"Eva is late, isn't she?" Serena sang as she peeked through the curtain's gap, brown eyes narrowing at the horizon where the sun was beginning to sink.
"She has always been a slow one. But with enough shawls to sell, she should come home with money," Mrs. Crestmont replied without glancing up, folding her newspaper with a sigh and laying it on the table.
"But I'm hungry." Serena puffed her cheeks, curls bouncing about her flushed face. She looked almost cherubic, and as always, Mrs. Crestmont's sternness softened at once. Serena was her jewel, her flawless child.
Her mother's tone gentled. "Evangeline knows the curfew. She knows better than to make us wait."
"Of course, Eve wouldn't let me starve," Serena declared, hopping with excitement. As if on cue, the gate rattled and hurried footsteps crossed the walk.
Eva paused at the door, catching her reflection in the glass of the window. She brushed quickly at her eyes, praying her lids weren't too swollen, then pushed the door open with a brightness she didn't feel. "I'm home, Mama, Serena!"
"You're late, sister!" Serena squealed, rushing forward with her smile wide, only to tip her head mischievously. "Don't you look a little fatter these days?"
"Am I?" Eva asked lightly, though the words sank into her like stones. She set her basket on the table, her lips parting to tell them of her day. "Today—"
"Where is the money, Evangeline?" her mother cut in, voice clipped, eyes already expectant.
The air in Eva's chest hollowed. Still, she fumbled quickly in her pocket and placed the single gold coin on the table, her heart thudding as if she were laying down her own worth.
Mrs. Crestmont's eyes gleamed, lips curving in a rare smile that had not been meant for Eva but for the glitter of gold. Serena squealed with delight, snatching the coin to hold against the candlelight, biting it with triumph.
Eva watched, silent, the sting of tears threatening to rise again. How easily her mother's face could light for gold—or for Serena's cherubic grin—yet never for her.
"It seems the young lady fancied your shawls, Eva," Serena exclaimed, eyes glittering as she twirled with the coin. "She paid a gold piece for just five shawls! If you make ten more, wouldn't that be two golds? That would feed us for a month!"
Just five shawls... Eva's chest tightened. She had worked from dusk until dawn, her fingertips blistered and raw, her eyes burning from sleepless nights. And still she had managed the housework, every chore clocked to perfection.
"I don't think she truly did," Eva murmured, rolling her sore shoulders. "The young lady only called me there to look at them. She stepped on one, and tore the rest apart..."
Serena's brows knitted sharply, and she huffed. "So she called you just to humiliate you? I knew it. Those young Seraphs, always haughty, always proud. Their wings are the only pretty thing about them. I daresay I'm prettier than all of them put together."
Eva almost smiled at her sister's childish bluster, but the ache inside smothered it. If any of the Seraphs had heard that, those creature who was always so proud of their beauty wouldn't take it kindly, she could only hope that Serena would only say such words at home.
"Forget it," Mrs. Crestmont cut in. Eva's heart leapt, perhaps at last her mother would share her anger, her hurt. Perhaps she would defend her.
Instead, her mother only said coolly, "Even if the lady did trample or tear your shawls, what matters is that she paid for them."
The words landed like a stone in Eva's chest. For a moment she could only stare, blank, fighting to hide her disbelief. But this was not the first time her hopes for comfort had been dashed.
All that shame... was it worth so little?
"I worked hard on those shawls," Eva whispered, her hands clasped tight against her breast as if holding herself together.
Her mother's look hardened, edged with annoyance. "You wove them with your hands, Evangeline. Do you think that makes them rare? They could never compare to the garments in Seraph shops. No matter how much you labor over them, they are nothing special. And you must stop behaving as though they are."
"You are... right." Evangeline's voice trembled despite her effort to steady it. Her mother did not notice—blinded by the gleam of the gold coin, marveling over it alongside Serena.
As Eva turned to sit, her mother caught her by the elbow, firm. "You should start the cooking. Your father will be home soon, and you know how he gets if the table is empty." Mrs. Crestmont released her without a second glance, settling comfortably into the chair. Her attention slid back to Serena, her smile softening. "This is a fine chance. We could buy you a proper gown, Serena, so you won't be embarrassed at the party."
The words barely registered at first. Eva tied the frayed apron around her waist and made for the kitchen, her hands moving from habit alone. But the phrase echoed in her ears until she found herself pausing mid-step. "A... party?"
"I forgot to mention!" Serena clapped her hands together, eyes alight. "There was an envelope delivered to us—we've been invited to the castle's ball!" She kicked her feet like a child unable to contain her delight. "Mama, for just this once, may I have the gown we saw at Whitedove Street? The posh shop! The silk one, with the purple sheen."
Mrs. Crestmont shook her head, frowning faintly. "That gown is far too expensive, Serena. Something simpler from the local shop will do."
"But Mama," Serena protested, pouting prettily, "if I don't fit in at the party, won't everyone look down on me? If I'm dressed well, perhaps a wealthy gentleman might court me!"
Hearing that Mrs Crestmont paused. She weighed her daughter's words and thought of how Serena wasn't entirely wrong. Unlike Evangeline, Serena clearly was prettier, the flower of the village and no one would not want to marry her. Many of her suitors comes from a high nobleman class and that could change the fate of Crestmont for good!
Although the price for it was money... if dressed well and Serena caught a good man, wouldn't the wealth they have let go will only double in amount?
"But then we will only be able to buy one gown," Mrs Crestmont said before turning to Eva who had paused at the thought of the party. "Eva as you are the older one, you can give this chance up for Serena won't you?"
"Yes! Sister, just this once, all right? You never care for gowns or parties anyway. And once I become the rich lady of a household, I promise I'll make you live in luxury."
Eva blinked. Gowns, glittering halls, endless chatter—none of it had ever mattered to her.
But if she went to the party... would she see him there?
The thought made her stomach twist. She didn't want him to see her in a plain, ragged dress. Not when he would be surrounded by silk and jewels. And yet, this was always her place, behind Serena's brightness, giving way, yielding.
She had been here before. Again and again.
It was always Eva who was asked to step aside, to silence her own desires for Serena's sake, for the family's sake.
Once, long ago, she had dared to question it— why it was always her who must surrender, always her joy that was treated as expendable. But years of being hushed, dismissed, and bent to another's will had taught her what resistance earned her.
Now, she knew how to bite back the ache, to swallow it until the pain dulled into something almost numb. She knew how to bow her head, how to nod silently, as though it were her choice all along.
Eva could hear Serena and her mother talk about the gown while she continued to prepare the food. In a daze, she had accidentally burnt her own fingers and immediately she pulled her hand to her chest.
A bad premonition creeped to her heart which made her uneasy. Usually whenever she gets burnt, something bad was going to occur.
But perhaps today was different, she convinced herself.
As she moved the pot to the table while her mother and sister still sat in the living room, she could hear the loud thud of the door being opened and her heart began to race.
Those footsteps belonged to her father yet why today felt heavier.. much more filled with anger, and she had heard these multiple times when things didn't go well, when she had made a mistake.
When the door burst open, Eva's lips trembled, fear crossed her eyes when she saw her father's expression full of rage.
"Fathe-" before her words could finish a sharp pain settled on her cheeks. Her face turned itself far to the left and she could only held her cheeks that was still burning from the sharp pain and taste of iron that began to fill her gums.
"Eva! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!"