I remembered when Caruncle was taken to Lopez’s mansion.

  Unconscious.

  Dragged there like a sack of grain.

  Now, fully awake, he finally got to see the ndscape from Vadorreal to the state’s outskirts.

  Lucky him.

  Alright, let me expin how things were id out.

  There was the Basilian Empire.

  We didn’t live there, so don’t worry about it.

  We were in Luciana, a colony of the empire for the st two centuries since some enthusiastic conquerors decided they liked the weather.

  The capital, Vadorreal, sat at the center of the country.

  Surrounding it were several—

  What do you call them?

  Vilges? Communities? Rural estates?

  Whatever.

  Sebastian and Custodio lived eight to ten hours away from the city by carriage.

  Lopez lived twelve hours away.

  So yeah—never been that far from home before.

  The road to Sebastian’s manor was different from the one Caruncle took when he tried to escape with that woman.

  That time, he left south.

  This time, we were heading north.

  The ndscape was beautiful, though.

  Endless green pins, cold mist hanging over the hills.

  It looked almost enchanted.

  For the st ten years, they’d been building a railway.

  It was “almost complete.”

  (So they’d been saying for ten years.)

  I wrote on a piece of paper, struggling against the shaking carriage.

  “We need a house in the city. It’s not convenient to travel back and forth every time.”

  Sebastian read it and sighed.

  “That’s what I’ve been saying. You insisted we’d only visit once, so I didn’t make arrangements.”

  I tapped the paper.

  “Yeah, my mistake. Can you get something ready in two months?”

  “I think so.”

  I narrowed my eyes.

  “You have a lot of money, right?”

  Sebastian hesitated. “…Yes?”

  “Good. Make sure it’s a pretty house. Not ostentatious. Just cssy.”

  He rubbed his temples.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Sebastian’s father had been a very successful merchant.

  What did he sell?

  According to Sebastian, anything and everything.

  I’d heard sugar, coffee, rubber.

  (Once, I swear he said spices.)

  Didn’t matter.

  As long as I could spend his fortune, things would be fine.

  When we arrived, I went straight to the balcony on the second floor.

  I was mostly healed, but I wasn’t stepping into direct sunlight until after my physician’s appointment.

  The garden below was vibrant—

  White, pink, and red roses.

  Bellflowers. Orchids.

  A mix of chaotic colors that somehow worked.

  I settled into a rocking chair, letting myself drift.

  Then—

  “Miss Elena? A letter for you.”

  A young maid appeared at my side.

  I flinched.

  She ughed.

  I nodded stiffly, taking the envelope from her hands.

  I turned it over.

  Then froze.

  The name on the seal—

  Custodio.

  I jerked my head up, armed.

  The maid was already walking away.

  I almost grabbed her.

  Almost demanded—

  Who delivered this? What did you tell them? Do they know I’m here?

  But she was already gone.

  “That idiot.”

  I tore the letter open.

  Read it once.

  Then twice.

  Then a third time.

  It said:

  Miss Elena,

  You are the woman I have accepted as my daughter.

  I apologize for not coming to see you in person, but I sense that you would rather not see me. The joy I feel at this moment is too great to contain, so for now, this letter will have to suffice.

  When we first met, neither of us could trust the other. You kept your distance, and I, in turn, was cautious of you. Naturally, you will understand why I must keep private the number of souls who have inhabited this body before you. But trust me when I say—there have been many.

  Each time a new Elena wakes, it is a difficult process. Not just for them, but for me. For Mortimer. The adjustment is arduous. I have given all my love, all my devotion, to those who have taken on this role. For I am a caring father. But rarely is this love returned.

  Most do not accept their new life. They reject me. It pains me deeply.

  There have been a few who did accept their pce in my family, but they were… incomplete. That is the only word for them. They cked a true will of their own. They pyed the role, followed every expectation, never caused trouble—but they had no ambition. No spark. They were hollow. And I cannot love something hollow.

  That is why Mortimer and I devised a test. A test of will.

  For this test, I must become the vilin. I must say something so shocking, so unnatural, that it forces a reaction. That is why I proposed marriage. It is, of course, an appalling suggestion. Vulgar. Revolting. It is designed to be. Any reasonable person would wish to escape it. That is the basis of our trial.

  When the time comes, we take them to the Isnd of the Morning Star. There, they are given a choice. To escape—or to surrender to their fate.

  Those who fail to escape lose their right to call me Father.

  But you, Miss Elena—you passed.

