I step out of the speeder and onto the polished stone steps, my small hand resting in Aunt Jenza's warm grasp. The evening air is cool against my cheeks, carrying the mingled scents of jasmine from the gardens. Ahead, the grand doors of the ballroom are open, spilling golden light and the murmur of voices. I take a breath and straighten my shoulder. Beside me, Aunt Jenza gives a tiny approving nod, squeezing my fingers once before releasing me.
As we cross the threshold, Aunt Jenza's posture shifts subtly. The fondness in her eyes cooled into polite composure, the soft curve of a smile replaced by the dignified set of a Serenno noblewoman. I lift my chin and mirror her expression as best I can. Here, under so many watchful gazes, we must both wear our titles more heavily. Lady Jenza. Lady Liora. Aunt and niece stepping into the light of Serenno's high society.
Inside, as the ballroom unfolds around us in a grand circle of marble floors and crystal chandeliers, the ceiling arches high with painted constellations. Rows of tall windows are draped in silk, and through their glass I catch a glimpse of the night sky. But most of my attention is drawn to the crowd. There must be over a hundred guests, clad in colors of midnight blue, deep burgundy, and gold. A string quartet plays a gentle waltz near the stage, the melody threading through the gentle clink of glassware and polite applause as a new couple finishes a dance. Not going to lie, I did prefer Jezz over this any day.
We are announced by a steward murmuring our names as we step fully into view. I felt the ripple it causes. Faces turning our way, conversations pausing for the briefest moment. From the corner of my eye, I notice a cluster of ladies in lavender gowns halt their whispering to regard us. Across the room, a portly gentleman lowers his monocle, blinking in curiosity. My debut was two weeks ago, yet here I am mostly cause my aunt wanted me to talk to kids around, well, more like close to my age..
Aunt Jenza leads me deeper into the ballroom. The marble floor is cool through the thin soles of my slippers, as honestly, I wasn't going to wear heels ever again if I could help it. I move carefully so as not to step on the hem of my flowing silver dress. It was a pretty dress, chosen by my aunt: soft satin and lace trim, formal but still appropriate for a child. Sometimes I feel like I'm playing dress-up, draped in a role far too big for me, but in a way i picked this life in a way, not that I knew I would be taken in by Count Dukoo, so I wouldn't be a coward about it.
"Good evening, Lady Jenza," a voice greets us smoothly. An elegantly dressed woman inclines her head to my aunt. I recognize the severe cut of her dark green gown and the small sigil of House Malraux at her throat. Lady Malraux. I remember her from the ceremony. Now her eyes flick down to me, with a thin smile appearing. "And to you, Lady Liora. It is lovely to see you again so soon."
I respond with a graceful curtsy, just deep enough to show respect. "Thank you, my lady. I'm honored to be here," I say softly. My voice sounds higher in my own ears than I'd like. I keep my sentences short and polite. Lady Malraux seems pleased enough. "Such poise," she remarks, arching an eyebrow. "Count Dooku must be very proud."
Aunt Jenza rests a light hand on my shoulder. "We all are," she replies for me, her tone warm but measured. "Liora has taken well to our guidance."
I catch the subtext in my aunt's words, the gentle assertion that I belong in House Serenno, that I am being raised properly. Lady Malraux's lips press together in a polite smile, and she gives a slight nod. "Indeed. It's evident." Her gaze drifts over me one more time, she inclines her head again, and allows us to pass.
As we move on, Aunt Jenza's hand leaves my shoulder, drifting back to her side. I glance up at her, and she meets my eyes with a reassuring blink. We make our way through small knots of guests. Some offer polite hellos to my aunt, others just watch from afar. I can feel their eyes trailing after me, some curious, some wary, a few almost gentle. Most of these nobles already saw me at the introduction ceremony. They watched me stand at Father's side in the Great Hall, presenting me as his daughter and heir. Tonight is different. Tonight I am expected to mingle. To converse and laugh and prove I can fit into their rarefied world.
