The room was quiet for a moment, the fire cracking gently.
Then Xanthe huffed and waved her spoon dismissively. "Tyche, you're worrying too much. It's just a dream. You've been cooped up in this house too long—it's no wonder your mind's started creating stories."
Tyche frowned. "You think it's just me longing to escape?"
"Maybe." Xanthe leaned closer. "You're coming of age soon. Most girls dream of marriage, whether they admit it or not. But I think what you need is a bit of fresh air and fun. Which is why," she said, tapping her spoon against her bowl, "you should come with me to the Harvest Festival tonight."
Tyche's eyes widened. "What? No, I can't. Aunt Lysandra would never allow it."
"She doesn't have to know," Xanthe said with a wicked grin. "Come on, Ty. It's one night. There'll be music, dancing, sweetcakes—maybe even a fortune teller who can explain your dream better than I can."
Tyche shook her head, heart pounding. "If she finds out—"
"She won't," Xanthe cut in. "We'll be back before she even notices. You've done all your chores for the day, haven't you? What more does she want?"
Tyche hesitated, the vision from her dream still lingering in her mind. A part of her ached to say yes—to run outside, to be free, even for a moment. And the other part—the frightened part—clung to the fear of punishment, of making things worse.
But Xanthe's hand was warm when it clasped hers.
"Please," she whispered. "Come with me. Let's forget the world for one night."
Tyche looked at her cousin, at the kindness in her eyes, and slowly nodded.
Just once, she wanted to feel alive.
"Alright," she whispered. "I'll come."
And somewhere, beyond the crackling hearth, fate stirred.
The night was only beginning.
Xanthe grinned victoriously.
Unbeknownst to them, they weren't alone.
Ourania, Xanthe's elder sister, stood in the hallway just beyond the archway to the dining room, hidden by the shadow of the wall. She had paused mid-step when she heard voices echoing softly from the kitchen.
Tall, poised, and breathtakingly beautiful, Ourania was a vision of grace, her reddish blond hair always perfectly combed into elegant twists, her gowns pristine, even when she was merely lounging at home. Her expression, however, often reflected the icy arrogance passed down from her mother, Lysandra.
Her pale fingers tightened around the folds of her skirt as she listened. Tyche sneaking out? With Xanthe's help? The very idea made her lip curl. She had always hated how close those two were—how Xanthe always defended Tyche, even against their mother's wishes.
Narrowing her eyes, Ourania stepped quietly back from the corridor. She didn't need to hear more. Her delicate features twisted with disdain as she whispered to herself, "Let's see how far you get."
She promised herself, silently and coldly, that she would do everything in her power to ruin their little plan.
------------Tyche shut the kitchen door behind her and tiptoed across the dim hallway toward the tiny attic room she called her own. The scent of old wood and dried herbs clung to the narrow staircase as she climbed. She could still hear Xanthe's excited voice echoing in her head, already spinning tales of music, dancing, and moonlit lanterns.
Inside her room, the space was cramped—barely enough for her straw-filled mattress and a rickety stool—but it was hers. She lit the stub of a candle and pulled open the old chest at the foot of her bed, digging through her few belongings.
Her fingers paused on a faded ribbon.
It had belonged to her mother—blue and frayed at the edges, but still soft. She tied it around her wrist, heart fluttering with nerves. She wasn't sure why she was going. She didn't believe in silly dreams or fate—or at least, she tried not to.
But still, those golden eyes lingered in her memory.
She changed into her cleanest dress—simple brown linen, patched at the hem—and slipped a shawl over her shoulders. Her hands trembled as she tucked her copper shimmer hair behind her ears, staring at her reflection in the cracked mirror nailed to the wall.
Could that girl really be the same one from her vision? The bride in silver silk, married to a stranger cloaked in gold?
She shook the thought away and blew out the candle.
Outside, night was falling fast.
---
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