Ayoka was allowed a handful of minutes to herself. Sabine said it plainly, as if it were nothing at all, and the chain at Ayoka’s ankle loosened with a quiet pull of magic, lengthened just enough to give the illusion of choice. Sabine took Malik without ceremony, settling him against her hip. “Three minutes,” she murmured, not unkindly. “I’ll watch him.”

Ayoka did not waste them.

She drifted along the attic floor and found a room she had never been meant to use, a chamber enchanted to mimic the outside world. Rain fell inside it, gentle and precise, shaped by weather magic woven into the walls and ceiling. The air smelled clean, like wet earth and stone. She slipped into a thin nightgown that left little to the imagination and stepped forward, letting the rain slide over her skin.

The chill made her gasp softly. Water traced her shoulders, her breasts, her stomach, easing the deep ache left behind by birth. Her nipples tightened in the cold, sensitive and alive, and the sensation felt healing rather than shameful, as if the rain itself recognized her body and was tending to it. For a moment, she closed her eyes and breathed, letting herself exist without being watched.

She reached for the ties at her shoulders, half ready to strip away even the nightgown, when the air shifted.

Ayoka opened her eyes and found Viktor standing at the threshold. He was dressed for bathing, linen loose against his body, as though he too had intended to use the room. He did not touch her. He did not step closer. He only stared, his gaze steady and unreadable, while the rain continued to fall between them.

In that stillness, her eyes caught the scars along his skin, old marks laid deep, some jagged with the memory of battle and others too precise to be anything but ritual. They looked dangerous and unsettlingly beautiful in the falling rain. The sight stirred something dark and unwanted in her chest. Shame followed quickly, and she forced herself to look away.

For a few suspended moments, they met only in each other’s eyes. Then Viktor turned, and Ayoka turned with him, both facing away as if the quiet itself demanded it.

“I am sorry,” Viktor said at last, his voice low and even. “I thought this room was unused.”

“No need to say sorry, Master Viktor,” Ayoka replied, her gaze fixed ahead.

“You arrived first,” he said calmly. “Mothers require healing. I can wait.”

As they moved back toward her room, Ayoka felt a flicker of unease, wondering if he had noticed the marks her body carried from birth. Viktor spoke again, as if answering the thought itself.

“I shall order cream for your body,” he said. “The local shamans work wonders, especially with salves made from animal bone.”

He reached somewhere unseen and produced thick towels, pressing them gently into her hands. The rain vanished from her skin at once, warmth settling where the chill had been. He guided her back to her room and left her there. Moments later, out of her sight, he drew Sabine aside, far enough that Ayoka could not hear what was asked, only that something in the house had shifted.

It was after that, when the air had settled again, that Viktor asked her to walk with him. Not with a leash, not with chains, and not with threats. Just a question, soft and unexpected. “Would you like to walk the grounds?”

The question caught Ayoka off guard. She hesitated, her thoughts scrambling for the right response, but Sabine stepped in before the silence could stretch too long.

Viktor nodded and turned to leave. Sabine sighed and spoke in a motherly tone. “You’re lucky that he finds you interesting, cher.”

Ayoka nodded and began to get ready for the outing. Sabine watched the child as he slept, while Benoît stood half-invisible in the corner like a shadow caught in a curtain. Ayoka glanced toward the window as the sun began to shine.

Sabine dressed her in something bold, an experimental design she claimed warded off shadows. The fit was tight and almost theatrical, hugging Ayoka’s figure in ways that made her feel both regal and restrained. Layers of velvet clung to her hips, while the bodice lifted her chest with no hint of subtlety. “Well,” Sabine muttered, adjusting the final strap with a grin, “that fine bosom and backside of yours will have the whole house tripping over itself. You’ll catch up on all the time lost.”

Ayoka’s makeup shimmered in delicate motifs, birds mid-flight and slender vines curled like spells across her cheeks and temples. She looked like a symbol of something forgotten and something sacred. She did not know what ritual she was being dressed for, only that it was not hers. She took comfort where she could, in the small magical fan she slipped into her corset. The enchanted piece pulsed gently, a portable breeze that soothed her under the tight gown. It was her hidden luxury, her private magic. This was not for her. It was a role, a test, a gilded lie, and she had learned long ago how to live inside someone else’s story.

Ayoka looked into the mirror and paused. She had never worn anything this fine or this powerful. She was used to being dressed like a porcelain saint, all purity and softness, forced into the image of meekness. This was something else, something closer to a goddess than a ghost. Even if she was still trapped in a dollhouse, at least this was not the look of a gentle lover. The thought of being made to look soft again made her shiver.

Behind her, Sabine tended quietly to Malik, humming as she adjusted his blanket. Benoît lingered at the edge of the room, nearly indistinguishable from the folds of curtain and shadow. Outside, the grass beyond the warped glass shimmered with silver, as if the bayou itself were holding its breath.

Then came Viktor’s voice, smooth and direct. “Why is she dressed like this?”

Sabine turned with a calm expression and answered evenly. “Because I did not want her to overheat in those thick silks, Master Viktor. And the stitching is spelled for protection. You know how the marsh shifts. There have been more sightings lately. The couvrefeu beasts are creeping closer to the edges.”

Ayoka’s brow lifted slightly. She had heard of the couvrefeu, swamp-stalking creatures with soot-colored scales and mouths full of teeth that glowed like lanterns. They had once been whispered about as bedtime threats, but in recent months, even the bravest house boys no longer strayed past dusk.

Viktor nodded, but his eyes lingered on her longer than necessary before he stepped away.

Ayoka adjusted the magical fan tucked into her bodice and murmured to herself, “Not the look I chose, but at least it breathes better than virtue.”