Inside a room lined with reinforced glass windows—barred with steel and iron to keep out any flying dolls at night, remnants of a haunting fear she had never fully shaken—a young lady sat before a massive mirror. Resting on the vanity beside her was a gold-edged frame, its polished surface catching the warm afternoon light. Within it, a faded photograph showed two young girls—one blonde, one with sky blue hair—locked in a moment of joy long past.

Her fingers brushed lightly over the glass.

“Clair…” she murmured, almost inaudibly, the name slipping from her lips like a secret she didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud.

Then, with a soft sigh, she turned back to her reflection. Her hands moved with deliberate patience, combing through her short sky blue hair again and again, as if trying to smooth away more than just tangles—perhaps the weight of anticipation resting heavy on her shoulders.
Then her eyes landed on something she had hoped to bury, even if just for today.
At the corner of the vanity, a thick pile of papers dated last month caught her eye.
"Is it today?" she asked herself nervously.

The silence was broken by a sharp, expectant knock. She rose smoothly and opened the door to find a maid bowing deeply, her voice barely above a whisper: “They are here, my lady.

She sighed with a mix of disappointment and resignation. “What else did you expect from adventurers? They’re bound to be late.”

Rising gracefully, she paused to adjust the small crest pinned to her shirt—straightening it with care, as if the act might steady her resolve. Then she stepped lightly from her chamber and made her way toward the living room, her polished formal shoes clicking softly against the gleaming floor. The living room was a grand yet cozy space, drenched in the golden light of the afternoon sun filtering through tall, arched windows. Bookshelves lined the walls between intricate tapestries, and a crystal chandelier above refracted soft rainbows onto the marble floor. Velvet couches and gilded furniture were arranged to encourage conversation, though few ever lingered here long enough to make use of it.

Seated by one of the windows was a girl whose skin was paler than even her own—an ethereal, almost otherworldly shade of fair that made her occasional forays outside her room seem almost sun-kissed by comparison. The long black bangs shadowed half the girl’s face, hinting at a secret she guarded fiercely, a mystery hidden behind strands of silk.

Beside her, a young man sat with quiet confidence, his features familiar due to her occasional visits to the guild. There was something about his posture—a mixture of reluctance and resolve—that spoke volumes about his feelings toward this aristocratic world they were stepping into.

A small, approving smile tugged at her lips. ‘Not so bad after all.’

She clapped her hands, a line of butlers stood stiffly on one side of the room, their polished shoes clicking softly against the floor. Opposite them, a row of maids waited patiently, hands folded demurely in front of them, eyes downcast but attentive. The air in the room shifted subtly with the arrival of these servants—silent reminders of the world she ruled.

“Dress them well. Especially her—fix her hair.”

“Hold on! Where’s the introduction first?” Rydan protested, eyes narrowing as maids approached Sandra to fuss over her.

“Party’s already started, and you’re late,” the lady said smoothly, “I’m Marianne. Pleased to meet you.”

“Hey wait—” Rydan began, but a flurry of activity swallowed his protest.

Before he could finish, a group of butlers seized him by the arms and dragged him toward one of the side rooms.

“I’ll remember this!” he shouted over his shoulder at Marianne, just as a pair of hands reached from within and yanked him through the door.

Sandra barely had time to blink before the maids descended on her. One grabbed her wrist—and got a sharp bite in return.

But more hands followed, relentless and practiced, pulling Sandra through the opposite door.

Marianne, standing between the rooms, waved a delicate hand with a placid smile. “They’ll be fine.”

***

Marianne sat on the edge of a velvet couch, her gaze fixed on the golden pocket watch in her hand. She counted each ticking second with quiet impatience, the tiny hands inching forward in cruel defiance of punctuality.

The door opened.

Rydan strode in, tugging at the tight collar of his formal wear. His fingers slipped under the stiff necktie, trying to loosen it as he unfastened the top button of his coat.

“These suits are too tight. I can barely breathe,” he muttered, his voice laced with irritation.

“Bear with it. I’m paying you to wear it,” Marianne replied flatly, not even sparing him a glance.

“You know,” Rydan said as he flopped down beside her, throwing an arm casually over the back of the couch, “you’d be cuter if you acted a little nicer.”

Marianne’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn’t take the bait. Instead, after a moment’s pause, she asked, “Do you actually understand the context of this quest?”