  This fills me with joy beyond words.

  You are not my wife. You are not my fiancée. You are, and will forever be, my daughter. My one and only. The light within you—the fire that carried you through your trials, that pushed you forward despite everything—that is the light I have been searching for. That is the light I lost long ago, when I lost my first Elena.

  And that is the light I wish to see more of.

  I know this revetion may upset you. But I want you to know—you can count on me. You can count on Mortimer.

  We are your family.

  Forever.

  Please.

  Come home.”

  I stared at the letter.

  I could feel my eye twitching.

  “Ha! What a moron!”

  Custodio, in his infinite wisdom, had just confessed that the entire engagement debacle had been—

  What?

  Some stupid test?

  An eborate prank?

  There were no words.

  Only disbelief.

  And profound, profound irritation.

  “Miss Elena?”

  Sebastian’s voice cut through my thoughts.

  I flinched.

  Again.

  He was suddenly right next to me.

  (Did people sneak up on me on purpose?)

  I handed him the letter.

  He read it.

  Sat down on the couch beside me.

  Didn’t speak.

  Just let out a slow, knowing sigh.

  I closed my eyes.

  I wasn’t going to think about it.

  Not today.

  Not for a long time.

  ***

  The reason I asked Sebastian to wait two months before getting us a pce in the city was simple—I needed time to learn sign nguage. I was sick of relying on scraps of paper just to say basic things. That two-month pn stretched into four months because some days, Caruncle got the better of me.

  He would just sit by the window, staring at the sky like a tragic poet, letting the weight of existence crush him into the furniture. Total chore.

  If we did the math, it had been six months since Custodio took us in, one month since I fled to Sebastian’s house, and now four months spent drowning in books—history, politics, etiquette, all the so-called 'necessary' knowledge. None of it was particurly fun, but it kept my mind occupied when I wasn’t up for anything else.

  Some days, I abandoned the ship’s wheel altogether. Not because of Caruncle's melodrama, but because of the maids.

  When people got annoying, I left. Simple as that.

  That time, I checked out the moment they descended upon Elena, hands full of delicate silks, satins, ce. The pale light from the windows was too weak to be useful, the house too busy, the air filled with chatter and the rustling of fabric.

  Caruncle, as expected, was losing his mind.

  His gaze flickered toward the full-length mirror in the corner. He knew it was there, knew what was coming, and he was already squirming.

  “Hold still, Miss Elena.” One of the maids lifted a corset, her voice kind, but practiced—like she had dressed a thousand women before.

  To Elena, this was new. Almost sacred.

  He took a breath as the corset was ced around her waist, the stays tightening, pulling her into the shape she had longed for.

  “Oh, is that what you’re thinking, Caruncle?” I scoffed. “You want to be poetic about it? Fine, but you’re blushing like a fool.”

  I could feel the butterflies fluttering in his stomach, and I rolled my eyes.

  “Every single time, you have to make a mountain out of a molehill.”

  The corset was embroidered with roses, pressing snugly against her skin—a sensation both foreign and familiar. Her posture adjusted instinctively, shoulders pulling back as if her body was reshaping itself to match the woman in the mirror.

  “How does it feel, Miss?” asked the youngest maid, smoothing out the yers of petticoats beneath the gown.

  Caruncle shrugged.

  The maids chuckled, their hands moving quickly, pinning yers of cream-colored skirts that pooled at her feet.

  A third maid approached with the dress itself—a deep burgundy gown, rich and opulent. The neckline was modest but elegant, trimmed with ce that framed her colrbones.

  Caruncle’s heart fluttered.

  Of course it did.

  I sighed.

  They lifted the gown over her head, settling it onto her frame with practiced precision. The fabric slid like water against her skin.

  Once the dress was on, they stepped back.

  Let her feel it.

  The weight, the shape, the way it draped over her.

  Caruncle stood frozen, barely breathing, as the maids made final adjustments.

  Smoothing a wrinkle here.

  Tightening a seam there.

  Finally, one of them pced a small, silver mirror in her hands.

  “Look, Miss Elena.”

  But she hesitated.

  “It’s been eleven months, for fuck’s sake.”

  I threw my hands up, exasperated.

  “Your hair, Miss.”

  A maid’s gentle voice broke the trance.

  Her hands worked swiftly, pulling Elena’s waves into an elegant chignon, leaving a few curls to frame her face.

  When she was done, she stepped back, smiling.

  “Now, Miss Elena. Look.”

  Elena exhaled slowly.

