Chapter 42: The Girl Who Glowed
By the time Eva turned three, she had become a quiet force in the expansive mansion she called home. Her movements were graceful, precise, each step taken with the softest touch, as if the floors themselves were delicate things that demanded respect. Her slippers, made of soft velvet, hardly made a sound as she walked through the grand hallways, gliding across marble floors with a child's unbothered poise. There were no clumsy thuds or shrill cries of excitement—only the whisper of fabric brushing against her ankles as she ventured from one room to the next.
Her speech, too, was impeccable for her age. Where other children her age might stumble over words, Eva's syllables came out clear and measured, her voice soft like the tinkle of a bell. It was both a product of her immense intellect and the deep, quiet peace that filled the air around her. She was not a child to interrupt or disturb. No, Eva was a child who learned through quiet observation.
She played alone in rooms large enough to echo. The sound of her small feet on the floor would reverberate through the high ceilings, filling the silence with a soft rhythm. The echo of her own movements was strangely comforting, a reminder that she was not entirely alone. Still, her solitude didn't bother her. She had her books, her toys, and the comforting hum of distant activity from the servants and tutors who came to check in on her.
Eva was content. At least, that was what she told herself, and it was mostly true. She hadn't known any different. Her parents were often busy with their own affairs, and Vivienne, her aunt, though a constant presence, had her own life as well. There were maids who came and went, tutors who tried their best to nurture Eva's mind, but they were not her companions. Eva didn't need them to be. The house itself was vast, and there were plenty of spaces to explore and rooms to fill with her imagination. Eva's world was not one of loud noises and chaotic distractions—it was one of careful steps, soft voices, and quiet moments alone.
And yet, across the tall hedges and manicured lawns that separated their estate from the neighboring property, there was someone who made Eva pause. A girl who glowed.
Eva had first noticed her on one of the afternoons when she was sitting by the large library window, a book opened in front of her. The sun streamed in through the panes, casting a warm glow on the pages of her book, but it was not the sunlight that caught Eva's attention. No, it was the movement outside—the fleeting image of a small figure running through the garden across the way. It was a girl, not much older than Eva, her long hair flowing in the breeze like dark silk, her bright dress swaying as she darted between the trees and flowers.
Eva squinted, narrowing her gaze as she watched her. The girl's energy was different from the others Eva had seen, or rather, it was different from the stillness Eva had grown accustomed to. The way the girl moved—quick, free, and full of life—was both intriguing and strange. There was something almost ethereal about her, like she was not bound to the earth in the same way other children were.
Her name, Eva had soon learned from the servants who murmured quietly in the hallways, was Seraphina Yue Langford.
Seraphina was eight years old—five years older than Eva—and that small detail somehow added to the mystery of her. Eva wasn't sure what it was, but there was something about Seraphina that made her feel curious, something that made her want to know more about the girl who moved with such grace and energy.
Eva often found herself standing by the window, watching Seraphina as she played outside. Sometimes, she would be alone, running through the grass, spinning in circles, her laughter reaching Eva's ears even from across the distance. At other times, Seraphina would be with her family, her mother or father close by, smiling at her with adoration as they tended to their garden or sat on the porch.
But the more Eva watched, the more she realized that something about Seraphina was different. She wasn't like the other children she had seen around the estate. She didn't whine or cry or ask for attention in the way the others did. There was a quiet confidence in her movements, a self-assurance that made Eva feel—strangely—out of place in comparison. Seraphina didn't seem to need anyone else to be happy. She was enough on her own, and it was in that quiet, radiant independence that Eva found herself captivated.
But Eva didn't know how to approach her.
She was shy, more shy than she cared to admit. She had never been the sort of child to approach others. In fact, the only people Eva ever interacted with were the few adults who had been assigned to her care. She wasn't sure what to say to Seraphina, or how to act around her. She didn't even know what it would mean to make a friend—Eva had never been around enough children to understand that concept. The adults in her life were often busy, and the other children she had met before weren't people she could relate to.
Eva often thought about calling out to Seraphina, asking if she could come play, but each time the words formed in her mind, they felt strange. She wasn't sure how to speak to a child so different from herself. And so, she kept watching from her window, her curiosity growing with each passing day.
Some days, she would sit for hours, staring out at Seraphina, wondering about the girl who glowed. Eva didn't know what made her so different, what made her stand out so clearly against the world around her, but she knew one thing: Seraphina was special.
Eva had often wondered if she would ever get the chance to meet her, to ask her about the things that made her shine so brightly. She thought about it often, though she never made the move to approach her. She was too afraid—too unsure of herself, too caught up in her own world of books and silence to take that first step.
And so, she watched from her perch by the window, her small hands pressed against the glass as she observed the girl who seemed to glow with an energy Eva could not comprehend. It wasn't that Eva felt lonely, not really. But there was something about Seraphina that made her feel a longing she couldn't quite explain.
Seraphina's presence felt like something out of reach, something just beyond her grasp. And for the first time in her young life, Eva wondered what it would feel like to step beyond her comfortable world of books and quiet halls and interact with the girl who seemed to shine with such effortless radiance.
As Eva sat there, watching Seraphina once more, she felt the tiniest flutter of something—an unspoken desire, a curiosity that tugged at her heart and made her wish, just for a moment, that she could break the silence of her world and walk out into the garden, where Seraphina danced beneath the sun.
But that day, she remained at the window, watching quietly, waiting for the courage to do something she had never done before: to speak, to step forward, to reach out.