Chapter Text
It had been an hour now since Alicia had settled cross-legged on the bare floor, in her underwear, her eyes fixed on the small clock adorning her wall. Unconsciously, she rocked back and forth, as if to soothe herself. She had just stepped out of a bath that left a soft, pleasant scent of vanilla on her skin. Usually, it wrapped her in a cottony sensation, as though she were floating on a cloud.
But not today.
Her mind remained locked on the minute hand as it moved slowly—yet inexorably—toward twelve. She let out a sigh and a low groan. Her fingers, worn raw by anxiety, were red at the base of her nails; she could not stop picking at the skin despite Cléa’s repeated scoldings. They slid into her hair and she gripped her skull, as though trying to find something solid in this cold, dim bedroom. A muffled sob escaped her.
It was only a matter of hours.
She rose when the minute hand settled on ten, marking the slow approach of five o’clock. With a sigh, she pushed her long red hair back and turned toward her wardrobe. She opened it—and closed her eyes in frustration at the sight of the outfit waiting there, elegantly hung: a pale pink lace dress. It had been custom-made by one of the most celebrated couturiers in Paris, commissioned, of course, by maman, and she had had no say in the matter. She hated that color. She hated dresses in general. What she preferred were Verso’s comfortable trousers—she had found a trunk full of clothes in her size, because maman had never had the heart to throw his things away—and anything that allowed her to move quickly.
Her gaze drifted to the small bedside table beside her bed, and her heart began to race. She thought of the secret it held, waiting patiently to be discovered.
Instinctively, she brought her thumb to her mouth and tore at another strip of skin, triggering a sharp sting and a small bead of blood. She stared at her finger and wondered what maman would think if one of her children dared appear in bloodstained clothes before—
Before her sixteenth birthday celebration.
Her eyes returned compulsively to the bedside table. Perhaps if she bent the rules, just this once…
A loud, repeated knock thundered against the heavy wooden door of her bedroom, making her jump. The thought scattered like a cloud across the sky.
“Y-yes?” she hesitated.
Before she had even granted permission, the door swung open and a tall silhouette stepped in, outlined by the light from the corridor.
“Why must you always live here like a recluse? You need light as much as water and food,” Cléa scolded sharply, striding inside, her gaze sweeping over the darkened room.
Alicia’s breathing stalled when her sister’s eyes drifted toward the bed and the bedside table—but thankfully only for a few seconds. Cléa’s expression hardened when she noticed her little sister still in her underwear.
“I came to tell you I’m going out with friends tonight and won’t be able to attend the party—but clearly I’ll have to waste a little more of my time here.”
“It’s fine, Cléa, I… I was just taking a bit longer—”
“You don’t want to, do you?” Cléa cut in, studying her.
Alicia fell silent. She knew the answer. She just wasn’t sure it was the one her elder sister wanted to hear.
Cléa continued, taking the dress from the wardrobe and examining it skeptically.
“I understand. Maman did the exact same thing to me. Sixteen is an important milestone in our world. You’re old enough now to take part in society—and all its… hypocrisy.”
She stepped closer and helped Alicia into the dress, adjusting the waist and shoulders. It fit the girl’s slender frame perfectly.
“Believe me, I don’t enjoy it any more than you do. But our status and our name require us to maintain a certain presence among these ladies and gentlemen. Being born a Dessendre is both a blessing and a curse.”
She smoothed the fabric and fastened the back buttons, lifting Alicia’s blazing hair before letting it cascade down her back again.
Her eyes shimmered; her expression softened into something Alicia struggled to decipher.
“You’re beautiful. It’s unfortunate this hue doesn’t truly complement your skin tone.,” she murmured warmly.
Cléa briefly pulled her sister into an embrace—a rare gesture from a woman who controlled her emotions at all times.
“Try to enjoy yourself, will you? And happy birthday, Alicia. We’ll go to my studio tomorrow. I want to show you what I’m working on—and give you your present.”
“I promise I’ll try. See you tomorrow, Cléa.”
Cléa left, closing the door softly behind her, unaware those would be the last words she would ever clearly hear from her little sister.
After brushing her hair, Alicia stepped out of the bedroom. A distant murmur echoed beneath the manor’s high ceilings. Casting a quick glance toward the hall, she saw servants bustling like ants to prepare the lavish banquet ordered by her mother. They moved endlessly between the dining room and the kitchens, arms laden with silver platters. The staircase between the two spaces seemed to sway beneath the tide of bodies.
Suddenly, two large hands settled on her shoulders and she startled.
“Finally out of your room, little sister?”
She turned with a warm smile. Verso stood before her, dressed in an elegant suit that accentuated his build.
“Come on. I know you hate being the center of attention, but you only turn sixteen once… And maman would never miss such an opportunity to show herself off to society—and to her friends… Friends of convenience, I mean…”
He offered a tight smile, instantly regretting his words.
“Don’t tell maman, all right? And breathe. It’ll be fine, I promise.”
“I’ll try,” she managed, her throat dry.
He lifted his right hand and cupped the curve of her cheek. His gaze was gentle, steady.
“I know maman can be hard on you sometimes, and this isn’t what you wanted for your birthday. But it’s only a moment to endure. Be yourself—and smile, all right? Make sure maman has nothing to reproach you for tonight. I’m sure she’ll let you have a more intimate celebration with your new friends.”
“Maman hates them. She says they’re only with me because of my name. She doesn’t even know them,” Alicia murmured dully.
“Don’t bring it up tonight, okay? We’ll handle it together. You know maman has a hard time saying no to me. And after the party, come up to my room—I have a new composition I want you to hear. I worked on it for days. An exceptional age deserves an exceptional gift.”
Her heart fluttered. She adored the pieces he wrote only for her—to maman’s great displeasure.
As she had when she was little, she stepped closer and rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart like a metronome that instantly calmed her. She wished she could stay there for hours, safe in her big brother’s arms.
Unlike Cléa, Verso had always been gentle with her. Maman was not easy, often reproaching her for her lack of motivation and her absence of love for painting, constantly comparing her to her talented siblings. Alicia had resigned herself, stoically enduring the sharp remarks that slowly chipped away at her confidence and her belief in her own abilities.
“Mademoiselle? Your mother is asking for you in her apartments.”
Gisèle’s soft voice drew her from her reverie. Reluctantly, she stepped away from her brother and faced the older woman. Calm, wrinkled, her hair in a loose bun, Gisèle had known Alicia since she was small and had worked at the manor for decades. She knew everything about the stormy relationship between the two women.
“I’m coming. Thank you, Gisèle,” Alicia replied politely.
She turned back to Verso, her eyes pleading.
“You’ll be here tonight, won’t you? You’re not leaving for one of your many parties again, are you?”
He gave her his brightest smile.
“I would never miss my little sister’s birthday.”
She nodded and headed toward her parents’ apartments. The air in that wing of the manor was far colder—not merely because of the absence of activity. It was as though maman’s aura, oppressive as it was, repelled any trace of warmth, human or otherwise.
She stopped before the large door, tension thick in the air, not daring to knock. She had dreaded this moment, knowing she would eventually have to face it after days of avoidance.
She knocked—two light taps of her knuckles.
“Enter,” Aline’s sharp voice rang out at once.