It was something Angelina never expected to see after she'd done something wrong: He was smiling. It wasn't a sympathetic sort of smile, either. He was genuinely happy, even humming while he worked. 

Angelina didn't exactly blame him. After all, there was plenty in life to be happy about. But after his daughter nearly died, she expected him to be a bit more solemn rather than cheerful, hence her disconcertion. 

Sunlight filtered through the window, beams of light illuminating the countless dust particles that floated through the air. The Baron hated it when people disturbed his work, and so he only allowed this room to be cleaned once each month, an appointment for which it was quite overdue. He had a separate office in which he held important meetings, and that room was kept spic and span as a sort of compromise with the head maid. 

At last, Baron Baltimore looked up from his papers and removed his spectacles, staring seriously at his daughter. “Do you know what you did wrong?” he asked quietly. 

Angelina suddenly felt very small under her father's unwavering scrutiny. “Yes,” she squeaked. 

“What was it?” 

“I got mad and ran off into the forest.” 

“Are you going to do it again?” 

Angelina swallowed nervously. “I'll try not to,” she replied. 

Baltimore tilted his head curiously. “What is it that made you mad?” he asked. 

Angelina hesitated. She wasn't sure if sharing what Mancer had said was such a good idea. There were many ways in which a statement like that could be misconstrued. In the end, she couldn't think of an alternative and shared with her father the words of her teacher. 

“He told me you're going to die!” she cried, “he's wrong, right?! Tell me it's not true!” 

The Baron stroked his chin where his beard used to be, now just graying sideburns and scratchy stubble. “Hmmm. Interesting.” His muttered words did nothing to alleviate Angelina's fear, and she stared at him anxiously, awaiting a comforting response, but none was forthcoming. 

“How are your other lessons going?” 

“They're… lessons,” Angelina replied, and her father frowned. 

“Have you been sleeping in class again?” he demanded. 

Angelina protested wildly, “of course not!” She pushed her pointer fingers together and said tentatively, “It's just that sometimes, the lessons are super boring, so I kind of just, you know, doze a little bit between sentences.” 

Lord Baltimore raised an eyebrow at the elaborate excuse his daughter had fabricated, with no regard to the fact that she had just admitted to the very thing of which she was accused. 

“Does this method of dozing happen to include placing thumbtacks on your teacher's seat?” 

Angelina turned bright red. “I-I already told you!” she stammered, “I was asleep when I– when that happened!” 

“When you what?” 

Angelina's shameful silence was nothing less than an admission of guilt. 

Her father sighed. “Angelina, it's one thing to ignore your teachers, but harassing them is another problem entirely. Especially Master Pericles. You need to apologize to him.” 

“But he's six!” 

Baltimore gave her a knowing look. “And yet he's already saved your life. Twice.” 

“That first time doesn't count! It would've only been a broken leg at the most.” 

Her father shook his head wearily. “I've said my piece. Do with it what you will.” He stared at her intensely for a moment. “But if you ever put yourself in danger like that again, I will personally baby proof your room and lock you inside until you come of age. Do I make myself clear?” 

Angelina stared meekly at the ground. “Yes, father,” she replied. 

Baltimore smiled fondly. He'd always wondered what he'd done to deserve such an adorable little angel as his daughter. “Now go get yourself ready,” he said excitedly, “your big sister's adoption party will be starting soon!” 

*** 

In another part of the manor, a disgruntled Shana was being dressed up like a china doll in a teddy bear factory. Every outfit the maids put her in brought her a little bit closer to exploding. She'd never hated dresses more in her life, and if she saw even one more inch of pink, she felt that she might end up actually puking. As her torturers prepared yet another bright pink outfit for her, Shana chased them out of her rooms and locked the door behind them. 

“I'm finally free,” she sighed. Then she went to her spacious closets and studied the wardrobe Lord Baltimore had tailored for her in record time. She carefully selected her outfit, coordinating the colors in her own style. Before long, she'd dressed herself in a gown that was sure to drop heads. 

When she let the maids in once more, they were mystified by the tastefulness of her dress. Since Shana was still a child, they'd selected childish designs to dress her in, but now, seeing the mature and dignified air that surrounded her, they realized just how wrong they were. 

*** 

The party was already in full swing, but the evening's celebrant had not yet arrived. Angelina stood next to the refreshment table, munching quietly. Her father was standing among a crowd a few feet away, conversing amiably with a glass of wine in his hand. 

Angelina sighed. “Daddy's so cool,” she muttered. 

“You still haven't grown out of that?” 

Angelina turned to see Othello Rigby munching beside her. “Why should I?” she asked playfully. 

“No particular reason. I was simply surprised. In the five months since I last saw you, I half expected you to be at least a little more mature.” 

“And why would you expect that?” 

“To be honest, I have no clue. But forget about maturing, you didn't even grow vertically!”

Angelina puffed her cheeks and glared at him. “Don't belittle me!” she pouted. 

Othello laughed and poked her face. “I don't have to,” he replied, earning himself a smack in the arm. 

Othello was the youngest son of Duke Cressenta Rigby, of whom Baron Baltimore was a vassal. Considering their difference in position, it wouldn't have been unusual for Othello to look down on her. But, as with most of his social interactions, he considered himself her equal, at least in status. 

Othello sighed contentedly. “Your nickname still fits.” He smiled mischievously. “Chip–” 

“Don't you dare say it!” 

Angelina stuffed a cookie in his mouth. Othello chewed and swallowed, then opened his mouth to speak, but this time she shoved a whole apple in his mouth. 

“Who's the chipmunk now?” she declared haughtily, “not me!” 

Othello bit into the crisp, juicy fruit and grinned. “I guess we're just a pair of chipmunks, aren't we?” 

Angelina rolled her eyes, and the two of them continued munching as the herald announced the arrival of the guest of honor. 

“Presenting Lady Shana Du’lacy Baltimore!” he declared. “You may enter, my lady.” 

Shana stepped carefully through the door. Her black flats clacked against the floor as she strolled gracefully across the room, her black gown trailing behind her. She was wearing about half of the usual petticoat layers, and the cut of her neckline hung just barely off her shoulders. Her velvet gloves reached all the way past her elbows, giving the appearance of long sleeves. 

Among all of these dark, black tones, a single bright red ribbon was tied beautifully around her waist, taking the place of a corset. People turned to watch as she entered the ballroom, and then their heads dropped to their own vibrant outfits, which now seemed gaudy and pretentious when compared to Shana's minimalist approach. 

It was a style nobody had seen before, not even in the capital. In this time period, the color black was typically reserved for funerals and other such events. It was not a color that was frequently worn, especially by women. 

But Shana was another story. She wore it boldly and proudly, confident in her elegance. The dress was originally too big for her, so she'd altered it herself, tightening the inseams and adding a strip of black lace along the neckline to frame in her throat and accentuate the small ruby that hung around her neck. 

Shana strolled over to her adoptive father and curtsied in front of him. He took her hand, smiling, and asked politely, “May I have this dance?” 

“Of course, my lord,” she replied, and allowed herself to be led onto the dance floor. 

The guests watched as the baron and his daughter claimed the first dance of the evening. Both were spectacular dancers, and the onlookers cheered as they concluded their performance. 

Baron Baltimore sat down at a table, mopping his forehead with a handkerchief. He sipped his wine sparingly, wanting to remain lucid for his daughter's welcome party. He frowned at the empty plate in front of him, and a servant quickly filled it with a wide variety of foods. He was just finishing a bite of meat when a determined motion caught his eye. 

Across the room, making her way through the throng of people standing and conversing boisterously with one another, was Countess Fernigan, Baron Baltimore's older sister.