By the time the two of them reached the Varner manse, Abreigelle's feet burned the the deepest pits of the holy hells. It had taken them three hours—on foot—winding through the streets of Blair Sheen to find their way back home, all in the dark without them knowing exactly where they were going. Luckily, Evadrian's Swordfellow training included memorizing the streets of the city, however, as he had explained, the memorization was nothing compared to trying to navigate the streets in real-life.

After making several wrong turns into scummy alleyways and deciding that they were unquestionably lost, Evadrian saw it fit to tell her about why he had dragged her out of the ball so early. Beshna had personally asked him to take her home-- apparently she was so humiliated that she didn't want Abreigelle anywhere near her or the carriage. The walking was evidently punishment.

She didn't complain at all, despite the hem of her dress being ripped and dirtied, or despite being stared at by the middle-class Neurean artisans who looked clearly dumbfounded at seeing two humans wandering through the streets, dressed even more fancily than themselves. Abreigelle imagined that they would sent for the city watch if Evadrian hadn't been dressed in his uniform. Perhaps they thought she was some criminal being escorted to the jailhouse.

That entire time, she regretted that dance. She regretted saying 'yes' to him, acting as his pawn, and looking like a stupid, swooning idiot in front of everyone. However, out on the city streets in the dead of night, it all seemed so insignificant.

Abreigelle had never roamed around the city like this—at least not the real city, where the average Neureans worked and dwelt whilst the nobility sat in their mansions playing politics, wrapped in yards of expensive fabric. At least out here she almost felt as if she had more in common with the strange, colorless people. For once, they didn't seem stuck up...they just seemed ordinary.

She saw the everyday man—the weary baker dusting flour off of his apron, closing the shutters of his shop for the night. She saw the silhouettes of children dancing through the windows of tightly-packed stone-and-plaster homes. She saw the stonemason and the blacksmith exchanging wares outside of a tavern, the loud fiddle music and drunken cheers drowning out their voices. That was the kind of life she wished humans were allowed to have. A life where, at least, society deemed them good enough to be ordinary.

As the commonplace homes gave way to tall hedges and long, gated drives, Abreigelle felt herself growing weak again. And not just from her aching feet or her weary eyes. So, so soon, she would have to face whatever was coming.

Before they even reached the Varner's wrought-iron fence, the carriages began rolling down the cobblestone roadway past them, and emptying out onto the circular loop. The ball had already ended, and these people were already returning home. Abreigelle's mother and Lenore would be out there expecting to see her arrive with the rest of the party...who would explain to them what had happened?

It took ages to make that last trek up the long driveway, and everyone had moved inside when Abreigelle and Evadrian began to pass under that trellis. It didn't seem half as magical as it had just hours ago.

Evadrian sighed and shot Abreigelle a little smile as if to say 'at last'. He looked...exhausted--there were dark circles under his eyes and his pale hair was stuck to his forehead, shiny with sweat. He shouldn't have had to endure all of this, all because of her mistake.

The two of them looked up, both surprised to see Asfounder striding down the mansion's front steps to greet them. Obviously, he wasn't smiling, but there was something even more grave about his expression. He said, "Abreigelle, Lord Varner wants to see you. Now."

As if things couldn't get any worse. Lord Varner had requested to see her—not Beshna, not the servant's administrator. She wanted to be sick right there.

But this might be her chance to explain to him what really happened. "Take me to him."

...

Abreigelle stood on the carpet of Lord Varner's study, shaking. "P—please, my Lord."

Lord Varner took a swig from a small silver flask, and then set it back down onto the table with worrying softness. He glanced to his daughter, sulking on a chair across from him. Then he turned back towards Abreigelle. "I believe that you still have yet to comprehend the gravity of this situation, human."

This. This was very bad. "I-I do not. Clearly."

"Beshna gave you a job did she not? You were not there to have fun. You were not there to find a partner for yourself." Each word was like a punch in the jaw. "You were there only to serve."

"I'm so, sorry my Lord." The disc. Tell him about Beshna's disc.

Lord Varner's expression didn't change. It remained as hard as granite. "Apologies cannot possibly compensate for what you have done. It doesn't matter what you told me. You shouldn't have accepted Rashtar's offer in the first place."

Abreigelle sucked in a shaky breath. Say it. "He...said to me that he saw Beshna..." Beshna shook her head ever so slightly as if in warning. "He saw..." Or a test.

You serve me. Do not tell him if you still serve me. Beshna seemed to say.

 A chance at forgiveness.

Abreigelle continued, "He didn't want to approach Beshna just yet."

"He just wanted to make a fool of you in front of everyone is that right?" Lord Varner's words were rushed, as if he were tired of hearing about this.

But she had avoided the question, and Beshna seemed to relax somewhat, even though her eyes were still icy. Abreigelle hated herself for that. She should have just told Lord Varner. "Yes. That's right."

Lord Varner raised two long fingers, flames from the lit hearth dancing on his ebony eyes. He would never forget what she had done. "Two weeks. In the cellar."

She had expected worse, so she let the two unfamiliar pairs of hands wrap around her shoulders and drag her down, down, down to the neglected cellar in the basement of the manse. There was no use in trying to resist. Even a fighter had to know when they were beaten.

The silence of the rubbish-filled cellar was welcomed. Abreigelle sighed and took a seat on one of the many wooden crates that filled the room. It was musty and dirty, and streams of green moss crept up the cracked slate walls. However, it not unfamiliar.

This was the place she had come for solitude. No Neurean or human dared ever come down here—no one except those servants who needed punishment from time to time. On most days it was empty, and it the perfect place to stash all sorts of things—among the old goblets, wine bottles, and other trinkets that had long since been forgotten by the Varner family. And it was here that she had hidden her personal collection.

Abreigelle reached up and plucked the flower crown from off of her wilting hairdo and held it into her hands. It had been such a symbol of hope for her over the past few weeks, and now, it was just become a reminder of this foul night.

Still, it was a memory, and memories like this needed to be collected.

She walked over to a seemingly ordinary barrel near the far right of the room and reached inside with her free hand, pulling out the makeshift disguise. There, at the bottom of the barrel she placed the flower crown among her other memories.