Chapter 57: All That Wonder Followeth Thee
Vivienne was still smiling when she put down the phone, her laughter lingering in the air like the tail end of a song. "Yes," she said, turning toward the drawing room where her older brother and sister-in-law (wife) sat with half-drunk cups of jasmine tea. "She said the girl had dark pale red eyes, and then she quoted Latin—Latin, darling—like she was born reciting Virgil. I nearly dropped my tea."
Her brother let out a warm chuckle, leaning back in the velvet armchair. "She's always had a gift for memorization."
He didn't say it out loud, but thought, She'll be of use in military strategy. She'll be power, influence, and heir in Liore.
"And for performance," Evelyn added with a fond, wistful smile. "Did she blush? I bet she did."
"Bright pink," Vivienne said, eyes still alight. "She looked like a little lantern. And the way she looked at that girl—Seraphina—it was… I don't know. Pure. Intense. Like she'd found a painting that breathed."
Evelyn's gaze softened. "She doesn't even know what she's doing. That's the best part."
"She's four," Vivienne said with a gentle sigh. "Four. And already walking around the garden like a little poet in love."
"Curious," Evelyn said. "She's always been curious. She's learning how to admire people the way she admires books. Or birds."
"Well," Vivienne said, smoothing her skirt as she sat beside them, "if this Seraphina girl keeps her answering questions instead of inventing her own, she might be a miracle. She's the only one Eva doesn't talk circles around."
Her brother lifted his cup in agreement. "A worthy opponent."
Vivienne chuckled. "A muse, maybe."
"She recited a poem?" Evelyn asked.
Vivienne nodded. "Wrote it herself, from what I can tell. In Latin, with a melody."
"A melody?" Evelyn arched a brow. "She composed music?"
"A little tune. Hummed it while lying in Seraphina's lap." Vivienne's tone turned tender, quiet. "She curled up like she belonged there."
Her brother smiled faintly. "Did she ask for a ring?"
Vivienne laughed, eyes distant. "Not yet."
*****
The Langfords' garden was a hidden world, part palace, part forest, always blooming with some secret. Vines curled around stone arches. Bees murmured between lavender stalks. The breeze that danced there never felt rushed—it was as though even the wind stopped to listen.
Eva entered through the side gate again, the one with the ivy that tugged at her sleeves like an old friend. Her shoes were scuffed, socks slouched, and her braid had mostly come undone, leaving curls to bounce freely around her cheeks. But she didn't care. She was on a quest.
Her hands were clenched around the little notebook she always carried, where her poems slept between pressed flowers and childish sketches. She had practiced the lines at least a hundred times. Mère had listened, had helped her sound out every syllable, even though Eva had insisted on doing most of it alone.
Now she was ready.
There, beneath the tall magnolia tree, was Seraphina.
She sat with one knee drawn up, her back to the bark, a thick green book open in her lap. The dappled light from the branches above shimmered across her auburn hair, making it glow in places—like burning copper in water. Her lashes were long, her face unreadable, but when she glanced up, the smallest smile tugged at the edge of her mouth.
"Well, well," she murmured, setting the book aside. "If it isn't my favorite little trespasser."
Eva beamed, her whole body lighting up like the sky before dawn. "I brought something," she said, her voice trembling slightly with excitement.
"Another poem?" Seraphina asked, tilting her head.
Eva nodded solemnly, then crossed the grass and—without invitation or hesitation—crawled onto the blanket beneath the tree and climbed directly into Seraphina's lap. Her small limbs curled with natural ease, as though she belonged nowhere else. She looked up with wide, glowing eyes. "I want to say it while looking at you."
Seraphina blinked, taken aback—not in alarm, but with the quiet confusion of someone encountering a rare butterfly. "That serious, huh?"
"It's my favorite one," Eva whispered.
Seraphina adjusted her arms, one resting beneath Eva's head, the other draped lightly across her back. "Alright. I'm ready."
Eva reached up with one hand, her fingers brushing Ina's cheek—barely a touch, just a moment to anchor her. Then, steadying her breath like Mère had taught her, she began:
"Pulchra es, ut luna in caelo,
Oculis tuis rubris sublimes,
Fulgentes sicut stellae in nocte,
Omnia, quae mirantur, te sequuntur."
"You are beautiful, like the moon in the sky,
With your red eyes, sublime,
Shining like stars in the night,
All things that marvel follow you."
