Evangeline, unaware of the flicker that had passed across Serena's face, busied herself with setting the bowls back on the table. When she noticed her sister still sitting stiffly, she gave her a gentle nudge.
"Was there something you wanted to tell me?"
Serena startled, then smoothed her expression into a practiced smile. She folded her arms against her elbow in a girlish pose, hiding the shadow of her earlier thoughts.
"I want to bring you to buy the dress."
Her voice faltered, though, and she exhaled with a sigh, already anticipating their mother's protests. "It's alright... I won't be going to the party."
"Of course you will!" Serena replied quickly, almost too brightly. "Papa even agreed."
At those words, Eva's heart fluttered. Could it be? Did this mean her father had forgiven her after all the whispers? That he believed her, perhaps even wanted her to enjoy herself at the grand party? For a fleeting moment, hope bloomed in her chest.
But then Serena went on, her tone casual, oblivious to the weight her words carried.
"Papa was worried there'd be no one to protect me if I went alone, so they've decided to bring you with me. Of course, you won't be dancing, but it should be enough for you to enjoy the party by watching it, right?"
The world seemed to tilt. Eva wasn't sure what expression crossed her face, only that her lips moved on their own, shaping the answer they expected of her.
"Yes."
That evening at dinner, her father boasted of his day with smug laughter, her mother gossiped with sharp delight, and Serena chattered endlessly about fabrics and ribbons. Their voices filled the room with warmth and life, yet Eva felt none of it. Instead, she stared down into the thin broth of her soup, her reflection rippling faintly across its surface.
Would there ever be someone who looked at her—truly her—and chose her first? Not for duty, not for appearances, not as an afterthought or a shadow to another. Someone who would see her, claim her, and not let go.
That was all she had ever yearned for.
Four days later, the rundown wagon rattled along the cobblestones toward Whitedove Street. Serena practically vibrated with excitement beside her, while their mother sat upright with a hawk-like gaze, already rehearsing the sort of noble airs she wished to wear before the tailor.
When they descended from the wagon, Serena gasped in delight at the display. Elegant gowns shimmered on polished mannequins in the shopfront, each one whispering of wealth and grandeur. Eva, meanwhile, had just finished paying the wagon four copper and thanking the coachman before her gaze caught not by silk but by the street itself— by the cloaked figures who passed.
The Seraphs.
Though their wings were hidden beneath long dark cloaks, the way they carried themselves betrayed of the ethereal beauty they possess. They cast brief, disdainful glances toward her and her family, their expressions curling with barely veiled distaste at the sight of humans of such low standing daring to step into a posh tailor's shop.
She had heard how Seraphs are easily the most jealous creature on earth and they didn't quite love to see humans being on their happiest moment and Serena as well as her mother's reaction had caused such a stir on the road.
"The purple one! I heard men admire women in purple, Mama. Purple speaks of wealth, elegance, and unattainable beauty," Serena whispered eagerly, her finger pressed against the glass where the gown shimmered under the lantern light.
"For today, you can choose the best gown, Serena! In a week, that gown will make you the most radiant lady at the party," Mrs. Crestmont marveled, her grin stretching so wide it nearly split her cheeks. Pride swelled in her voice, loud enough for anyone passing to hear.
Eva, however, felt the burn of eyes on them. The Seraphs who lingered outside, cloaks draped heavy over their hidden wing, had slowed their steps, their gazes sharp and narrowing, dripping with disdain. Her stomach twisted. She leaned forward and spoke in a low, careful voice, breaking her silence of days.
"We might have to ask whether they would even sell the gown to us."
Her mother turned to her at once, sighing as though already exhausted by her presence. "We have the money. Why wouldn't we be able to buy it?"
Eva hesitated, lowering her voice further, "The tailor is a Seraph. They... don't like selling to humans."
But Mrs. Crestmont only snapped, her words sharp enough to cut. "You don't know that. No one in this world turns away money. Don't speak as though you know everything when you're still just a child."
Stung, Eva pressed her lips together, swallowing the words that rose in her throat. Serena sighed with a light laugh, her eyes still fixed on the dress. "Sister, you are always so paranoid of the Seraphs."
Paranoid. If only it were paranoia. But Eva had seen it too many times: the looks, the way doors closed when she knocked, the subtle sneers when she carried her woven goods from house to house. She knew better.
Her mother, however, brushed her off with a huff. "Such a nosy child."
Without another glance at her, Mrs. Crestmont swept forward, pushing the heavy wooden door open. The hinges groaned with a long creak, and the golden bell above jingled a thin, crystalline chime that announced their intrusion.
Eva lingered a step behind, her chest tight as she followed into the perfumed air of the shop. Rich fabrics in jeweled hues lined the walls, shimmering under chandeliers of cut glass. But she felt none of the beauty— only the tension in the air, like a current waiting to snap.
