Regina burst into the softly lit chamber, her voice sharp with urgency and motherly concern. “Vivian!!!” The name echoed gently off the high, intricately plastered ceilings, yet there was no answer but the muffled, heart-wrenching sobs that trembled through the room.

Vivian lay curled upon the heavy embroidered mattress, her body bent forward, head buried deep into the thick coverlet that muffled her silent grief. Her small hands rested limply beside her, fingers twitching sporadically as if grasping for comfort in the unseen void. The quiet anguish in her posture cut through the stillness like a sorrowful dirge.

“Vivian...” Regina stepped closer, her usual commanding tone faltering into a soft whisper, undone by the helplessness of a child caught in a torment she could not voice. Her icy blue eyes glistened with unshed tears, reflecting the flickering candlelight that cast oscillating shadows across the ornate wallpaper.

From behind Regina, a small shape padded quietly forward. Lillian, her bright violet eyes wide and somber, clutched their white, fluffy puppy, Vivi. The little creature’s soft fur gleamed like freshly fallen snow, an innocent beacon amid the chamber’s heavy sorrow. Lillian hesitated at the bedside, unsure yet willing, her gaze flickering between her sister’s silent sobs and their mother’s concerned face.

Regina knelt gracefully and lowered herself beside the bed. With gentle, commanding hands, she cradled Vivian’s head and lifted it onto her lap. The softness of her lap was a stark contrast to the harshness of the world that had battered the girl so cruelly.

“Calm down, baby,” Regina murmured, voice thick with empathy. “It’s alright. I know you’re missing your mama and papa...” As the words left her lips, Vivian’s tear-streaked eyes flickered upward, and she moved her lips soundlessly, shaping the words ‘mama’ and ‘papa’—but no breath, no voice emerged.

Regina enfolded Vivian in a warm, protective embrace, whispering soothingly, “Mama and Papa have gone out on some work, but they will return as soon as they possibly can. And I—I am Regina. I will care for you in their absence.”

Lillian stood silently behind her mother, hugging the puppy tight to her chest, a whirlpool of conflicting emotions surging within her. What? the thought stabbed at her heart. I knew… I knew I shouldn’t have held my hopes up. She’s just like me... She glanced down, stroking Vivi’s silken fur as if seeking solace there.

The little puppy’s gentle bark broke the tension. “Woof. Woof!”

Vivian’s watery eyes fixed on the small creature, awe softening her features. The pure white fluff captivated her attention, a fragile tether to calmness in a turbulent world. Slowly, the sharp edges of her tears dulled to a gentle trickle, and the trembling in her small body eased.

Regina carefully released her hold, cradling Vivian’s arms with tender firmness. “Vivian, until your parents come back, you shall stay with me, yes? No more tears. They will return soon, I promise.” Her voice wavered yet demanded trust.

A faint nod from Vivian, her delicate frame now still, sealed her resolve. Okay. Mama and Papa will be back. I will wait. The child’s mind echoed her mother’s gentle teachings—Mama said thank the people who help me.

With hesitant lips, she formed a new question, soundlessly at first. “Miss... Thank you... When will... mama and papa... come back?”

Regina frowned, confusion knitting her brows. “Peace? Peace? Thank you? Where’s my... huhh?” she stammered, mimicking Vivian’s lip movements, trying to catch each whispered shape. The flickering candlelight threw long shadows on the rich tapestries as she concentrated, word by word.

A sudden prompt from Lillian broke the focus. “Mama,” she said softly, pointing at her own slender neck, pale against the embroidered collar. “Why can’t she speak? Is it because of the white thing on her neck?”

Unbeknownst to them, just beyond the half-open door stood Maria, Regina’s mother. Her sharp eyes narrowed as she observed the tender scene, a faint curl of disdain twisting her lips.

Another weakling, I see, she mused silently, the firelight glinting cold on her sharp features. This must be the ‘truth’ Regina spoke of earlier. A delicate flower meant to fade.

With a quiet shake of her head, Maria turned away, her heels clicking decisively against the marble floor as she retreated into the shadowed corridors of the estate.

-At the Clothing Shop in the town, 2.29 PM- 

The soft chime of the bell rang through the air as the heavy oak door to Maison de Lys, the renowned atelier nestled amidst the bustling stone-paved streets of Granzholm’s fashion district, swung open.