The Latin rose from her lips like a spell, soft and full of reverence. She recited it with careful clarity, her small body warm against Seraphina's. When the final line faded, she closed her eyes and hummed the tune beneath her breath, the melody as tender as a lullaby.
Seraphina was silent.
Then she laughed—a low, surprised sound. "That was beautiful," she said softly.
Eva opened her eyes. "Do you want to know what it means?"
"I'd be offended if you didn't tell me."
Eva sat up just enough to look at her properly. "You are beautiful, like the moon in the sky," she translated, cheeks pink again. "With your… sublime red eyes…" She glanced away for just a second, then back. "Shining like stars in the night."
Seraphina's brow lifted.
"And," Eva added shyly, curling her fingers into Ina's sleeve, "All that wonder followeth thee."
A breeze passed over them then, making the magnolia branches sway, and for a moment they were suspended in a hush—just the rustling leaves and the breath between them.
Seraphina let out a slow breath, her expression unreadable. "Is this a proposal, little lady?"
Eva blinked. "A what?"
"A proposal. You know… when someone wants someone else to be theirs."
Eva frowned in thought, then smiled dreamily. "I just wanted to say you're pretty."
Seraphina couldn't help it—she laughed again, heartlight and real. "Well, thank you. That might be the most poetic compliment I've ever gotten."
Eva yawned and leaned back down, resting her cheek over Seraphina's heart. "You're the moon," she mumbled. "And stars. And I like your eyes the most."
Seraphina looked down at her—this tiny thing with dirt on her knees and ancient poetry in her lungs—and felt something shift quietly in her chest. She didn't know what to call it. But she knew it mattered.
"You're ridiculous," she said fondly. "A feral little poet."
Eva didn't reply. She was already drifting.
Seraphina stayed there, unmoving, letting the weight of the child anchor her in that golden hour.
*****
Back at the Ainsley Estate, the drawing room was steeped in warm light and murmurs of laughter.
"She chose Latin," Vivienne was saying again, for the third time. "Latin. And she composed a melody for it. Did I tell you she called her the moon?"
"You did," Evelyn said, amused. "Twice."
Vivienne shook her head in mock disbelief. "That girl's going to rewrite all our definitions of childhood."
"She doesn't know what she's feeling," Evelyn added carefully. "But that doesn't make the feeling any less real. Or sincere."
"Of course not," Vivienne said. "And Ina—Seraphina, I mean—seems to understand that. She's gentle with her. Patient."
Her brother stirred his tea slowly. "Should we say anything?"
Vivienne paused. "To Eva? About feelings?"
"To anyone," Evelyn said.
"No," Vivienne answered. "Not yet. Let her feel things without explaining them. Let her write her poems."
"She's like you," Evelyn murmured, glancing at Vivienne. "When you were young. Before you learned to hide things."
Vivienne met her gaze, unblinking. "I still hide them."
They held that silence between them, until her older brother broke it with a quiet, "She's got the best of both of you. Words from one, wonder from the other."
Vivienne smiled faintly, almost sadly. "And secrets from all."
*****
Eva came home with crushed petals in her pockets and a smear of dirt across her cheek. She looked dazed, not in a bad way, but like someone who'd watched a star fall and wasn't quite done thinking about it.
Vivienne opened the door and was immediately tackled by a tiny, blooming whirlwind.
"You saw Yue?" she asked, already knowing.
Eva nodded into her chest. "She smiled. I said the poem."
Vivienne lifted her and spun her lightly before settling her onto her hip. "And how did it go?"
"She liked it," Eva whispered. "I touched her cheek."
Vivienne kissed the side of her head. "My brave little poet."
Eva yawned. "She said I'm ridiculous."
Vivienne laughed. "Well, she's not wrong."
They sat down on the velvet couch, and Vivienne brushed a leaf from her curls.
"You're becoming quite the heart-stealer."
Eva blinked. "What's that?"
"Someone who makes people love them without trying."
Eva shrugged. "I just like her. She listens."
Vivienne's chest tightened. "That's more than enough."
Eva curled into her lap, growing heavier with sleep.
Just before her breathing deepened, she whispered:
"I'll write more poems… for Ina."
And Vivienne, holding her close in that golden hush, whispered back:
"Of course you will, little moon."