The sun had barely dipped below the hills when Matilda burst into Pearl's room, arms overflowing with scarves, ribbons, and a small bag clutched tight to her chest.
"Tell me you're ready, dreamer," she said, breathless with excitement. "Because tonight, the stars won't wait."
Pearl looked up from her sketchpad, fingers smudged with charcoal. She had been lost in a half-finished drawing—a field stretching endlessly toward the horizon, a faceless man standing beneath a tree whose leaves shimmered like tiny lanterns. She smiled faintly, almost afraid to hope.
"I'm halfway ready," she said.
Matilda kicked the door shut with a dramatic flourish. "Halfway ready is not enough! It's the night of the Velmora Masquerade, Pearl! People will whisper stories about tonight. Some might even… fall in love."
Pearl arched an eyebrow. "Some might fall on their faces."
"Also possible," Matilda said with a shrug, "but at least they'll do it in style."
They laughed together—the kind of laughter that made Pearl feel like herself again.
Matilda laid out their dresses: hers, fiery red with gold-threaded sleeves; Pearl's, a deep twilight blue gown she had only touched once.
"You have to wear it," Matilda insisted. "You'll look like a moonlit mystery."
Pearl hesitated. "I don't know…"
"You can't show up looking like a rainy Tuesday," Matilda said, hands on her hips. "You've been hiding for too long. Tonight isn't about who hurt you—it's about who you could become."
Pearl blinked, chest tightening at the thought of stepping back into the world, being seen again. She had spent years hiding in quiet corners, keeping her grief and hope locked away. But there was something in Matilda's voice—hope, fierce and unshaken—that made her heart flutter.
"All right," Pearl said softly. "Help me with the laces."
Golden light spilled over them as they dressed, sharing stories and teasing each other. Matilda dabbed a touch of blush on Pearl's cheeks and tucked a silver pin into her braid. Pearl took a deep breath, smoothing her gown over her legs, feeling the soft silk whisper against her skin.
"You look enchanted," Matilda whispered.
Pearl glanced at the mirror and barely recognized the girl staring back. Not because of the gown or the shimmer on her skin—but because she almost looked… happy. For the first time in a long time, her reflection didn't carry the shadow of absence.
Before leaving, Pearl paused by her sketchpad, gazing at the faceless man she had been drawing all week.
Matilda noticed. "Who's he?"
"I don't know yet," Pearl said with a small smile. A shiver ran through her. Somehow, tonight felt like it could change that.
And with that, they stepped into the night.
The air outside was cool, scented with blooming starlilies and rain-soaked earth. The path to Velmora Hall wound through trees draped with silver lanterns, their soft glow floating like fallen stars just above the ground. Shadows danced on the forest floor, painting strange, beautiful patterns around their feet.
Pearl had never seen the town like this—alive with magic, laughter, and music. It felt like stepping into another world, one untouched by grief or hesitation. She took a deep breath, letting the scent of flowers and candle wax fill her lungs, feeling alive for the first time in years.
As they reached the grand archway of the hall, Matilda leaned close. "Whatever happens, promise me you'll let yourself enjoy it… even if just for tonight."
Pearl nodded, gripping her friend's hand tightly.
Inside, the hall was dazzling. Crystal chandeliers floated as if suspended by invisible threads. Musicians played a melody that shimmered like moonlight on water. Velvet banners of deep green and gold hung from the high ceiling. Everywhere, people laughed and spun in joy, their gowns and suits gleaming under the lanterns.
Pearl's breath caught. She stepped back, letting the crowd wash over her. Matilda squeezed her hand.
"Go slowly. I'll be nearby," she whispered.
And then Matilda disappeared into the throng, leaving Pearl to navigate this new, sparkling world on her own.
Pearl lingered at the edges, absorbing the music, the scent of perfume and candle smoke, the low hum of conversation. She touched the ring she still wore—not for anyone, but as a reminder of quiet hope. Familiar faces from town nodded or smiled politely. She returned their gestures but didn't linger.
Then she felt it. A subtle pull at the center of her attention, a feeling like fate brushing against her.
She scanned the crowd. And there he was.
Tall, quiet, and impossibly still near the fountain. His dark hair caught the lantern light, and his gaze occasionally drifted toward her. Even from across the hall, Pearl felt a flutter of something long-dormant.
Matilda returned, cheeks flushed, and nudged her. "You saw him, didn't you?"
Pearl blinked. "Who?"
"The one by the fountain. Tall, quiet, mysterious… he's been glancing this way."
Pearl shrugged, trying to stay indifferent. "Didn't notice."
"Liar," Matilda teased. "His name's Pauren. Came with guests from the Northern House."
Pearl's chest tightened, not from recognition, but from… anticipation. The music swelled, faster now, like a heartbeat matching her own. She wasn't here to chase anyone's gaze—tonight, she just wanted to feel light, free.
Matilda returned with two glowing glasses of some fruity drink.
"Just try it," she grinned. "It won't bite."
Pearl hesitated, then took a sip. Another. And another. Soon, laughter bubbled out of her, unrestrained. She danced under the lantern-lit sky, twirling with strangers, letting her hair fall wild. For once, she wasn't overthinking.
Near the fountain, Pearl stumbled slightly, cheeks flushed, laughing.
"She's drunk," Matilda muttered. "Great."
Pearl noticed someone watching quietly at the edge of the garden. A calm presence amid the chaos.
"Pauren!" Matilda called, rushing toward him. "Help her!"
Without question, Pauren followed. Pearl now sat on a low stone bench, mumbling to herself, drawing invisible shapes in the air.
He knelt carefully. "Pearl, may I carry you?"
She squinted up at him, then booped his nose. "You have a serious face," she slurred, giggling.
He smiled faintly. "Let's get you home."
Gently, he lifted her. Her head rested against his shoulder. She smelled of peaches, wildflowers… and something softer, something unspoken.
Matilda led the way. Pearl mumbled about sketches and stars. Pauren only listened, his presence steady, grounding her.
By the time they reached her cottage, she was nearly asleep. He laid her down carefully on the couch.
"She'll be okay," he said softly.
Matilda nodded. "Thanks, Pauren. Really."
He glanced at Pearl once more, then quietly left.
Pearl stirred, eyes half-lidded. "You smell like the forest," she whispered.
Then sleep claimed her.
And somewhere beyond the stars, the night began weaving threads of fate that would change everything.