“Oh! Welcome, dear guests!” exclaimed a woman behind the polished mahogany counter. Her voice was warm, tinged with a lilting accent indicative of the Empire’s cosmopolitan nature. The scent of rich damask, freshly cut silk, and fragrant rosewater filled the boutique, intertwining with the muted rustling of bolts of fabric and delicate laughter from the fitting rooms.

Regina entered with measured grace, cradling Vivian in her slender arms, while Lillian’s small hand found hers, fingers curling with tentative trust. The gentle swish of emerald velvet from Regina’s cloak complemented the delicate clatter of her polished leather boots as she approached the counter.

“Greetings,” Regina said with serene authority. “I seek garments befitting my daughters—finest designer dresses for forthcoming banquets and finely tailored housewear suitable for daily grace within our estate.”

From behind the counter, two elegantly dressed ladies—maîtresses of the craft—stepped forward. Their gowns whispered soft swirls of pastel silks, and their fingers were nimble as they produced measuring tapes embroidered with gold thread.

“Madame,” one said, bowing slightly, “it would be an honor to dress mademoiselles Lillian and Vivian. We shall ensure each stitch is worthy of their noble bearing.” Her eyes softened as they locked on Vivian’s fragile form.

The other, a woman with warm chestnut hair and keen eyes, gently took Vivian from Regina’s arms. She cradled the child’s tiny frame, setting her upon a cushioned stool draped in velvet. “We shall begin at once,” she murmured, her voice a soothing melody.

Regina smiled, a mixture of pride and motherly kindness. “Do not fret, my little stars. Lillian, Vivian—fear not the needles or silks. We will draw forth your radiance.”

Lillian’s violet eyes sparkled despite her nervousness. “Will it be like ball gowns? Like princesses?” Her voice was a whispered wonder.

Regina nodded, brushing a stray golden curl from her daughter’s forehead. “Indeed, love. Tonight and many nights hence, you will shine like the very stars from heaven’s veil.”

The measuring commenced—soft tapes snaking around limbs delicate and small; whispered encouragements floated between the women and the girls. Vivian remained quiet yet attentive, her gaze flickering to the vibrant swatches laid before her—rich burgundies, deep ambers, pale ivories kissed with lace.

Tentatively, one seamstress reached for a pattern of deep sapphire blue with subtle silver embroidery—a dress meant to reflect the quiet nobility within Vivian’s depths.

After moments of considering, the atelier ladies presented several ensembles—robes of flowing silk and intricate embroidery, slippers soft as clouds, and bonnets trimmed with satin ribbons and tiny gemstones.

A mirrored alcove invited transformation. Regina helped her daughters change into the fine fabrics—light layers that whispered against the skin, embraced the grace of youth. Lillian twirled, her skirts blooming floral patterns against the polished floors as the ladies applauded softly.

Vivian, initially hesitant, watched her sister before a tender smile curved her lips in silent approval. Regina squeezed her hand and whispered, “Brave heart, you wear the dawn and dusk alike.”

Mirrored reflections revealed glimpses of future gala evenings—the shimmer of candlelight on opulent halls, the murmur of noble courtiers, and the gentle sway of sisters bound by fate and fine silks.

Outside, the soft murmur of the city passed unnoticed—a world hushed for a moment, as beauty and hope wove anew within the walls of Maison de Lys.

Hours slipped by in a delicate blend of measured activity and quiet anticipation. The soft rustle of silk and whispered clinks of pins filled the atelier as the girls transformed within swathes of fabric and fine lace. At last, the day’s labors drew to a close.

Now, as twilight cast a warm, golden glow through the painted glass windows of Maison de Lys, Regina stood poised in the bustling town square, two small hands nestled safely in hers—one belonging to Lillian, radiant with youthful excitement, the other to Vivian, whose wide violet eyes drank in the world with a quiet astonishment.

Flanking them, two stalwart male servants bore meticulously wrapped bundles of freshly tailored clothes—brocaded gowns, embroidered bodices, and delicate accessories destined to adorn the girls in grand halls and quiet chambers alike. Their footsteps echoed in time with the whispered chatter of the crowd beyond.

“Oh! How about we return to the quaint restaurant we dined at last month?” Regina proposed brightly, turning to Lillian with a sparkle in her eyes. “The one by the riverside, with lace curtains and candlelit tables?”

“YEAHH!” Lillian’s laughter rang out, pure and joyous, twirling beneath the lantern light as the scent of roasted chestnuts and baking bread wafted through the air. Her violet eyes gleamed with eager anticipation.