Aunt Jenza has been preparing me for this. Etiquette lessons, names, and faces of the major houses were drilled over afternoon tea. Remember, Liora, she'd told me earlier as she'd fastened a delicate bracelet around my wrist, you carry our family's honor with you. But you are six, no one expects you to discuss politics or make grand speeches. Just be courteous. Listen more than you speak. And if you're unsure, a kind smile goes a long way.
So I steady myself with those words as we draw near a group of children by the refreshments table. There are five of them, I think, though one boy darts in and out from behind a column as if playing at being invisible. The others look to be around my age or older: two girls in pretty dresses, one about eight, the other I suspect older, given the confidence in her stance, and two boys, one clearly well into his teens, the other maybe ten, balancing a plate of pastries. They are talking in low voices, glancing occasionally toward the dancers on the floor.
Aunt Jenza clears her throat softly as we approach. The group turns our way, conversation pausing. I see recognition spark in a couple of their eyes. They know who I am, how could they not? I was the new piece on the board that everyone talked about most likely. I brace myself and offer a polite smile.
"Ladies, gentlemen," my aunt addresses them, inclining her head in greeting. "Thank you for entertaining a curious aunt by indulging in a little introduction. This is my niece, Liora. Liora, dearest, these are some of Serenno's brightest young members." She proceeds to name them, one by one, indicating each with a graceful gesture.
I do my best to memorize quickly: The tall boy with sandy hair and an awkward stance is introduced as Marcel Vane, the second son of House Vane, ah, yes, his father is the trade minister Aunt mentioned last week. The girl in the ivory lace dress, who looks about twelve and has keen brown eyes, is Celeste Malraux, like the lady we greeted, so this must be her daughter. There's a younger girl, eight years old, shyly half-hiding behind Celeste; she's Risel, from a minor noble family allied to House Vane. The energetic boy playing hide-and-seek with the column is Joram Fettipel, I recall, House Fettipel is known for their vineyards, maybe that's why his cheeks are a bit red; perhaps he snuck a taste of wine. And lastly, the poised teen girl with dark hair in an elaborate braid is Ilena D'Ariana, the eldest daughter of House D'Ariana.
Ilena D'Ariana steps forward first, offering Aunt Jenza a respectful curtsy. "Lady Jenza," she says with practiced sweetness, "it's a pleasure to see you again. And to formally meet Lady Liora." Her eyes flick to me, and she smiles. She has the easy grace of someone who's been attending balls like this her whole life. I'd wager she's about sixteen.
Aunt Jenza returns the smile. "The pleasure is ours, Ilena. I wonder if I might entrust Liora to your company for a short while? It would do her good to socialize with peers." Ilena's smile brightens, revealing one dimple. "Of course. We'll take good care of her." She turns that winning smile to me now. "We're so glad you could join us, Lady Liora."
I duck my head in a respectful nod to Ilena and the group. "Thank you. I'm glad to be here." Aunt Jenza pats my back gently. "I'll be just over by the orchestra if you need me," she murmurs. Her eyes meet mine. I watch the burgundy train of her gown sweep away through the crowd until she merges with a circle of chatting adults.
For a moment, none of us talked. Marcel Vane shifts his weight, causing the pastries on his plate to slide dangerously. Risel, the youngest girl, giggles at him, and he flushes, hastily righting the plate. The small mishap eases the tension, and I found myself smiling a little.
Celeste Malraux is the first to address me. "We saw you at your ceremony video," she says matter-of-factly. There's a frank curiosity in her gaze. "You looked very pretty in that dress."
"That's kind of you, thank you," I reply. I clasp my hands in front of me to hide any fidgeting. "I was so nervous that night," I admit softly, letting a little of my genuine feeling show. Ilena tilts her head. "You didn't show it at all," she says, sounding impressed. "When you curtsied to the whole assembly… goodness, I was certain you must have been practicing for months."
