The grand hallways echoed with muted laughter and the distant hum of music. Sylvester walked steadily, his steps measured and confident, but the figure beside him drew more attention to the quiet tension in the corridor than the music ever could.
She wore a bronze-colored mask shaped like a rabbit, simple and elegant, and her attire was understated—a deliberate choice to avoid drawing too much attention. Her golden hair was pinned up neatly at the back, practical and refined.
Her green eyes peeked from beneath the mask, they flickered nervously from side to side. Every so often, she glanced at the grand doors ahead, where laughter and music spilled out into the hall, reminding her of the crowd waiting within.
Sylvester glanced at her, concern softening his features.
"Catalina… you sure you're ready for this? It's alright to have second thoughts about this."
Catalina being the woman beside him hesitated, fidgeting with her fingers, her heartbeat quickening at the thought of stepping into the ballroom.
"I… I'm not sure… if I'm ready for this," she admitted quietly, her voice almost swallowed by the vast corridor.
Her mind drifted to moments when the walls seemed to close in, and the noise of many voices felt suffocating. The feeling of being surrounded, of needing to stay sharp and alive… it crept up again, unbidden. She shook her head lightly, trying to steady herself, when Sylvester's calm voice pulled her back to the present.
"My lady! Are you alright?" he asked, placing a reassuring hand on her elbow.
"Ah…" she exhaled, drawing in a steadying breath.
"I suppose I've been out of practice for events like this. It's… hard to shake the nerves."
Sylvester's gaze softened, the warmth in his maroon eyes grounding her.
"There's a garden just off this wing. Why don't you get some fresh air first? I'll wait for you inside, no rush."
The suggestion gave her pause, and for a moment, she considered escaping the overwhelming throng entirely. Then she realized the practical side of her plan: this was her chance to practice interacting with nobles, to gain a little more ease before the planned outing with Lady Heather. A small smile tugged at her lips.
"Alright," she murmured, her voice steadier now.
Sylvester offered a reassuring nod and stepped toward the ballroom doors, giving her a quick, encouraging wave. She returned it with a faint smile, trying to steady her racing heart.
As the warm light of the ballroom receded behind him, she found herself alone in the dimly lit hallway, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows on the marble floor. Her pulse began to slow, but a quiet anxiety still clung to her chest.
She let her eyes wander to the tall windows lining the corridor, moonlight spilling across the floor. Her thoughts drifted, reflecting on why she had agreed to come.
I made it this far… I'm glad Sylvester allowed me to join. Even for my… admittedly small reasons, this is worth it.
A soft exhale left her lips as she adjusted her simple gown. She let the moonlight wash over her, drawing a little strength from its silver glow.
Then, with renewed resolve, she turned toward the door leading to the garden.
The garden was quiet, bathed in silver moonlight and the soft glow of lanterns lining the cobblestone path. Catalina walked slowly, brushing her fingers over the blooms that swayed gently in the night breeze. The scent of jasmine filled the air, calming her nerves slightly.
Ahead, faint murmurs reached her ears. Curious, she stepped closer, the soft crunch of gravel beneath her shoes then peering between the hedges, she froze.
A man and a woman stood just a few steps ahead, the man leaning dangerously close to her. His hands tried to pry the mask from her face, and he moved trying to press his lips to hers.
Catalina's eyes widened, and she instinctively pressed herself against the nearest statue, nearly knocking it over. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment—she'd almost interrupted them.
She was about to excuse herself and leave quietly when she heard the woman's voice, strained and sharp.
"Stop…!"
The pitch of it made Catalina's head snap around. She peeked again, careful to stay hidden.
The woman's dark hair was messy, her balance unsteady, her hands struggling against the man's firm grip.
"I'm not… into you… you're disgusting!" the woman spat out, her words slurred but full of defiance.
The man sneered, attempting to move closer.
"Soon you'll be fine, darling… that little drink earlier should've eased your nerves."
His voice low and predatory. "Now… Come on, don't be like that—just one kiss…"
Just as the man reached for the woman's mask again, a firm hand shot out, gripping his wrist with unyielding strength. He staggered, caught off balance, and froze.
A tall figure stepped forward, the bronze bunny mask glinting faintly in the moonlight. Catalina's voice cut through the night air—calm, but laced with deadly authority
"One more reach and I'll break that hand for you. Consider yourself warned."
