Sabine washed Ayoka’s hair with rosewater and braided it tight, her fingers both precise and oddly tender. The scent of the rosewater lingered in the air and blended with the faint earthy perfume of the old house. Ayoka’s hair, vibrant and naturally teal, shimmered under the candlelight and cast iridescent reflections on the walls. Sabine paused at one point, her eyes wide with curiosity. “That color. Are you descended from one of them, the demi-gods? Erzulie’s line, maybe?” Ayoka gave a small shrug, her voice even. “I don’t know. Never got the chance to find out.”

Sabine hummed softly and brushed through another section. The gown laid out for her today was nothing simple. It was an ornate piece of Russian-inspired royal wear, heavy with detail. Its high collar and velvet cuffs glittered with dark jewels that caught the candlelight like drops of ink. Embroidered deep into the bodice and hem were swirling, smoke-like patterns that revealed themselves only in angled light. Shadow dragons, winding and watching.

The dress shimmered faintly and matched the teal undertones of Ayoka’s hair in a way that felt both deliberate and prophetic. Sabine’s eyes lingered on the way the shadows played along the fabric. Ayoka saw it too. The contrast struck her as strange, sacred and staged, like something meant for a coronation in the underworld. This was not worship. It was dressing for a role someone else had already written for her. This was not love. It was costuming, sharp and beautiful and threaded with control.

Sabine could not stand the quiet. She filled it with soft murmurs as she worked, her voice smoothing over the tension in the air. Ayoka did her best to nod and listen, knowing this was more than dressing up. This was a lesson.

“You know the rules,” Sabine said, her fingers quick and steady in Ayoka’s hair.

“Don’t stare too long.” “Don’t smile unless he does first.” “Don’t mention the baby unless asked.”

Each line came gently, like advice from an older sister, but Ayoka heard the warning in them. This was her new duty and her new role. Sabine’s hands were rough from work, but her guidance was exact. While tightening Ayoka’s bodice, she muttered, “If you want to know when supper’s coming, listen for the dogs. Or rather, those chimera mutts he keeps out back.”

Ayoka groaned. “The ones with lion tails and smoke breath? Gods, they howl like they’re singing to the dead.”

Sabine snorted. “Better than some of the workhouses I’ve been in. At least these ones ain’t biting children.”

Ayoka arched a brow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “You've been bitten by one?”

“Worse,” Sabine replied, grinning. “Ate one. Not here, last estate. Stew it. Tasted like regret and pepper.”

Ayoka’s laugh escaped before she could stop it. It was sharp and sudden and cut through the stillness. “You’re lying.”

Sabine shrugged, playful. “Might be.” Then came the wink. “But I’m a free woman now. I get to lie when I want.”

The words landed softly but carried weight. Ayoka blinked. She had not known that. Something in the way Sabine moved had always hinted at restraint, at invisible lines she could not cross. But free? That rewrote everything Ayoka thought she understood, not just about Sabine, but about the house, the rules, and maybe even herself.

Ayoka began to respect her after that, no longer feeling jealous. Sabine carried herself like the elder women back home, dignified and sharp-eyed and always watching. Benoît, in contrast, was clumsy with his secrets. He stared too long and flinched too fast. One afternoon, Ayoka caught him returning with a scrap of folded paper. Sabine said nothing and only washed her hands three times within the hour.

That was the game.

Pretend you don’t know what you’re part of. Pretend you don’t see what you’re doing. They made Ayoka’s chain longer by some magic and only tugged if she went too far or did too much work for her body to handle. Ayoka cleaned rooms that were already clean, folded unused sheets, and dusted untouched books. It was a performance. Every act proved her worth, her obedience, and her silence. Sabine made sure she played it right.

Sabine started to work with Ayoka more as she helped her fold things in certain ways and arrange objects, all while giving quiet facts about the master of the house.

“Keep the baby out of sight unless he asks,” Sabine whispered once while setting down a polished bowl, her tone matter-of-fact, as though she were instructing someone on how to fold towels. “He loves children, truly. But he doesn’t like them around when folks are playing roles for him. It’s like breaking the illusion.”

She straightened the linens as she spoke, her eyes never lifting. “He keeps them safe and lets them be soft and unafraid until they turn thirteen. Then they start to work, just like the rest of us.”

Ayoka nodded and said nothing. She was starting to understand the rhythm of this house and the rituals it demanded.

Viktor visited rarely. When he did, he looked at her, not the baby. Malik stayed hidden behind velvet curtains and softer lies until she had to nurse him herself. Sabine never held him, not out of coldness, but because she was rarely alone, always being sent, watched, and redirected. Someone always had eyes on her too.

Still, Malik was Ayoka’s. In this house of masks and shadows, love was the one thing she refused to share.