A shy smile tugs at my lips. "I did practice," I confide. "Aunt Jenza made sure of that. Still, my knees were shaking." This earns a light laugh from the group. Risel peeks out from behind Celeste to look at me more fully. "My brother fainted at his introduction ceremony," she offers in a small voice, eyes round. "Right in front of everyone!"
Marcel groans, apparently being that brother. "I was six, and the room was too warm," he protests, though his reddening ears betray embarrassment. The others laugh, not unkindly, and I can't help a soft giggle as well. The mental picture of a younger Marcel swooning in velvet robes is oddly endearing.
"Well, I'm glad I managed to stay on my feet," I say, still smiling. "It was… a bit overwhelming, wasn't it?" I glance at Celeste and Ilena, who likely remember their own presentations. "So many strangers watching."
Celeste nods vigorously. "I nearly tripped on my gown when I did mine years ago. Papa would've been mortified." She rolls her eyes with an easy attitude. Ilena gives a little shrug. "It gets easier. After a while, these events all blend together. You'll see." There's a hint of world-weariness in her tone that seems funny coming from someone not yet seventeen. But I suppose for a noble-born girl on Serenno, ten years of balls and galas might indeed feel like an endless blur.
I wonder what that must be like, to attend ball after ball since childhood. For me, everything tonight is new. Maybe in time, as Ilena says, I might find it routine. Somehow, I can't quite imagine that yet, not with the clone wars yet to come.
Risel edges a bit closer, eyeing the refreshment table and then me. "Lady Liora… are you hungry? They have chocolate cream puffs. They're really good." She points to a tiered tray where tiny pastry shells gleam with dark chocolate glaze. For the first time, her shyness falls away.
A tiny spark of genuine excitement flares in me. I did love chocolate. Father rarely lets me have sweets except on special occasions, but tonight surely counts. I catch myself almost bouncing on my toes and quickly rein it in to a more demure enthusiasm. "That sounds lovely," I reply. "Maybe we could split one? They might be a bit rich."
Risel beams and reaches out for a cream puff, carefully halving the delicate pastry with a little silver dessert knife. She hands me one half on a napkin. The chocolate smells heavenly. We both take a bite at the same time; the mousse filling is light and sweet on my tongue. I can't help the quiet hum of pleasure that escapes me. Risel giggles again, pleased that I enjoy it.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Celeste and Ilena watching us with amused smiles. Marcel sneaks a pastry off his plate, and Joram, the boy who'd been running about, finally joins our circle by the table, drawn, it seems, by the sight of others eating. Soon, all of us are nibbling on treats. I lick a trace of chocolate from my thumb, catching myself before anyone can scold the unladylike gesture. Ilena is politely pretending not to see it, and I flush faintly, dabbing my mouth with the napkin to cover my lapse.
"So," Marcel speaks up once he's polished off his pastry, "how are you liking your first ball, Lady Liora?" He shifts the empty plate from one hand to the other, trying to appear casual. I recall House Vane is a family that values diplomacy; perhaps his parents encouraged him to strike up a conversation. His tone, at least, is friendly.
"It's very beautiful," I answer truthfully, glancing around at the chandeliers and swirling dancers. "I've never seen anything like it."
"You've never been to any ball before?" Joram blurts out in surprise. He looks about ten and clearly cannot imagine a life without parties. Celeste gives him a swift little nudge, and he amends, "I mean.... of course you haven't, you're six. That was a silly question."
I laugh lightly to show I'm not offended. "I've been to some formal dinners at home, but nothing quite this grand. And never with so many people my own age." My eyes roam over the dance floor, where indeed a few adolescent partners are among the adults, carefully following steps taught by tutors. "It's a bit intimidating," I admit softly.
"You're doing fine," Celeste says, waving a hand. "None of us bite."
"Unless you try to take the last cream puff," Ilena teases, winking at Risel. The younger girl giggles once more and pops the remaining bit of pastry into her mouth protectively. Marcel grins. "Smart policy." Then he returns his attention to me. "Don't worry, Lady Liora. Honestly, most of these events are just excuses for our parents to show us off or gossip. We kids just… sort of exist at the edges until we're old enough to dance or talk business."
