It wasn’t until the end of her first year that Paloma finally started thinking of herself as someone who could live as “Irina” in earnest.

She found comfort in the Lis family now.

It still felt like a stolen comfort, but she’d grown attached all the same. The cut of their smiles had become something dear and familiar to her, especially once the grief in their eyes — omnipresent and glossy — had started to fade.

They laughed more freely, now. The fog over the entire estate quieted into something more nostalgic than longing. Paloma still didn’t feel like family, she wasn’t delusional, but she felt like she belonged in her own small way.

They were happy.

She joined them for every meal, and used the days that Artan wasn’t deployed on assignment to play against him in this world’s closest approximation of chess. She attended Irina’s social commitments, paying special attention to the ladies the Duchess told her to, and was careful to avoid Duke Rinne.

All it took now was a meaningful look from Artan the night before, and she would stay in her chambers the next morning. She didn't mind the time to herself, reading and drinking tea, insisting it was just a simple cold when Molly asked why she’d stayed in with that furrowed brow of hers.

Some days, she forgot she wasn’t Irina for hours at a time, wistfully imagining that this family could have ever truly been hers. It was a dangerous fantasy, and one she kept closely guarded.

She should have known it was going too well.

___

It was a brisk spring morning. In the beautiful garden near her room, small piles of ice and snow still lingered around the edges and corners. The melting snow on the roof dripped as icicles fell into shattered pieces beneath the shingles.

Paloma avoided it all carefully, lifting the hem of her dress to keep it dry. Her toes were cold in the wind, but she braved it all the same to see the early budding flowers.

She’d grown used to the long waves of her hair and the delicacy of this body, but she was still often distracted by the clothing, so ornate and fussy.

That was why she missed him at first.

Duke Einar Rinne wasn’t a small man. If anything, he was quite imposing — shoulders broad with spaulders and a thick layer of his black, knee length cloak. His shock of white hair stood out even more in springtime, pushed back from his bright eyes.

Paloma didn’t notice him until he was directly in front of her, heavy gauntlets resting at his sides.

“Good morning.”

That deep voice was startling. Paloma jerked back, her foot catching on one of the pathway’s loose bricks. She steadied herself on one of the wrought iron fence posts with a sharp intake of breath. She quickly dropped into a curtsy, eyes pinned to the stones beneath her feet.

“Good morning, Duke Rinne,” she said, voice reedy. Her heart pounded hard in her chest. “I did not know you were coming today. I will depart the gardens at once.”

The Duke hummed. His armor creaked in the space of their silence. “It was unplanned. You needn't leave, I’ll be departing once I retrieve Captain Lis.”

“No, I should not be here, I gave my word. I apologize.”

Paloma turned on her heel to leave, but the Duke cleared his throat. She stopped despite her better instincts.

The Duke finally spoke. “Wait, please.”

“Pardon?”

The Duke wouldn’t meet her eyes. She lowered her gaze back to the pathway.

“Lady Lis, I was… much too harsh on you. I know that none of this was your choice.”

“You don’t need to call me that.”

The Duke tilted his head, brow arched in surprise. “My lady?”

Paloma’s cheeks reddened with the shame of it all. She twisted her fingers together, hair limp and hanging forward to cover her face. “I know that I took her from you. Please don’t feel that you need to call me by her name — it would be unfair of me to ask. My name is Paloma, not Irina — I don’t wish to erase her memory. I would bring her back if I could.”

The Duke’s face was impassive. “Then you would be dead.”

“I’ve no one to miss me, it would be the better result.”

“My Lady —”

“Einar, what are you doing here?”

Artan’s warm voice was a welcome relief. His tall form cut across the garden quicker than his usual gait. “They told me you’d stopped by, I didn’t have a chance to — Paloma, I see you’re already here.”

The Duke hummed. “We were perfectly cordial.”

Artan didn’t look convinced. “Paloma is usually out here in the mornings. She tries to leave you be, so you best not be unkind to her. It’s hardly her fault if you don’t announce yourself. She lives here.”

“I wasn’t unkind,” the Duke insisted, with something almost like annoyance. His face was sour. “This time,” he finally said, begrudgingly.

“I’d prefer you not bother my sister at all.”

Duke Rinne crossed his arms. “Fortunately, she is not your sister.”

“She is my sister as much as Irina was, and you know that Irina would agree.” Artan put his hand on Paloma’s shoulder, turning her back towards the estate.

Duke Rinne bristled. “Artan —”

But Artan was already leading her away. His expressive face was kind. He emoted so much more now — looking at her with a peculiar fondness. “Father was looking for you, Paloma. We’ll take tea in the study later. I’ll see to Duke Rinne in your stead.”

___

There was a diary.

It belonged to Irina. Paloma had found it fairly early on in the drawer of her vanity, pinned with a note that said simply:

Sister.

It hadn’t taken her long to put the pieces together once she learned more about who Irina was, and how the family had welcomed and anticipated Paloma’s arrival.

The Duchess confirmed it for her at breakfast one morning mid-winter, as they had all grown more comfortable speaking and Paloma had finally begun to respond to them directly.

“Have you found the diary?”

Paloma had been startled into dropping her fork. She coughed into a gloved hand and looked away. They all gave her the space to recover and speak. “Yes. But I have not read it.”

“She wanted you to,” Duke Lis told her. His expression was wistful. “When you were ready.”

___

Meeting Duke Rinne again made something inside of Paloma desperately yearn to hear from Irina.

Maybe it was selfish.

Maybe she wanted to see what he so vastly preferred about the original Irina.

It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t sensible, but she was tired of losing to yet another sister.

She hadn’t even met this one.

Paloma clicked the door to her room shut behind her, slipping the golden hook through its eyelet to make sure Molly and the others wouldn’t disturb her.

She didn’t need to look for the diary, she knew exactly where it was.

The thick book sat nestled in the second drawer down, beneath the tabletop of her vanity, behind the engraved rose facade. It was in the back, with Irina’s message still pinned tauntingly to the cover in girlish script: Sister.

Little notes poked out of the margins, haphazard and disorganized. Paloma opened to a random page in the center, starting in the middle of a sentence.

— okay with dying, I think. I have lived so very happily with everyone, and have never wanted for anything.

Mother and father spent these past two years on leaves of absence from the court to take me and Artie everywhere we ever wanted to visit together.

I talked to Auntie Zan and she told me that’s what Auntie Adela felt like before passed away and mother took over. She promised not to tell them yet. I still have a few months and I’d like them to be happy. I can feel myself slowly starting to fade, just the way Auntie Zan told me, but I don’t think I’m scared at all.

Einar’s taken it the hardest. I almost wish I hadn’t told him, but I know that I must, for sister’s sake. I wish I could meet her.

Sister, if you’re reading, Einar will come around, I promise with all my heart. We are all so happy to have you, and I wish I could know you, too. We knew this was how things would go. I hope you don’t blame yourself.

Without this curse, I wouldn’t have Mother. She’s my favorite person of all. I hope you come to love her just as much as I did.

Paloma shut the diary forcefully, her eyes misty and narrowed. She shoved it back into the drawer. She tried not to think about how her hands were trembling and clammy.

How could she ever love the Duchess when her own mother found her so deeply unworthy? The Duchess owed her nothing at all, let alone the unconditional love she had shared with Irina.

Irina. The daughter Paloma evicted mercilessly from her rightful place.

Paloma did not go see Duke Lis, as Artan had suggested. In fact, she left her door latched and curled up in the bed she had grown unsettlingly accustomed to, watery eyes focused on the brightening, then dimming, light of this world’s most brilliant sun.