The Valerian Manor's tea hall was a place of beauty, designed to impress and intimidate in equal measure.

Sunlight streamed through tall arched windows, casting golden rays across the marble floors and intricate tapestries adorning the walls.

The ceilings, high and ornate, boasted gilded carvings of noble emblems and floral patterns.

The centerpiece of the room was a long mahogany table, polished to a mirror shine and lined with silver trays of pastries and delicate porcelain tea sets.

Crystal chandeliers hung above, their countless facets scattering light across the room, making it shimmer with an almost magical glow.

Outside the windows, the manicured garden was visible, filled with blooming roses and shaped hedges, a vision of controlled elegance that mirrored the life expected within these walls.

But beneath the grandeur of the tea hall lay a suffocating tension, one that was as polished and artificial as the room itself.

This was not a place of comfort or warmth.

It was a stage—a theater where appearances mattered more than truth, and every move was scrutinized.

The hall looked beautiful, but it was a cage for someone like me.

The sun poured through the grand windows, catching on the delicate porcelain and glittering silverware.

The scent of lavender and chamomile wafted through the air, mingling with the sharp tang of fresh pastries. It should have been a serene moment.

But for me, it was nothing short of a battlefield.

I stood awkwardly near the door, my plain dress hanging loosely on my frame—a deliberate choice by Lady Isolde, I was sure.

Across from me, Elara sat poised in her seat, the picture of elegance.

Her light blue gown shimmered like water under the sunlight, her blonde curls perfectly arranged to frame her smug smile.

Lady Isolde, seated at the head of the table, looked just as radiant in a gown of deep crimson, her every movement calculated to exude authority and grace.

And me? I looked like the charity case of the family, the stepsister who didn’t belong.

"Ah, Aria," Lady Isolde said, her tone sweet enough to rot teeth.

"Come, join us. I was just telling our guests about how difficult it’s been to teach you proper etiquette."

The guests—three noblewomen and their 2 sons and 2 daughters—turned to me with curious gazes.

Their smiles were thin, polite masks that couldn’t quite hide their amusement.

My face burned, but I swallowed my pride and forced my legs to move.

"Of course, mother," I said, my voice as calm as I could make it.

I sat in the empty chair across from Elara, who giggled softly into her hand.

I clenched my fists under the table.

Lady Isolde tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with feigned concern.

"It’s been such a challenge, you see," she said, addressing the noblewomen as if I weren’t there.

"Aria has a rather… spirited nature. But we’re doing our best to correct it, of course."

"Oh, you must be patient," one of the noblewomen replied, her voice dripping with condescension.

"Young girls need a firm hand to learn their place."

"Indeed," Lady Isolde said, smiling warmly.

"Aria, why don’t you show our guests how much you’ve improved? Pour the tea for us, darling."

My heart sank.

I glanced at the teapot, a heavy silver monstrosity that looked like it belonged in a banquet hall, not a tea party.

I could feel my palms beginning to sweat, but I nodded and reached for the handle.

As I stood, the room seemed to shrink around me, their eyes boring into my every movement.

"Careful now," Elara said, her voice light and teasing.

"We wouldn’t want another accident."

My hand trembled slightly as I lifted the pot, carefully aiming for Lady Isolde’s cup.

The weight was almost too much, but I managed to pour without spilling.

Just as I moved to the next guest, Elara shifted in her chair and "accidentally" bumped the table.

The teapot jerked in my hands, and tea splashed across the tablecloth and onto one of the noblewomen’s dresses.

"Oh!" the woman cried, standing abruptly as she dabbed at the stain with a napkin.

"How clumsy!"

I froze, my heart pounding.

Before I could explain, Lady Isolde was already on her feet, her expression full of forced apology.

"Aria, how could you be so careless?" she said, her voice rising just enough to draw attention.

"You’ve embarrassed yourself and this family."

"I—" The words caught in my throat.

"It wasn’t my fault. Elara had—"

"It’s fine, Lady Isolde," the noblewoman said with a tight smile, though her eyes were cold.

"Children will be children, after all."

"Still," Isolde said, turning her sharp gaze to me.

"Aria, if you keep embarrassing the family like this, we’ll have no choice but to send you away. Perhaps a convent would teach you proper decorum."

"A convent," Elara said softly, just loud enough for me to hear.

"That sounds like the perfect place for her."

My fists clenched at my sides, my nails digging into my palms.

I bit my tongue, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

Instead, I stared at the ruined tablecloth, my heart pounding with anger and humiliation.

Why do I even try? Nothing I do will ever be enough for them.

The rest of the tea passed in a blur.

Lady Isolde continued her performance as the loving stepmother trying to rein in her unruly stepdaughter, while Elara basked in the glow of the guests’ praise.

I sat silently, my hands trembling with the effort of holding myself together.

By the time the guests left, my face felt frozen in the polite smile I’d forced to wear.

___________________________________________________________________________

That night, after the guests had left and the hallways of Valerian Manor fell into silence, I found myself sitting on the edge of the tiny bed in my room.

The dim glow of a single candle flickered against the stone walls, casting shadows that danced like ghosts.

The events of the day replayed in my mind on a loop—Elara’s smug smirk, Isolde’s fake concern, the noblewoman’s cold glare.

Every moment chipped away at my resolve, leaving behind a simmering pit of anger and frustration.

But worse than all of it was Seraphel’s absence.

My brother didn’t even bother to attend.

If he had been there, would it have mattered?

Or would he have simply nodded in agreement with Lady Isolde, as he always did?

I stared at my trembling hands, the faint scent of lavender and tea still clinging to my skin.

I clenched my fists, wishing I could erase the humiliation.

I wasn’t a problem child, no matter how much they wanted to paint me as one.

I wasn’t.

The thin pillow on my bed offered little comfort, but as I pressed it to my chest, I let out a deep breath.

The room around me was cold and unwelcoming, its stone walls devoid of warmth.

The candle on my bedside table flickered, its flame casting shifting shadows that seemed to mock me.

The sparse furnishings—a small bed, a rickety desk, and a single chair—were a far cry from the luxurious chambers Elara enjoyed.

Her room was filled with plush cushions, gilded mirrors, and silk draperies.

And mine?

A small dingy room tucked away in the forgotten corner of this huge fancy manor.