There's a tinge of bitterness in how he says it, quickly masked by another smile. I could sense the underlying frustration there. Perhaps, as a second son, he feels overshadowed or used for political aims. Ilena gives Marcel a pointed look and clears her throat. "Speaking of gossip," she says lightly, "there's been so much chatter about you, Lady Liora, since the announcement."
My fingers tighten slightly around the stem of the glass I've picked up. Here it comes. "Good things, I hope?" I say, aiming for a playful tone, though I'm not entirely sure I want to hear their answer.
Celeste jumps in eagerly, clearly having wanted to broach this. "Everyone's just curious. I mean, the Count having a daughter suddenly, it was a surprise to all the houses. People wondered where you came from." As soon as the words leave her mouth, she flushes. "I-I mean, not in a rude way—"
"It's alright," I interject gently, sparing her the fluster. "I know it was unexpected." I offer a small, conciliatory smile. "One day I was... alone, and then Count Dooku took me in. Everything changed." That is a simple truth. I let it sit there, hoping it satisfies at least a little of their curiosity without revealing much.
Ilena's dark eyes soften at my words. "It must have been quite an adjustment," she says. Her voice holds sincere empathy that I didn't anticipate. "Leaving behind your old life."
"I guess it was, but given I was a baby, I really don't remember much," I murmur. "But I'm very grateful. My father saved me. And Aunt Jenza, and everyone at the estate… they've given me a family."
Risel edges closer and slips her small hand into mine, giving it a comforting squeeze. The sweetness of the gesture surprises me. I realize my eyes have stung with genuine emotion thinking about those early days, and I blink the feeling back. "That's wonderful," Risel says softly.
"Yes," Ilena agrees. "House Serenno is lucky to have you, I'd say." She smiles, and I sense she means it kindly. There's a flicker of relief in her expression, too, perhaps relief that I didn't react defensively to Celeste's bold query.
Marcel, emboldened by the turn in conversation, asks, "Do you remember much of... before? Your family, or where you were born?" It's an innocent-sounding question, but I catch the calculating glint in his eye. What he's really asking on behalf of countless gossiping nobles. Are you truly one of us, or just a charity case?
I feel Risel's fingers tighten around mine, as if she instinctively sensed the uncomfortable territory. I give her a tiny reassuring squeeze in return. My heart beats a touch faster, but outwardly I remain composed. Show no offense, no anger. They are children parroting their parents' curiosities. I can handle this.
"I was very young," I answer calmly, lifting my chin a fraction. "I don't recall many details." That much matches the official story Aunt Jenza crafted. How would I have known about a freighter collision, with no living relatives? A neat, contained narrative. "The Count... my father... found me. I was fortunate he did."
"That's the story in the record," Celeste comments, as if comparing my words to something she heard. She likely did hear exactly that from her mother or in the news. "An orphaned cousin from a distant branch, wasn't it?"
A tiny smile touches my lips. So that's the spin they settled on publicly. "Something like that," I demur. "All that matters is I have a home now." Marcel seems slightly disappointed by my bland answer, but he nods. "Of course. And what a home, I imagine. The Dooku estate must be amazing."
"It's very… grand," I reply carefully. In truth, the estate's architecture and endless halls still awe me at times, but I won't give them the satisfaction of knowing how overawed I was at first. "I especially love the library. It's my favorite place."
Celeste brightens. "Oh, you like reading? So do I! What are your favorite subjects?" This, at least, is easy ground. "History, mostly," I say, thinking of the many nights I've curled up in an armchair with some ancient chronicle that Father assigned. "And myths from different worlds. Aunt Jenza finds me the most interesting old storybooks…" I catch myself and chuckle softly. "I suppose that sounds childish."
"Not at all," Ilena assures. "My little brother only ever reads speeder magazines, now that's childish." The others laugh, and I join them. I note with relief that Marcel's probing expression has relaxed; talk of libraries and hobbies has diffused the moment.