  Her fingers trembled slightly as she lifted the mirror.

  The woman staring back was both familiar and unfamiliar.

  I sighed. “Come on. You’ve seen her before.”

  Still, Caruncle was too caught up in it to listen.

  Elena’s hair was swept up elegantly, the burgundy gown hugging her frame, accentuating her curves, the fabric whispering with every small shift of movement.

  She blinked, trying to process the emotions swelling in her chest.

  The corset cinching her waist, the way the gown draped like armor.

  Not just clothing.

  Something more.

  Something that made her feel real.

  I sighed, watching the way her fingers brushed the fabric.

  “Let’s be real, Caruncle. It’s not you.”

  But he didn’t answer.

  Didn’t argue.

  Didn’t even seem to hear me.

  And I think—deep down—he agreed.

  I was getting dizzy.

  If I had to endure any more of Caruncle’s endless romantic monologue, I was going to throw up. I didn't know how, but I just knew I would find a way.

  One of the maids, noticing Elena’s expression, stepped forward and gently adjusted the ce at her neckline. "You look beautiful, Miss Elena," she said softly.

  This time, the words struck deep.

  Elena lowered the mirror, a small smile tugging at her lips. She tried to whisper a thank you—and failed, as usual.

  I braced myself, expecting her to bolt out of sheer embarrassment so I could get a good ugh, but she didn’t. She just stood there. Frozen.

  Then, finally, she turned toward the full-length mirror across the room.

  This time, when she gazed at her reflection, the woman standing there felt… real.

  Her hands skimmed over the fabric, tracing every delicate fold of the gown, every shimmer of ce. Her hair was swept up, her waist cinched, her silhouette undeniably elegant.

  Caruncle, lost in thought, swore to himself—he would do his best to make his dy happy.

  "You are a creep, dude." I muttered, scratching my forehead.

  I was the one feeling embarrassed now.

  “Oh, Miss Elena,” one of the maids murmured, stepping closer to straighten the ce at her sleeve. Her fingers brushed lightly against Elena’s arm. “You’re going to drive them all mad once you move to the city, you know. A vision like you…”

  Elena’s heart skipped.

  Her lips parted slightly.

  What the hell was going on?

  “You’ll be the envy of every woman there.”

  The other maids shot her a look. Even they seemed a little weirded out.

  She didn’t care. She bent down to adjust the hem of Elena’s gown, fingers lingering just a second too long, trailing the fabric as if it were something… precious.

  Her voice was softer this time.

  “And not just the men, if I may be so bold.”

  Excuse me?

  I was starting to panic.

  Caruncle blinked, her breath catching. She turned her head slightly, meeting the maid’s gaze in the mirror.

  The room fell into a hush.

  The air suddenly felt too heavy.

  Elena swallowed, her throat dry. Her eyes darted between the maid and her own reflection.

  The woman’s smile was innocent. Pyful.

  But there was something else there, something that made my skin crawl.

  Elena tried to ugh it off. Just a teasing joke, right?

  But the maid only leaned in closer.

  "You're far too modest, Miss," she murmured, fingers grazing Elena’s colr as she adjusted the ce. “Don’t you think it’s time to accept just how captivating you are?”

  No way, dude. No way.

  What the fuck.

  What the fucking fuck.

  The words hung in the air.

  For a moment, Elena’s heart pounded loud in my ears.

  And the maid—her eyes were sparkling. Like she was genuinely enchanted.

  Like nothing else in the world mattered in that moment.

  Elena opened her mouth to say something—anything. But the words never came.

  Instead, I took over and let out a breathless chuckle, shaking our head as if dismissing the whole thing as pyful nonsense.

  A polite signal to ease off.

  But Caruncle’s blush betrayed me.

  The maids burst into ughter.

  My eyes widened.

  My breath hitched.

  I had barely saved us.

  “You people are a bunch of clowns.” I thought bitterly.

  They were so fucking annoying.

  I let out a silent ugh, the corners of Elena’s lips curling in mock exasperation. With a small gesture toward the door, I made it clear—Enough. We’re done here.

  The maids, grinning like idiots, curtsied with exaggerated formality.

  “As you wish, Miss Elena,” one of them teased.

  I forced a smile.

  Inside, my soul was screaming.

  When the st one finally left, Elena turned back to the mirror.

  She smoothed the fabric of her gown, feeling the lingering warmth of those hands, the butterflies still flitting in her stomach.

  “Okay, from now on, we are banning dresses.” I decred.