Excited by the promise of a new order, Evangeline felt as though the entire week of rejection had been washed away in an instant. At last, a chance. She clutched at the thought like a lifeline, imagining her lace in the hands of someone important— perhaps a noble— the delicate patterns catching their eye. If that happened, surely word would spread. Surely more customers would come. Perhaps her work would finally find the place it deserved.
Lost in these hopeful thoughts, she walked lightly down the street until she neared Madam Trevor's house. There, at the gate, stood Milo.
He lingered before the door like a shadow unwilling to cross the threshold, his shoulders bent, his face somber. The sight startled her— he looked so unlike his usual self, so troubled. And in her excitement, she forgot to hesitate. She lifted her hand high, her voice carrying with a brightness that came naturally to her lips:
"Milo!"
He turned at once. Their eyes met— just for a heartbeat. She thought she saw recognition flash across his face, but it was fleeting. Almost immediately, his expression darkened, twisting into something pained. And then he turned away from her.
Before she could take a step toward him, he rushed through the gate, vanishing into the house without a word.
The air in her chest seemed to collapse. She froze where she stood, her arm lowering slowly. Her smile faltered into stillness, disbelief settling like frost.
What had just happened?
Had she offended him somehow? She searched her memory, grasping at any small word, any slip of hers that could have left him wounded. But nothing came — nothing except the image of his face, so tense, so unwilling to meet her eyes.
And that stung more deeply than she cared to admit.
After being turned away by so many villagers throughout the week, to see Milo do the same was a wound she had not braced herself for. It cut sharper than all the others.
He had said he believed her. Yet the way he recoiled— the way he fled— felt like betrayal all the same.
Her chest tightened. Shame, heavy and suffocating, pressed down on her ribs. Ashamed of the things she had never done, accused of sins that were not hers, she could not shake the feeling that perhaps the whole world would rather believe the lie than her truth.
The brightness she had carried only moments ago— the small spark of joy, of hope for a better tomorrow— slipped from her fingers. What remained was dampened, bruised, a hollow guilt she could not name.
She lowered her head, clutching her basket against her chest as if it could shield her from the weight of every averted gaze, every slammed door, every rumor that clung to her name like rot.
And now even Milo... what if Madam Trevor was also... disappointed in her? Who else in this village she could still call as an ally?
Even when she returned home, Eva's spirits did not rise. If anything, the walls of her own house only pressed her further into silence. No one noticed the heaviness in her gaze, or if they did, they pretended not to. That, perhaps, was worse than cruelty— her pain went unseen, dismissed, left to fester in the dark.
Serena chattered beside her, radiant in her self-absorption. Every word was a boast, dripping with delight as she recounted the men who had begged for the honor of escorting her to the party. Eva listened, or rather endured it, until Serena leaned closer with mock concern.
"How about I ask one of them to escort you?" she teased, smiling sweetly. "They'd be happy to if I asked."
"I'll be alright," Eva murmured, eyes fixed on the floor.
Her tone, so flat and colorless, finally earned Serena's frown. But before she could press the matter, their mother interjected sharply.
"Let her be. Once the party ends, we'll find her a man to settle with. I cannot bear these rumors a day longer."
The words struck harder than a slap.
Marriage—Eva had always feared it. Not for lack of yearning to share her days with another, but because men terrified her. Men whose tempers flared like storms. Men like her father. To bind herself to such a fate? The thought hollowed her.
But could she refuse?
No. The answer was as cold as it was certain.
So she rose quietly, gathering the dirty dishes and washing them in silence, while her mother and sister drifted to the warmth of the living room. None of them saw her slip away. None of them noticed when she climbed the narrow stairs to the attic she shared with Serena.
There, in the hush of the night, she pushed open the crooked windowpane and sat on the sill. The sky was black velvet scattered with stars, and under its cover she let her silver tears fall. They slid soundlessly down her cheeks, for she would not sob—not when no one in this house would comfort her. They would only scold her, tell her to swallow her sorrow like medicine.
Her gaze fell to the small table beside her bed. A memory tightened her throat: the black feather. The one thing she had thought of as truly hers, a strange gift, perhaps, or simply a relic of a fleeting hope. She remembered how it shimmered with something otherworldly, how she had treasured it. And now it was gone, vanished as quietly as her joy.
Her tears renewed, soft and endless, falling for a feather she could not hold, for the life she could not choose.
As Eva closed her eyes, the soft beat of wings brushed against the night air. She blinked, startled, and saw a crow perched on the sill. Her tears stilled. Odd—she had always thought crows far lovelier than pigeons, though when she confessed this as a child, Serena mocked her.
Yet here, up close, it looked almost endearing.
"Sorry," Eva whispered, her voice hoarse, "I don't have food."
The bird cocked its head, its round black eyes unblinking. It neither cooed nor cawed, and yet its presence alone soothed her, as if someone finally saw her. She reached a tentative hand forward, but before she could touch it, the crow slipped past her into the room.
Eva didn't mind at first, watching it flutter until it landed—of all places—on Serena's bed.
"Not there," she murmured, rising quickly. She didn't want it to soil Serena's things; the last thing she needed was more scolding. But as she stepped forward, her toes struck against something hard beneath her own bed.
Wincing, she crouched and pulled out a velvet box. Confused, she lifted it into her hands. The latch clicked, and inside—gleamed the very same collar of green jewels Adrian had once pressed upon her. The gift she had refused.
Her breath caught.
"What are you doing?"
Eva's head snapped up. Serena stood framed in the doorway, her face flushed as though she had caught a thief in the act.