Joram, who's been quiet while munching on a second pastry, suddenly pipes up with a grin, "Is it true Count Dooku has a huge training arena in the estate? With all sorts of weapons? My cousin said he heard that from a guard."
I blink at the abrupt change in topic. Across the floor, a new dance set is starting, and the music swells. For a second, I wonder if I misheard the question, but Joram is looking at me expectantly. Clearly, his interests skew more towards adventure than etiquette. But I doubt any guard would gossip about it. More likely, this is a child's imagination fueled by Dooku's Jedi reputation.
"There is a courtyard for training, yes," I answer lightly. "But it's not so dramatic as all that. Mostly just a nice open space." I offer a good-natured smile. "No gladiator pit or anything, I promise."
Joram looks a tad let down, as if hoping for a tale of secret battles. "Oh. But… your father was a Jedi, wasn't he? He must have taught you some cool fighting moves." A couple of the others exchange glances at his bluntness. I notice Ilena biting back a reproving grin. Joram it seemed, was obviously known for his lack of filter.
My heartbeat quickens again. How much do they know or suspect about my abilities? Likely nothing concrete. But children hear everything adults mutter when they think we aren't listening. Perhaps some rumor from Tatooine filtered down? Though I dearly hope not. "I've learned a few self-defense basics," I say after a considerate pause. "Father believes I should be able to protect myself, but…" I let a tiny self-deprecating laugh slip, gesturing at my petite frame, "…I'm hardly a warrior. I mostly study books and languages. Not nearly as exciting as rumors make it sound." A small lie won't hurt, right?
Joram looks skeptical that there isn't more to it, but Ilena smoothly steps in. "Books can be exciting in their own way," she says, redirecting. "Besides, combat lessons are more for boys, no?" She gives me a knowing smile, as if to say no girl should be a warrior.
I return her smile. "That's true, I suppose," I agree. "Sometimes I do feel I'm trying hard to catch up to everyone else. Everything here is so… new. Simpler. No balls or fancy dresses. I barely knew what a proper ballroom looked like until recently."
Marcel chuckles. "Well, some might envy you for that. These formal things can be dreadfully dull after the first dozen times."
"Not you, though," Celeste counters, smirking at him. "I saw you trying to hide a smile when Lady Aralia asked you to dance earlier. Dull, was it?"
Marcel's cheeks flush pink. "I— I was being polite!" he stammers, nearly dropping his empty glass. The group bursts into laughter at his fluster. I cover my mouth with my hand to hide my grin.
Ilena watches Marcel with amusement. "Don't worry, Liora," she stage-whispers to me, "by the time you're our age, you'll find these dances more interesting. Or at least, the partners will be."
I blink innocently. "Oh? Do you have someone specific in mind, Lady Ilena?"
"Ooooh," Joram and Celeste chorus in unison, delighted that I volleyed the tease back. Ilena raises an eyebrow at me in mock admonishment. Ilena herself breaks into a good-natured smile, inclining her head to acknowledge the touché.
The waltz concludes then, and polite clapping fills the room again. We all pause to watch as the dancers disperse from the floor for a short intermission. I spot a few adult couples passing near us toward the refreshment table. They glance our way, some with fond smiles at our little gathering, others with the sharp, assessing eyes of parents ensuring their offspring mind their manners with me. I recognize Lord Malraux's imposing figure among them; his gaze lingers on his daughter Celeste and then on me.
I lower my eyes respectfully until the adults have moved on. When I peek up again, I catch a glimpse of a familiar tall form at the far end of the hall. Father. He's here after all, of course he is, likely speaking with the event hosts or other dignitaries. Indeed, I see him standing with two men in military dress and a woman in an elegant gown, deep in conversation. He's not looking my way, but as if sensing my eyes, he turns slightly, and our gazes meet across the distance. It's only for a second, but he gives me the faintest nod.