The man's bravado crumbled instantly. His eyes widened at the figure's strength and presence. The words, measured yet sharp, made him sway, uncertain where to step.
"I-I… I was just—" he stammered, panic overtaking arrogance.
Catalina leaned slightly forward, her tone softening mockingly as she added, "And don't try that again, darling… or your kisses will be the last you ever attempt."
The man, realizing he was completely outmatched, scrambled backward, tripping over a low stone planter before he turned and fled into the shadows, too terrified to even look back. The silence that followed was heavy—broken only by the soft hum of crickets and the faint music from the ballroom far away.
Her gaze drifted toward the woman now slumped on the ground, her dark hair tangled, her breath uneven. Words spilled from her lips in a slur Catalina couldn't quite make out. A half-cracked mask lay beside her, the faint glimmer of moonlight—its strap torn as if it had been ripped off in the struggle.
A frown tugged at Catalina's brow.
Did he spike her drink? she wondered, a sharp pang of anger threading through her relief. If I hadn't stepped in when I did…
She exhaled softly, steadying herself, then crouched down, extending a hand. "Are you alright my lady?" she murmured, her voice low, careful not to startle her.
As the woman looked up, the light shifted—moonlight catching her features just right. Catalina's breath hitched.
Her cheeks were flushed, lips parted slightly as if she wanted to speak but couldn't. And her eyes… gods, those eyes. Deep, vivid blue that shimmered when the moonlight touched them, almost luminous against her pale skin.
Catalina froze. Something unfamiliar fluttered in her chest, a faint ache she couldn't name, only feel.
Beautiful…
The word brushed through her mind before she could stop it.
Then recognition struck like a quiet echo. That face—she knew it. The tailor's outspoken companion.
Miss Erika…?
Her eyes softened in confusion and faint disbelief.
What in the world is she doing here?
Erika's vision swam in and out of focus. The world spun lazily, colors bleeding into each other like smeared paint. The heavy scent of a man's cologne—the one that had been choking her a moment ago—was gone now. Instead, something softer lingered in the air.
Lavender. Clean. Comforting.
Ugh… What the hell happened?
She blinked hard, trying to piece the last few minutes together.
Right… someone must've spiked my drink. I just wanted some air… and then that creep—
Her thoughts tangled as she groaned, pressing a hand to her head. "Where's… Jean?" she mumbled under her breath.
"Wait… who's this…?"
Whoever it was, they smelled nice. Really nice.
A steady hand reached for her, helping her up gently. Erika tried to stand—but her knees betrayed her. The ground tilted.
"W–wait—"
She stumbled forward, grasping instinctively for balance. Her hands caught onto something solid—shoulders, broad and firm beneath her palms—but before she could steady herself, gravity took over.
Her forehead bumped against something unexpectedly soft.
For a second, her foggy mind froze.
…What is this?
The scent of lavender filled her lungs again, close enough to make her dizzy all over. The softness beneath her cheek was… suspiciously pleasant. And warm.
Oh gods… this is…
She blinked slowly, her mind trying to catch up with her body.
"This is… soft…" she murmured out loud without meaning to, her words slurring slightly.
Somewhere above her, the person gave a quiet, startled sound.
Catalina froze.
The warmth pressed against her chest sent a jolt straight through her spine. She looked down—wide-eyed—to see the woman's dark hair spilling over her gown, her face buried against her chest like she had found the perfect pillow.
"Ah—uh—" Catalina's voice caught in her throat.
Is this really happening?
She didn't move. Couldn't. Every part of her was screaming to do something—anything—but her brain had gone completely blank.
The woman—clearly drunk—murmured something.
"This is… soft…"
Catalina's soul nearly left her body.
"Y-you should… probably stand," she managed to say, voice a touch higher than usual. She gently held the woman by her shoulders, trying to steady her.
Erika just blinked at her with that hazy, tipsy confusion, a small smile tugging on her lips.
"You smell nice," she murmured.
Catalina's composure shattered.
"I— what— that's— you're drunk."
"Mmhm…" Erika mumbled, leaning forward just slightly, her voice a whisper.
"Maybe…"
Catalina hooked an arm around the woman's waist, steadying her as they began walking back toward the ballroom doors. Erika leaned heavily against her, still dazed, every step accompanied by a faint hiccup or mumbled word.
"Easy there… careful," Catalina said quietly, adjusting her hold. "You'll trip again if you lean too much."
"Mm… you sound like a knight," Erika slurred, half chuckling.
