "And a new honeymoon, this time without a baby monitor and three missed calls."
Eva grinned. "I heard that."
The garden was full of bees and quiet.
Seraphina sat cross - legged beneath the old elm with her laptop open, textbook propped on one knee, and glasses slipping slowly down her nose.
She didn't hear Eva approach until she felt hands tugging at her scarf.
"Ina."
She looked up and nearly laughed.
Eva stood in her ruffled blue dress, hair a chaos of curls, cheeks flushed with sunlight and mischief.
"You're supposed to be doing your L•••••," Seraphina said.
"I am doing L•••••. I wrote you a masterpiece. Want to hear it?"
Seraphina closed her laptop. "Of course."
Eva cleared her throat and knelt dramatically beside her, eyes shining like polished quartz.
She recited:
"Si unquam crescam,
Te ducere volo in solem—
Ubi flores cantant
Et luna ridet nobis.
Ego sum tua,
In verbo, in tactu,
In omnes res invisibiles.*"
If I ever grow up,
I want to marry you in the sunlight—
Where flowers sing
And the moon laughs with us.
I am yours,
In word, in touch,
In all invisible things.
Seraphina didn't speak for a moment. Just stared at her.
Then: "You're five."
"And a half," Eva said, proud.
"You can't propose to someone while they're in mid - study exams."
Eva crawled into her lap anyway.
"I don't care about exams. I care about you. And your tea. And your scarf. And the way you say my name when I'm sad."
Seraphina smoothed her curls. "You're going to break hearts one day."
"I already have," Eva declared. "I broke mine every time you left."
Seraphina kissed her forehead. "You are the most dramatic moonbeam I've ever met."
Eva curled closer, whispering into her neck, "Promise you'll wait to marry me until I'm at least thirteen."
Seraphina laughed. "We'll talk again when you're sixteen."
Eva huffed. "Fine. But I get to kiss your cheek once a week for practice."
"You already do."
"Well, now it's official."
*****
Vivienne and Evelyn sat on the porch swing, wine glasses in hand, watching the stars peek through the lavender dusk.
Inside, Seraphina was curled on the couch with Eva asleep on her shoulder, their limbs tangled like ivy. A half - read poetry book balanced on the armrest beside them.
"She's different now," Evelyn said quietly. "More herself again. But also… sharper. Brighter."
"She feels safe," Vivienne replied. "She knows we won't try to edit her soul."
Then she turned to Evelyn, smirked, and added, "So when are we telling her we're renewing our vows?"
Evelyn choked on her wine.
Vivienne grinned. "She already made a playlist. There's a waltz. And cake tiers drawn in her notebook."
"I suppose we're just passengers on the SS Eva now."
Vivienne clinked her glass against Evelyn's. "And what a captain she is."
Inside, Eva stirred in her sleep, whispering in a slur of L•••• and E••••••.
"Ina… te volo… luna…"