"Your father seems very distinguished," Celeste comments quietly, following my glance. Perhaps she noticed after all. I smile softly. "He is." Distinguished, imposing, intimidating to many, yes. But to me, he's also the man who reads history aloud by my bedside and gently corrects my posture during sword forms at dawn. "He's also kind," I add in a lower voice. It feels important to say that.
Ilena regards me thoughtfully. "I confess I haven't spoken to Count Dooku. He left the Jedi and returned to Serenno when I was a child. But I've heard he can be rather strict."
I bite the inside of my cheek. How do I respond? "He has high standards," I say carefully. "For himself most of all. And he expects the same of me. But…" I think of the patience in his voice when he tutors me through a difficult political treatise, or the way he softened when I woke from a nightmare last week, bringing a cup of warm milk himself. "But he cares. I can always trust that whatever he does, it's for my benefit."
Marcel swirls the liquid remnants in his cup. "I suppose strictness isn't so bad if it comes from a place of care." He shrugs one shoulder. "My father is strict, but mostly he cares about our family's image." His tone suggests that it is not quite the same thing.
"Fathers can be complicated," Ilena murmurs, a hint of something like sadness in her eyes as she looks to the crowd. Then she shakes it off, the practiced society mask returning. "But enough of that. Liora, have you had a chance to dance tonight?"
I blink. "Oh, no. Not tonight." Or… ever, though I don't admit that aloud. Aunt Jenza only recently began teaching me the simplest steps in our parlor after lessons, and I haven't exactly mastered the art without stepping on toes.
Ilena's lips curve slyly. "Joram here is actually quite the little dancer. Aren't you, Joram?"
The boy's eyes widen with horror. "What? No—Ilena, don't—" He's cut off by a collective giggle from the others. Clearly, they know something I don't. Celeste leans in to inform me with a grin, "Joram's mother makes him take ballet to improve his posture. He's light as a leaf on his feet."
Joram's face flushes bright red. "Traitors, all of you," he mutters, crossing his arms. But it's an embarrassed grin tugging at his mouth. I smile at him kindly. "I think that's wonderful. I'm actually a bit jealous, dancing is hard for me."
That mollifies him. He uncrosses his arms. "Really? Well… it just takes practice. I could show you the basic waltz timing, if—" He stops, suddenly bashful. "Only if you want," he mumbles.
For the first time tonight, I feel a lightness approaching genuine happiness. This boy, who only minutes ago was pestering me about weapons, is now offering to help me dance. And the others around are watching with encouragement rather than judgment. It's… nice. I realize I've been standing stiffly for a long while; my shoulders dropped a bit, pretending to act my age wasn't all that hard, and honestly helped me relax.
"I'd like that," I say to Joram. "Maybe just the timing for now."
We needed no music at the moment. Joram begins counting softly, demonstrating with a tap of his foot: "One, two, three, four…" I mimic the count, shifting my feet in the pattern he shows me. Out of sync at first, then gradually matching him. It's a simple back-and-forth step. He nods approvingly. "There you go!"
Celeste claps quietly. "Look at that, already a dancer."
I know she's exaggerating, I'm just shuffling through the basics. But I laugh and give a little twirl for fun. My skirt flares out a bit, and I catch a glimpse of it swirling, white and silver, like a moonlit cloud. In that moment, a few locks of my white hair tumble from the pins holding them and brush my cheek. I reach up to pat them back, but before I can, another hand gently intercepts. Aunt Jenza.
She stands behind me now, one cool palm smoothing the stray strands back into place with practiced efficiency. "Pardon the interruption," she says to the group, her tone politely apologetic yet carrying the authority of an adult re-entering the circle. "I see you're all getting along famously."
"Aunty," I greet softly, tilting my head back to glimpse her face. "We adore your niece, Lady Jenza," Ilena says warmly. The other children voice quick agreements. "She's wonderful."
Aunt Jenza's hand settles on my shoulder, a light but possessive gesture. "I'm very glad to hear that," she replies. "Though I expected nothing less of her." Her fingers give a tiny squeeze.