Regina’s gaze drifted towards Vivian, whose wide, unblinking eyes were fixed upon the bustling street scene. Rows of market stalls, wild with colors—scarlet cloaks, sapphire ribbons, sunshot golds, and meadow greens—fluttered in the evening breeze. Commoners, merchants, and noblewomen alike wove a tapestry of life Vivien had never before seen with such vivacity.

“Vivian?” Regina gently called, dipping her voice like the coo of a sparrow to draw her sister from the daydream.

Startled, Vivian raised her gaze towards her mother-figure. “Are you hungry?” Regina coaxed with a reassuring smile, her fingers tightening slightly on Vivian’s cool hand. “Shall we have some goodies? Anything your heart desires.”

Vivian’s nod was shy but firm. She glanced once more at the lively crowd, her eyes reflecting the flickering streetlamps—her mind a whirl of unfamiliar wonder.

Regina’s smile broadened as she turned her gaze to the attendants behind them, voices muffled by the gentle hum of evening life. “We shall tarry awhile in the town. Please ensure these garments are safely stowed in the carriage.”

“Certainly, Madame,” the servants responded in unison, adjusting their loads before turning toward the waiting carriage parked beneath a canopy of chestnut trees whose leaves rustled softly in the crisp twilight.

As they strolled, the girls’ footsteps mingling with the murmurs of promenading townsfolk and distant church bells, Regina’s thoughts fluttered with cautious hope—for Vivian’s place in this vivid new world and the fragile bonds of sisterhood knitting quietly between them.

The soft clatter of porcelain and tinkling of silver echoed through the quaint riverside restaurant as Regina, Lillian, and Vivian settled into a corner booth beneath an embroidered canopy of lace. The evening air carried the mingled aromas of freshly baked pastries, spiced cider, and the faint smoky sweetness of roasting chestnuts from nearby hearths.

A footman, dressed in a finely tailored waistcoat, unfurled a parchment menu sealed with a delicate ribbon—the ordering card of this esteemed establishment, penned in elegant script and adorned with intricate pen-and-ink illustrations of each snack.

Lillian leaned forward, eyes wide with delight and indecision, her fingers hovering over the parchment as she murmured thoughtfully, “Shall I choose this one, Mama—the candied violets? But, then again... the honeyed almond crescents look so tempting, too... yet I did not enjoy the last time I sampled those at the Ducal ball.” Her voice was soft, mingling genuine curiosity with the refined mannerisms of a young lady-in-training.

Regina smiled indulgently, her gaze warm and steady. “Choose whatever delights you most, my dear. Remember, this is not a feast, but a simple repast to nourish gentle bodies and spirits.”

Lillian nodded, casting a final glance at the vivid drawings before selecting the honeyed almond crescents, her choice both whimsical and measured.

Turning now to Vivian, Regina’s voice softened further. “And you, little one? What catches your eye this evening?” She watched the young girl’s gaze linger on a delicate illustration of sugared rose petals, nestled alongside tiny spheres of spun sugar shimmering like crystal dew.

Vivian’s eyes, wide and unblinking, traced the delicate contours of the picture as if deciphering some silent language, lips moving faintly yet producing no sound.

Before Regina could utter a second inquiry, the waiter approached with graceful solemnity, his crisp linen jacket pristine beneath the flickering candlelight. Bowing slightly, he unrolled his order pad and inquired with keen attentiveness, “Might I take your selections, Madame? We have fresh marzipan, candied violets, honeyed almond crescents, sugared rose petals, and assorted petit fours.”

Regina’s eyes met those of Lillian and Vivian one last time before commanding. “We shall have the almond crescents and candied violets for Miss Lillian, and the sugared rose petals for Miss Vivian. As for myself, a pot of spiced chamomile tea, if you please.”

The waiter nodded, serene and efficient, delivering a curt yet respectful, “Very good, Madame,” before retreating to the hearth-side kitchen, where the soft murmur of the cooks mingled with the crackling flames.

As the idle bustle of the restaurant swelled around them—the hushed murmur of other diners, the subtle clink of glasses, the rich glow of oil lamps reflecting off aged wooden beams—Regina’s thoughts drifted softly to the two young girls framed beside her. In this tranquil moment of respite, she found a rare solace, a fragile hope woven through the tender bonds of newfound sisterhood.

Lillian’s gentle smile and Vivian’s wide-eyed wonder were beacons amidst the shifting tides of court and fate, small gladnesses treasured beneath the grand weight of the empire’s gaze.

To be Continued...