Catalina smiled faintly. "I suppose I do."
"Mm… so… bossy…" Erika muttered, half-laughing, half-drifting.
"Just like me when I'm Lady Heather."
Catalina froze mid-step. "…What?"
Erika kept mumbling, oblivious.
"You know, Lady Heather… everyone's so serious around her. I have to talk all proper, hide my accent, smile like a doll…"
She waved her hand vaguely, nearly tipping over again.
"So exhausting… pretending to be a noble."
Catalina blinked, uncertain whether she'd heard correctly.
She is… Lady Heather?
No—that couldn't be right. She must've misheard. The woman was not herself afterall and slurring nonsense.
She kept walking, brushing it off, but then Erika added softly, "And you— you're tall… and pretty."
Catalina's heart stopped.
Her steps faltered, and she glanced down—meeting those half-lidded, blurry blue eyes gazing up at her.
Erika leaned closer, eyes half-lidded. "You have green eyes… just like her…Reminds me of a lady I know—"
Before Erika could finish her sentence, before Catalina could even process what she'd just heard, the double doors of the ballroom burst open with a sudden clang.
Music and laughter spilled into the quiet corridor — and through it came two men, their footsteps hurried.
It was Jean and Sylvester.
Jean's eyes darted wildly across the hall until they landed on the two women — Catalina still holding Erika upright. Relief washed over his face as he rushed forward, nearly tripping on the hem of his coat.
"Erika!" he shouted, voice cracking slightly as he skidded to a stop beside them. "Thank the stars— I've been looking everywhere for you!"
Catalina blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his energy as Jean bent down to check on Erika, who groaned softly in his grasp.
"Oh gods, she's not herself at all," Jean muttered, noticing the haze in her eyes. Then, realizing the tall masked lady beside her, he straightened and gave a quick, respectful bow.
"My lady— thank you. I don't know how you found my friend but I'm grateful.."
Sylvester finally caught up, breathing out a long sigh of relief.
"Good thing you found her first, my lady," he said, glancing at Catalina with a half-smile.
"We were starting to fear the worst."
Catalina adjusted her hold on Erika.
"What exactly happened?" she asked, her voice calm but curious.
Sylvester ran a hand through his hair, his tone serious now.
"Earlier in the party, Jean—" he gestured toward Jean, "—was accompanied by Miss Erika. Then she disappeared, and when he went looking, he saw a man fleeing the hall. Apparently he was the same man harassing her at the party."
Jean nodded quickly, adding, "I knew something was wrong the moment I saw that creep running like his ass was on fire. I just— I didn't think—"
Catalina's expression softened. "I see," she said.
"Well, that explains it. That same man was the one I found with her in the garden." Her voice darkened for a moment.
"Let's say he wasn't very kind to her so I scolded him… that's why he was running."
Sylvester frowned, glancing between them — Jean kneeling beside Erika, who was now blinking herself slowly awake, and Catalina standing protectively nearby.
"I didn't realize she'd been with you all this time," Sylvester said quietly, his gaze returning to Catalina.
"I'm just glad you were there before anything worse happened."
Catalina nodded once. "So am I."
Jean let out a shaky sigh of relief as he steadied Erika in his arms, murmuring thanks to Catalina between breathless laughter and worry.
"You've got no idea how thankful I am, my lady. Really—if I could, I'd kiss your boots right now.."
Catalina smiled faintly behind her mask. "Anyone would've done the same," she replied softly.
As Jean led Erika away, Catalina lingered under the moonlight, her hand unconsciously brushing the spot where the woman had leaned against her.
Sylvester turned to her. "Then.. Are you still coming in, my lady? The night's grown colder."
A tired but gentle smile tugged at her lips. "No need. I think this is enough for tonight."
Sylvester studied her for a quiet moment, then nodded with a faint, knowing smile. "As you wish."
Erika's head rested against Jean's shoulder, still unsteady, still spinning, yet strangely calm. The laughter and music from the ballroom faded into the distance, replaced by the steady rhythm of their steps.
Through it all, the faint scent of lavender lingered, wrapping around her senses like a quiet, comforting presence she couldn't shake. Somewhere in the haze of her thoughts, the memory of the tall, green-eyed figure who had saved her remained vivid.
She didn't understand why her chest tightened, why her mind kept replaying that single moment—but she knew, deep down, it was a memory that would not fade easily.