As if on cue, one of the orchestra musicians signals that the next dance will begin shortly. Some of the older teens among our group glance toward the floor, perhaps anticipating being asked or wanting to join. Ilena indeed seems to catch the eye of a young man across the way, and she offers us an apologetic smile. "Please excuse me, I think I'm needed for the next waltz."
"Of course," Aunt Jenza nods, releasing me and stepping aside to let Ilena depart gracefully. Marcel too bows out with a mumble about finding his parents, dragging Joram along with him "before Mother corrals me into another quadrille," I hear him whisper conspiratorially, making Joram snicker as they slip off. Celeste and Risel remain, though Risel has retreated shyly behind Celeste's skirt again now that an adult is present.
I notice Aunt's attention flicks briefly to the far end of the room. Following her gaze, I see what she sees: a small knot of older nobles looking in our direction, Lady Malraux among them. They quickly avert their eyes when caught. Were they monitoring our interaction? Perhaps ensuring I did not offend or glean whatever tidbits their children might pick up from me. Aunt Jenza's lips press into a thin line of disapproval for just an instant, then she smiles down at Celeste. "Lady Celeste, would you mind terribly if I steal Liora for a minute? She's been on her feet quite a while, I thought a short respite might do her good."
Celeste bobs a polite curtsey. "Not at all, Lady Jenza. We'll be here when she returns." She catches my eye and winks subtly. I sense she wants to reassure me that she understands adult duties call. Risel waves a little, chocolate smudged on her fingertips that she tries to hide, the sight of which makes me suppress a smile.
"I'll be back soon," I promise them, then follow Aunt Jenza as she guides me out of the throng toward a quieter alcove by one of the tall windows. The shift from the buzz of the crowd to this semi-private corner. I inhale deeply, catching a faint breeze seeping in through a crack in the window frame. It carries the night's crispness and the distant fragrance of the gardens outside. My head clears a bit.
Aunt Jenza turns to face me, placing both hands on my shoulders. Up close, the mask falls for just a moment, concern etches her brow. "How are you holding up, darling?" she asks under her breath.
I consider the question. "I'm alright," I answer softly. "It's a lot, but… I'm alright." She searches my face for a long moment. Whatever she sees makes her exhale gently. "You've done wonderfully," she says, brushing a thumb over the satin fabric of my sleeve in a tender gesture. "I heard some of what you discussed."
I tense, had she been listening? Perhaps mingling close enough to catch snippets, or maybe one of the staff kept an ear out. Her expression doesn't look displeased, though. "You handled the questions about your past very well," Aunt continues, voice barely above a whisper. There's pride there. "For now, they're mostly just curious. And you're satisfying that curiosity with grace. Keep it up a little longer, hmm?"
"Yes, Aunt Jenza," I say dutifully. I straighten my back again, preparing to rejoin the fray. The music has started once more, a lively dance this time with clapping. Likely, everyone is distracted.
Before we step away from the window, Aunt hesitates. She reaches out and, to my surprise, draws me into a brief hug, bending to my level. It's quick and subtle, her arms around me for the count of one heartbeat, two. But I feel the reassurance and love in it as surely as a blanket around my shoulders. When she releases me, her formal mask is already sliding back into place, but a trace of that warmth remains in her gaze.
"Alright then." She clears her throat and offers her arm to me as an escort. "Shall we?" I nod and take her arm. Together we walk back toward the heart of the ballroom. The light and sound swell around us once more, enveloping us in the grand pageant of noble life. Aunt Jenza parts from me with one last pat of my hand, returning to a cluster of adults who beckon for her attention. And I make my way back to where Celeste and Risel await.
They've been joined by a couple of other kids now, perhaps friends of Celeste's. As I approach, I catch a snippet of Celeste proudly recounting something, "…and then Lady Liora said, 'I barely knew what a ballroom looked like!' Imagine!" She's gesturing animatedly. The others around her laugh in that indulgent way. When she spots me returning, she breaks into a genuine grin and waves me over enthusiastically.
[[hope you like this, this took so fucking long to make.]]