Chapter 47: Just Pretty?
It was nearing dusk when Eva padded quietly into the sitting room, her arms wrapped around a small plush rabbit and her cheeks dusted with rose. The long shadows of the setting sun filtered through the wide windows, brushing gold across the floor. She liked this room in the evening—the silence held a kind of hush she could press her thoughts into.
Her aunt, Vivienne Elowen Alistair Liore, was stretched on the chaise with a cup of jasmine tea balanced in one hand and a novel resting on her lap. Dressed in a deep teal robe lined with gold piping, she looked more like a queen at rest than the lively woman Eva knew. Her auburn hair, pinned loosely, shimmered where the light caught it.
Eva stood by the edge of the chaise, silently watching her for a beat before drawing in a breath.
"Auntie?"
Vivienne looked up, her lips parting into a soft smile. "My little mouse," she said warmly. "Come here, what is it?"
Eva clambered up beside her and settled against her side, the rabbit plush tucked under her arm. For a moment she didn't speak, chewing on the inside of her cheek, her small brows furrowed. She kicked her feet slowly.
Vivienne waited, sipping her tea with a glance full of amused patience. Eva rarely spoke unless she had carefully thought her words through. It was one of the many things that made her so unlike the average toddler—and Vivienne was no longer surprised by the strange, almost poetic cadence her niece often used.
"I saw the neighbor again today," Eva said at last, her voice soft, almost dreamy.
Vivienne blinked, her head tilting slightly. "The Langford?"
Eva nodded.
"And?" her aunt prompted gently.
Eva's feet stilled. "She's so pretty, Auntie."
Vivienne gave a light laugh. "Ah. A declaration. Should I prepare your love letter now?"
Eva huffed, her face turning redder by the second. "I didn't say that!"
Vivienne leaned back, teasing sparkle in her eyes. "No? So you only watched her from the window like a little ghost?"
"She's not just pretty," Eva snapped, arms crossed tightly now.
"Oh?" Vivienne's smile widened, sensing there was more beneath the surface.
"She has… dark pale red eyes," Eva murmured. Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. "They're beautiful. Like—like garnets in winter."
Vivienne blinked. "Garnets in winter?"
Eva gave a firm nod, still blushing.
Vivienne raised her brows, but let it go. She was used to her niece using poetic comparisons far beyond her age. Still, the way Eva spoke—soft, reverent—made something flutter in Vivienne's chest. Was it admiration? Curiosity? It was too early to tell, but it was… adorable.
"She's always glowing," Eva added dreamily. "Even when she's still. She just… glows."
Vivienne reached over and playfully tugged a lock of Eva's hair. "Careful, sweetheart. That sounds like the beginning of an obsession."
"I'm not obsessed!" Eva squeaked, immediately defensive.
"Of course not," Vivienne said, fighting a grin.
Eva turned away, chin up, huffing. Her face was still red. She stared at the far window, trying to collect herself, as if dignity could be gathered like silk and wrapped tightly around her.
Vivienne's gaze softened. "She must be special to have caught your eye like this."
"She just… makes everything feel like it's glowing too," Eva whispered. "Even the grass. Even the sky."
Vivienne paused at that. There was something in her niece's voice—gentle awe, unfiltered admiration—that made her heart squeeze.
"Do you want to meet her?" she asked, brushing a hand over Eva's curls.
Eva hesitated, then shook her head.
Vivienne blinked. "No?"
"I'm not ready," Eva murmured. "But I want to. Someday."
Her voice was so quiet it almost didn't reach Vivienne, but it did. And though Eva's words were simple, there was a weight behind them, the kind that Vivienne recognized as deeply true.
"Well," Vivienne said lightly, wrapping an arm around her niece and pulling her close. "I'm sure Seraphina Yue Langford will be honored when the princess of this house finally graces her with a hello."
Eva snorted softly into Vivienne's side but didn't protest the teasing. She sat there, held safely in the warm press of her aunt's arm, her eyes on the horizon through the window. The Langford estate stood in silhouette across the lawn, the light in one of the upper rooms still glowing.
She wondered what Seraphina was doing now. Reading? Brushing her hair? Laughing? The thought sent a shiver down Eva's spine—sweet, strange, and not unpleasant.
That night, Eva couldn't sleep.
She lay in her bed, eyes wide in the darkness, her stuffed rabbit clutched to her chest. Moonlight spilled through the large window, silvering the edges of her blanket.
She tried not to think about Seraphina, but her mind kept circling back.
The way her hair had caught the wind. The shape of her hands. The laughter—distant but musical—that had drifted over the hedges. Eva turned over, burying her face into the pillow.
She didn't understand this feeling. It wasn't the same as loving her mama, or missing Papa, or even the way she longed for her aunt when she wasn't home. It wasn't the warmth of family.
It was… something else.
Maybe it was fascination.
Maybe it was nothing.
But it pulled at her, soft and persistent, like a thread tied to her ribs.
The next morning, she asked Vivienne again about Seraphina.
"What's her favorite color?"
"I don't know, darling. Why don't you ask her?"
Eva frowned. "But I'm not ready yet."
Vivienne smiled behind her teacup. "Then you'll have to wait."
Eva pouted and said nothing more.
She spent most of the morning in the garden, sitting in the gazebo with a sketchbook. She couldn't draw well—not yet—but she tried her best to sketch what she remembered of Seraphina. The shape of her eyes. The strands of hair. The arch of her smile.
It was clumsy and childish, the lines uneven and the colors too heavy, but Eva poured all of her memory into it.
When her mother returned home that evening, Eva didn't mention Seraphina. Mama would ask too many questions. She might look at her too closely. Eva wasn't ready for that. This was her secret for now.
Her precious, glowing secret.
A week passed.
Eva continued watching from her window whenever she could. Sometimes Seraphina was there. Sometimes she wasn't. On the days she wasn't, Eva's mood dipped. Not visibly—she still spoke politely, completed her lessons, and sat straight at meals—but the sparkle in her gaze faded.
Vivienne noticed, of course.
"She hasn't come out today?" she asked casually during one of their tea times.
Eva shook her head.
"Maybe she's busy."
"I don't like it when she's not there."
Vivienne tapped her chin. "Is it because you miss watching her, or because your heart gets lonely without her light?"
Eva flushed again. "Stop it!"
"Can't help it," Vivienne said with a laugh. "You're too easy to tease."
Eva leaned forward and whispered, "She's not just pretty. She's—she's like a star."
Vivienne blinked.
"She's always warm, even when she's far."
Vivienne exhaled slowly. There was nothing in Eva's tone to suggest anything beyond innocent wonder. It was the kind of childhood admiration that sparkled without knowing why. And yet, Vivienne saw the early signs. The intensity. The depth. A thread forming.
"You've got a soft heart, my little mouse," Vivienne said gently.
Eva looked up. "Do you think she'd like me?"
"I think she'd be lucky to meet you," her aunt said honestly. "You're strange and lovely, like the moon."
Eva smiled at that. Then her face turned thoughtful.
"Do you think… maybe someday I'll be able to talk to her without being scared?"
Vivienne brushed a kiss against her temple. "Absolutely."
That night, Eva added a new page to her sketchbook.
This time, she wrote a name beneath the drawing.
Seraphina Yue Langford.
Her hand trembled slightly as she penned the letters. It felt like a spell. A secret promise.
She wasn't ready yet. But she would be.