-La petite fille of the sea- anajay-
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The hands fastening the buttons of her dress were so cold that Eva's back snapped straight in a jolt, a shiver racing down her spine. The chill wasn't like an ordinary draft—it was the kind of cold that bit into her skin, sharp and merciless, as though those fingers had been plunged into frozen water and left there far too long.
It wasn't winter. There was no reason for such ice in a touch.
Her breath hitched. Slowly, hesitantly, she lifted her head, peering through the veil of her blonde hair at the mirror before her. What she saw unsettled her more than the chill.
The figure behind her was cloaked in shadow. Darkness seemed to cling to him, swallowing nearly all trace of his form, save for the faint shimmer of a vest embroidered with threads of gold. The details refused to come into focus, as though the glass itself recoiled from showing her more.
But there was one undeniable truth: the hands.
They were visible. They were real. Long-fingered, large enough that she had no doubt one palm could circle her waist with ease. The skin was pale, almost translucent, but marred by veins that shimmered faintly bluish-green, nearly purple, spiderwebbing up toward his forearm like roots of a poisoned tree. The skin was not soft, not delicate as a woman's might be, but roughened with callouses— hands that had worked, gripped, and perhaps even fought. A hand that seemed to not know what it means to caress gently, rather how to tear and rip apart flesh.
A man.
Her stomach dropped. It wasn't one of the female clerks, as she had assumed. A man had buttoned her dress.
But— this tailor's shop was staffed only by women... wasn't it?
Heart pounding, Eva's hands flew to her hair, trying to fix it in frantic distraction as she spun around. She tore the curtain open— only to be greeted by silence. Emptiness. No shadowed figure, no one at all. The air seemed heavier for it, as though it mocked her fright.
The only proof that someone had stood there was what lay on the ground: a single feather. Pitch black.
Her breath faltered. She bent down, fingers trembling as she picked it up, the strange plume smooth and unnatural in her palm. A chill clung to it, the same icy coldness that had touched her skin.
Without thinking, she rushed out of the stall, bursting into the open hall of the shop. Heads turned. The startled gasps of patrons followed her, their expressions a mix of shock and curiosity at her sudden flight.
"That—" the clerk's voice cut through, sharp and mocking, as she pointed at the door Eva had come from. "That's a man's changing room."
Eva barely heard the ridicule in her tone. She strode to the clerk instead, clutching the feather in her fist.
"Was there anyone here— anyone with a feather like this?" Her voice trembled but held urgency as she held up the black plume.
The atmosphere shifted. Silence fell over the room like a shroud.
Her mother was nowhere to be seen. Serena and Adrian, too, were gone from sight. Only the clerk remained, her face paling despite her sneer, and Lady Anny, who had overheard and looked equally stricken.
Eva caught that flash of fear. It sent another shiver through her.
"I found this," Eva pressed, raising the feather higher.
The clerk's expression darkened. She folded her arms across her chest, her tone defensive and sharp. "No one."
"But I saw—"
"And what good would it do you to see?" The woman's voice lashed out suddenly, snapping like a whip. "If the feather belongs to a High Class Seraph, then you are far better off keeping silent. You're nothing but a human. Stay out of matters above you."
The venom in her eyes made it clear she meant every word. "Do not dare to involve yourself with their kind. Especially with the way you look." Her gaze swept over Eva in disdain, head to toe, dismissing her as if she were dirt clinging to silk.
Eva's hands tightened around the feather. She bit back her words, swallowing the bitterness down.
It was then Adrian reappeared, stepping back into the shop with a smile that gleamed too easily, as though nothing in the world could disturb him. His eyes fell on her, and his lips curved wider.
"You look breathtaking," he said warmly, his tone like honey poured over steel. He looked her over in the white dress, pure as snow, modest in every line— covering arms, ankles, every inch of her as though hidden away. To Adrian, it was perfection. Yes, the gown was plain, perhaps dull, but that was its very strength. It concealed her beauty from prying eyes, locked it away where only he could see. He liked her hidden. Untouched. His alone.
A cage disguised as protection.
"Take this with you," Adrian said as he opened a velvet box. The lid clicked softly, revealing a bright green gem on a delicate band— something between a collar and a necklace, gleaming as if freshly bought. Perhaps that was why he'd stepped away moments before.
Eva's throat tightened. She hadn't expected this. She hadn't wanted it. Kindness always comes with a price, her mother had taught her.
"I don't need it, truly," she said, her voice steady despite the unease gnawing at her. "I don't want your kindness to be misunderstood... or owed back."
Adrian tilted his head, the smile never wavering. "And what if I want you to misunderstand it?" her heart thump upon his response.
Before she could pull away, he pressed the box into her hands, closing her fingers tightly over it. "Don't overthink. I won't demand anything of you. It's simply what I wish to give— something to bring you joy, not trouble. Don't let anyone else's whispers weigh on you."
How could she believe that when she could feel Lady Anny's furious gaze burning into her? The noblewoman's cheeks were flushed red, her posture rigid with barely concealed rage. Rising, she swept from the shop with her ladies in tow, the air thick with her disapproval.
Eva's heart stung, not from Anny's scorn but from the look Adrian wore beneath his smile—something darker, hungrier.
"Please," Eva said at last, gently pushing the box back toward him. "Let this be the last time. I mean no offense, but... there must be someone else who would delight in your care far more than I ever could."
For a flicker of a second, his smile cracked. She glimpsed something raw beneath it. But almost instantly, he smoothed it back into place.
"I understand." His voice was calm, but his eyes lingered on her longer than comfort allowed. He took the box back with practiced grace.
The silence that followed weighed heavy, until Serena burst from her own dressing room in a cascade of purple silk. She twirled, grinning. "Don't I look divine in this color?"
"Yes, you do," Eva replied quickly, grateful for the distraction.
"Yours is far too plain, sister," Serena said, smirking. "Though it does suit your personality."
"How much is your dress?" Mrs. Crestmont asked, her tone sharp as she eyed Eva.
"I don't mind not buying it," Eva murmured, but her mother scoffed, not wanting to agree when the clerk was still mocking them with her eyes.
"Nonsense. Mr. Iverson said he would pay for it, didn't you, sir?"
Adrian's smile returned, smooth and polished. "If she allows me to."
"Of course she will! Eva always listens to me," Mrs. Crestmont insisted.
Eva met Adrian's eyes again, caught in the weight of his gaze. It was too steady, too intent. She turned away quickly, but the unease followed her long into the night. Even in the dark, she could still feel it— that slip in his expression, the crack beneath his kindness that had revealed something far more dangerous.
But also that night, she finds herself oddly comforted when she looked at the side of her bed, the lone black feather that shone when the silver moonlight cast over it, a feather that seemed so dark yet somewhat secure. A strange comfort filled her chest as she stared at it, though she couldn't say why.
It wasn't until she rose in the morning that she noticed: the window latch was unhooked. The feather was no longer by her bed.