Rydan gave a half-hearted shrug. “Kinda. We show up, talk with the girls, eat some food. Smile a bit. Then we go home, everyone happy. That’s all, right?”

Her gaze hardened, and for a brief second, disappointment flickered across her features.

Her eyes flicked toward the hand behind her head. Her lips tightened in a frown just as the door opened again.

And she entered.

Sandra wore a simple dress, understated in design, yet it complemented her natural beauty rather than overshadowing it. But what truly captured attention was the golden pin clipped delicately to move her bangs to the side—revealing, for the first time, her full face. It was like unveiling a portrait long hidden behind curtains.

Rydan quickly withdrew his arm from the couch, straightening up in his seat. Marianne gave him a brief, disappointed glance before turning her full attention to the girl before her.

‘With this, there shouldn’t be a problem’, she thought with quiet satisfaction.

Rydan caught her subtle smile and let out a soft chuckle before catching himself and swallowing it quickly.

Marianne narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“Nothing,” Rydan said with a shrug. “You just don’t know her well… yet.”

“I hate this dress. Can I rip it apart now?” Sandra’s voice cut through the air like a blade, but as if that wasn’t enough, she added, ““And most of all, I hate this… whatever it is on my feet. I can’t feel the ground.”

“Toldya,” Rydan said, casting a glance at Marianne—feeling oddly refreshed, like he’d just gotten a bit of revenge for earlier.

Marianne sighed deeply, resisting the urge to rub her temples. ‘Please… let everything go smoothly.’

***

The three stepped onto the party grounds along the coastline, where the sea stretched endlessly toward the horizon. One was dressed impeccably for the occasion, another walked casually with his shirt already unbuttoned and a surfboard tucked under his arm, while the last went barefoot, her feet bare against the warm stone. Marianne let out a quiet sigh and took in the scene.

Tables draped in silk lined the stone terrace, arranged to frame the breathtaking view of the setting sun. Above them, delicate glass bulbs—each infused with fire magic—hung suspended from fine cables strung between poles, ready to ignite as dusk slipped into night.

Amid the bustle and glow, Sandra moved with a quiet detachment, her presence almost invisible against the vivid backdrop. But as the golden light bathed the world in amber, she paused. Her eyes, usually veiled in disinterest, widened slightly. The faintest shimmer lit them—like a child catching their first glimpse of something beautiful and untouchable. For that brief moment, she looked not like an adventurer or a desert princess, but someone simply alive.

Suddenly, a butler leaned in to whisper something to Marianne. Her expression shifted minutely before she turned to call out over her shoulder.

“I’ll be back in a bit. Try not to cause a scene while I’m gone.”

Rydan didn’t even turn. He waved a dismissive hand in her direction, more focused on the moment in front of him.

He had noticed the change in Sandra’s eyes now that they were unveiled—the quiet awe shining within them as they reflected the amber light. After adjusting his coat and tie with a quick tug, he stepped beside her and offered his hand.

“Shall we?”

But something was off. His brow furrowed as he looked down—he didn’t know he had so many hands.

He glanced around, only to realize that a dozen young men in formal wear had also stepped forward, each eagerly offering their own hand to Sandra. Their coats pristine, smiles polished, and eyes locked onto her as if she were the guest of honor.

Feeling the stares crawl over her skin, Sandra stiffened. ‘Again with the stares’, she cursed inwardly, shifting uncomfortably.

Without thinking, Rydan stepped forward, placing himself between her and the advancing crowd like a knight shielding a princess—despite having been one of the hungry-eyed suitors just seconds ago. The same glint that marked him as a predator now sharpened into something more dangerous: a warning.

“Hey—I’m with her!”

Then, before either of them could react further, a pair of gloved hands reached from behind and yanked them both backward.

The world blurred for a moment, and suddenly they found themselves in a vacant side room lined with drapes and gold-trimmed chairs.

Marianne stood before them, eyes narrowed like a hawk ready to strike.

“Enough improvising,” she said, her voice sharp as glass. “I will now teach you the basics of surviving a noble party.”

Rydan blinked. “Wait, now?”

Her expression darkened.

“Yes. Now.”

***

Author’s Note:

The new cover is up!
I’ve finished the art — a bit sketchy, but definitely better than the old one, right? 😅
Hope you enjoy the atmosphere and the subtle details 👀✨

Thanks for reading and supporting Sandra’s barefoot journey 🌊
Feel free to leave a comment or hit that heart if you're enjoying the story 💛