Her mother's smile beamed bright as she marched toward the counter, radiating the false warmth she wore in noble company. "I would like to try the purple gown you've displayed in the window," she declared, her voice too cheerful, too eager. "The one you've so proudly showcased."
Eva's eyes strayed to the corner, where a Seraph tailor gathered gowns discarded by the noble ladies and set them carefully back on their racks. She turned with a wide, polished smile for the room— until her gaze fell upon Mrs. Crestmont.
Her eyes skimmed over the muddy hem of the brown dress, the scuffed shoes, the ordinary face without a Seraph's sculpted beauty or wings. The smile withered, replaced by a stare so frigid it froze the air between them.
Her answer was a single word, clipped and merciless. "No."
The answer cracked like a whip. Her mother faltered, still holding her breath as though she hadn't heard right. Serena blinked, her hand hovering in the air, their expression was frozen in time, their shock was something that Eva had expected but they didn't.
They weren't used to this. Not the weight of eyes that dismissed them as dirt. Not the treatment that made them small, unwelcome, and laughable simply for daring to enter.
"W– what did you say?" her mother tried, her voice shrinking despite the false bravado.
Serena, braver or simply naïve, stepped forward. "How could you say that? We're here to try the gown! You can't turn down a customer just by looking at them!"
"Customer?" The clerk's violet eyes swept them from head to toe, shrinking them with the gesture alone. A murmur rippled through the shop. In panic, Eva watched Serena smooth her hair with trembling fingers, trying to patch together dignity from nothing.
The Seraph's voice cut through again, mockery drenching her words maliciously, "We don't serve you. No— let me be clearer."
A thin smile curved her lips, cruel and amused. "We don't serve peasants. Especially not human peasants. Who knows what filth you'd smear into our gowns? Or worse—you might simply steal them. And tell me—if that happened, what could you possibly do to pay for it?"
Clatters of laughter echoed from the back and only then did Evangeline noticed the presence of young ladies that had gathered at the soft red plush chairs in the middle of the shop, daintily holding to their teacups and watched them with sneers and laughter.
They were all the same ladies from the green house and the head of those ladies, Lady Anny was seeing her with a smile, delighted at how her family was being mocked.
"Mama—" Eva tried to cut in, desperate to stop the spiral of humiliation. Surely there were other shops where they could buy a gown without bearing this shame. Poverty was not a sin, nor had it ever been a choice.
But before she could say more, Serena's hand shot forward toward the purple gown in the window. Her voice rang out, bold and furious. "How dare you! You're nothing but a clerk in this shop! You don't decide who may buy and who may not!"
"Serena!" Eva seized her sister's wrist, her face draining of color. The mere thought of Serena yanking the gown filled her with dread. To challenge a Seraph so openly was madness. A few lashes across the back, yes—that was punishment enough for the bold. But those who dared to defy Seraphs outright... sometimes their bodies swung from the gallows.
Before the clerk could snap back, a new voice sliced through the tension. "What is this commotion?"
The words stilled the room. Eva turned to the door.
A tall man stood framed in the doorway, red hair glinting like fire beneath the shop's lanterns, his blue eyes so bright they seemed almost translucent. The upward taper of his ears betrayed his kind, even with his wings folded away. Cold authority radiated from him, heavy and suffocating, as if he had carried winter itself into the shop.
Eva's gaze caught on the black rose pin at his chest—set precisely, worn with the pride of a crest. Something about it sent unease curling through her stomach, though she could not say why.
"Sir Kyle!" The Seraph tailor hurried forward with a bow. "You've come for the Lord's clothing?"
"Yes." His reply was curt, clipped with irritation. "Master will be most displeased if you've failed to meet the deadline." His expression remained unreadable until his gaze snagged on Eva. For a heartbeat his eyes narrowed, his mouth hardening into a sharp frown.
Heat rushed to her cheeks. Eva dropped her gaze at once, terrified he had caught her staring. Her pulse thudded against her ribs, each beat louder than the last. Was he still watching her?
The wooden bell above the door chimed again.
Another Seraph entered, shaking rain from his coat, wings catching the lamplight like sheets of gold. He left his umbrella neatly in the stand, a casual grace to his every movement— until his bright brown eyes landed on her, seemingly surprised as though he hadn't seen her at all.
His lips parted. "Miss Evangeline," Adrian whispered, shock softening his voice.
The sound of her name seemed to echo in the shop.
Eva froze. Sweat prickled across her forehead. How could this day sink any lower?
The young Seraph ladies in the shop, already sneering at her presence, turned their curious eyes upon her. The clerk's smirk deepened, pleased to have another weapon at hand. Her mother stiffened, her sister's hand tightened on her sleeve.
And Eva—Eva could scarcely breathe.
Adrian Iverson. The reason her father's hand had struck her. The reason noble ladies had laughed until tears rolled down their cheeks. The man whose careless attention had dragged her name through the mud and made her a mockery in her own home.
And now, he had spoken it aloud again. Here. In front of everyone...