"Why do you have this?" Eva demanded, clutching the box to her chest.
Serena's expression hardened as she strode forward. "He gave it to me! Why are you jealous? You rejected him, so he gave it to me instead. Stop touching what doesn't belong to you!"
She lunged to snatch it away, but Eva pulled back, staring straight into her sister's eyes. And in that instant, she saw the lie—clear and sharp as glass.
"Serena," she whispered, her voice trembling with accusation, "did he give this... for you? Or to make you pass this to me? I've rejected him, I told him that I don't need this, so why would you take it back?"
"No!" Serena raised her voice louder than she meant to. Instead of anger, her face had turned red, flushed from embarrassment as blood rushed to her neck and ears. She didn't want... she didn't want Evangeline to know she had taken the jewel from Adrian. It was meant for Eva, but Serena had other plans, meaning to keep it as her own.
"I told you," Serena clicked her tongue, her words sharp as knives, "he gave it to me, alright? After you rejected him, I comforted his heart and he fell for me at that moment! Do you think all men will linger around you once you've thrown them aside?"
"Don't lie to me." Evangeline's voice was steady now, though her brow furrowed. She knew Serena better than anyone—had watched her in the spotlight all their lives, feeding on attention like air.
But Serena faltered under the weight of that knowing stare. Why did Eva look so certain? Why did her quiet words sting more than any accusation? Her face burned hotter.
"I'm not lying! I'm not!" Serena insisted, her pitch rising, trembling with desperation. She reached for the box again, but Eva pulled it back, clutching it against her chest.
For a moment, silence hung between them—thick, suffocating. Only the crow cawed once from the bedpost, as if mocking Serena's words.
Serena's eyes snapped at the crow and then back at Evangeline whose face had turned disappointed.
It was the first time anyone had ever seen through her lies—or dared to show disappointment in her—and for it to be Evangeline... Serena's face drained of color, a sickly green blooming across her cheeks from the sting of exposure.
"Whenever you lie," Evangeline said, her voice cutting through the room like a shard of ice, "you always raise your voice at the end of your words. And you cross your arms like you're protecting something fragile— like you're protecting yourself from being caught." She watched as Serena's crossed arms dropped, unraveling the defensive wall she always hid behind.
"N- No! That's not it!" Serena stammered, her words sharp yet wavering. "I'm telling you, Adrian likes me! He told me that—"
"I don't care whether he likes you or not," Evangeline snapped, her green eyes flashing with a heat that made Serena falter. "I know exactly why you want it. You're drawn to his wealth, to his appearance, to what he can give you. But I— I don't. I only ask you for one thing: don't take this jewelry, so that we don't owe him anything. He might look charming, but there's no such thing as a free gift in this world, Serena. Not from anyone. Not even a saint."
Serena's lips quivered, her entire body trembling with a mixture of rage and shame. The truth in Eva's words was like a blade cutting through her carefully crafted illusions. For the first time, she couldn't claw her way out with arrogance or lies.
"You're just jealous!" Serena snapped, her voice rising despite herself. "I know why you act like you're better than everyone else! Always clever, always so proper, always so... perfect! You act as if being good and proper will make people like you— but it won't! Look at the rumors, look at what people say about you! They whisper behind your back about what you've done with men—how you let them think you're... spreading your legs for them! You let the lies spread, and still, no one likes you!"
The words hit like stones. Heavy, sharp, and cruel.
Eva couldn't say anything, shocked to hear the truth of what Serena had been thinking for so long.
Serena's chest heaved as if she'd poured all her fury and fear into them, her emerald eyes blazing. For a heartbeat, the room seemed to freeze, the only sound the ragged edge of her breathing and the faint whisper of Eva's calm, unyielding gaze.
"Even now, look! You can slap me or yell back at me because you know mama and papa will only scold you. No one likes you as you are, no one likes you even when you act like a saint, tell me sister, will there anyone who would like someone so empty and bleak like you? Someone so ugly- someone so desperate- someone so unfun! Is there anyone in this village, really anyone, who actually likes you?""
Evangeline's lips parted, but no words came out. Serena's venomous question hung in the air like a knife, twisting into her chest like a dull blade, hurting more than whatever words people had talked behind her.
Her hands gripped the velvet box tighter. She wanted to deny it— wanted to say that Milo, Madam Trevor, or someone, anyone, still believed her. But truth is, she didn't know anymore.
The crow cawed again from the bedpost, breaking the tension for a heartbeat, and Serena sneered, seizing on her sister's silence. "See? Even you can't answer. Because you know I'm right. No one likes you. No one ever will."
Evangeline lifted her gaze, her green eyes that were brimming with the quiet hurt. To think that all this time... this was how Serena really seen her.
Not as a sister. Just as someone to compete, someone who Serena always believe to be beneath her.
"Maybe you're right," she whispered. "Maybe no one likes me. But at least I don't have to steal or lie to be seen."
Serena flinched. For the first time in her life, Evangeline's voice cut her deeper than her mother's scolding ever could.
Evangeline turned to the window where the crow was watching, placing the velvet box back to Serena's bed wordless, before walking to her bed. "Give it back to him," she left only with those words, knowing that the chances of Serena obeying it was close to zero.
Serena angrily stomped her feet, "You'll regret this," she spat, her voice malicious. "You always ruin everything, sister. Always. One day you will be the one begging for my help."
Then Serena slammed the door, leaving her alone in the attic. With nothing else to say, Evangeline could only lay down on the bed, placing her arms on her closed green eyes, letting the tears to spill...