Tonight, the whispers weren’t just about her illegitimacy. They were venomous, laced with accusations of dark magic, of unnatural beauty, of a malevolence that poisoned the very air she breathed. The court, once simply indifferent, now actively shunned her. The once-polite distance had transformed into open hostility. Noblewomen turned their backs as she passed, their silken gowns swirling away like offended spirits. Noblemen exchanged knowing glances, their smiles thin and cruel. Even the servants, usually respectful, avoided her gaze, their whispers carrying the same poison as their betters.  

The pain was a constant companion, a dull ache that pulsed beneath her elegant exterior. It wasn't just the social ostracism, the cold indifference of a court that once tolerated her presence. It was the cruel undercurrent of suspicion, the implication that her very existence was an affront to the natural order. They saw her beauty, a beauty that bloomed too early, too flawlessly, as a mark of something sinister, something unnatural. They saw her grace, not as innate elegance but as the result of dark arts, a testament to unholy pacts.

Madelyn, meanwhile, basked in their adoration. She moved through the ballroom as though born of sunlight and stardust, her every action flawless, her every word met with rapturous applause. The same court that treated Vashti like a plague, showering Madelyn with affection, attention, and gifts. The Empress herself lavished praise upon Madelyn, while Vashti’s existence was simply an unspoken, yet heavily felt, blemish on the Imperial family. The unfairness stung, sharp and raw, a wound that no amount of silk or jewels could ever truly heal. It wasn’t just jealousy; it was the blatant injustice, the hypocrisy, the sheer cruelty that fueled the ever-growing chasm between the sisters.

Clarion, ever watchful, stood by Vashti’s side, his presence a small island of warmth in a sea of icy disdain. He attempted to engage her in conversation, but even his gentle words seemed to fall flat, lost in the cacophony of whispered insults. His concern, palpable in its sincerity, only served to amplify the hollowness of her isolation. She saw the pity in his eyes, the silent question hanging in the air – Why do they hate you so? – and a wave of despair washed over her. Even his unwavering support felt inadequate in the face of such pervasive and intense negativity. The truth was, she didn't even know why they hated her so much. But tonight, that didn't matter. Tonight, the pain was real, sharp, and utterly consuming. She could feel the weight of their disdain pressing down upon her, squeezing the air from her lungs, threatening to drown her in a sea of bitterness and despair. The music faded into the background, only the pounding of her heart, a frantic rhythm against the quiet, insistent hum of their hatred, remained.