The night air was thick with silence. Only the gently chirp of crickets and the distant rustle of tree filled the space within their cottage walls. Vivian sat at the window, watching droplets of rain trace crooked paths down the glass. It had started again, soft at first then heavier, like the sky was mourning something only it understood.
She didn't know what was bothering her more: the news of the ball or the way lily's eye lit up at the mention of it. Behind her lily was already humming as she rummaged through a dusty woody chest filled with old gowns wrapped with linen. "Vivian" she called out softly "do you think mama wore this blue one to a ball? Look, the embroidery looks royal."
Vivian didn't answer. Her fingers tightened around the windowsill. The bad feeling hadn't left her since Nathan's warning. A ball thrown by a king who never showed his face? Punishment for families who didn't attend? It didn't feel an invitation. It felt like a summon.
And why now?
"I had a dream," Vivian said quietly
Lily paused. "A dream?"
Vivian turned from the window, her voice low. "There were four doors—each carved with symbols. One was fire, the other one wind, one looked like a glowing eye and the last one looked like a mirror. But none of the would open unless I chose one."
Lily blinked. "That's strange."
Vivian nodded. "It felt real. Like the kind of dream that means something"
Before lily could respond, there was a sharp knock on the door. Three times. Steady. Purposeful.
They exchanged a look. Visitors were rare at this hour, and something about that knock didn't sit right.
Vivian moved to the door slowly, her hand hovering over above the handle. "Who is it?" she asked.
A pause. Then a voice---deep, calm, and unfamiliar: "A message from the palace."
Vivian's heart sank.
Vivian hesitated, something about the voice made her stomach twist. It wasn't threatening—at least, not directly—but it carried weight. Like whoever stood outside wasn't used to waiting.
Lily stood behind her now, clutching the blue gown to her chest.
Vivian opened the door.
A man in a dark cloak stood in the drizzle, water dripping of the brim of his of his hood. His face was mostly shadowed, but she could make out a silver insignia pinned to his chest: a crescent moon—elegant, unfamiliar, and oddly cold.
"Vivian and Lily Hart?" he asked.
Vivian stepped slightly in front of her sister. "who's asking?"
I am a courier of the Crown. "I was instructed to deliver these personally" He reached into his cloak and brought out two scrolls, sealed with the same crescent symbol.
The man handed them over and turned to leave.
"Wait," Vivian called. "Which king sent these?"
He paused mid-step. "The one who still remembers your mother." Then he vanished into the mist, his silhouette swallowed by the rain.
Back inside, Lily unrolled her scroll first. Her eyes lit with inerest as she read.
By the decree of his Majesty,
You are hereby summoned to the Palace of Shadows.
Only one may be crowned.
Only one may choose.
Lily looked at her, eyes sparkling with excitement and a flicker of fear.
The golden scroll lay between them on the old wooden table, its seal already cracked, though the words echoed louder than thunder.
A royal ball at. At the Shadow Palace.
Lily's fingers danced over the edge of the parchment . "We've never even been outside the village. And now the Palace wants us?"
Vivian crossed her arms. "It's not a kind invitation. It's a summons."
"So?"
"So, people don't return from that Palace unchanged. Some don't return at all.
Lily shot her a look "you're being dramatic."
Vivian didn't answer she could feel the pulse of something in the air like the forest holding its breath.
Later that evening, with the scroll tucked into an old book, the sisters crept up to the attic. Dust coated every beam and beam of moonlight, but they knew exactly what they were looking for.
Their mother's old trunk.
They hadn't opened it in years. Not since her death.
Lily knelt beside it, brushing her fingers over the lid with care. "Do you remember her wearing these?"
Vivian hesitated, only once. At the Harvest Moon Festival.
They lifted the lid together, and the scent of lavender and something older drifted out—like forgotten magic.
Inside, gowns folded with delicate precision gleamed beneath the dust. Silks, Velvet, and lace—far finer than anything they've ever worn. One was pale blue with silver beading like falling stars. Another was gold and gauzy, weightless in Vivian's hands. But the last one made them both go quiet.
Deep green. Laced at the waist. Sleeves of sheer shadow-thread that shimmered in the light'
Vivian touched it carefully. "This was hers.'
Lily's voice softened carefully. "You should wear it."
Vivian shook her head. "No. it's yours."
Mother would have wanted you to have it. "She always said you has her fire."
Vivian didn't answer. She just folded the gown carefully across her arm and stared at the empty window.
That night, while Lily dreamt of lanterns and silk slippers, Vivian sat awake by the fire, watching the green fabric flicker in the falme's light. She could almost hear her mother's voice whispering through the walls, telling her to be brave…. or warning her to run
Somehow she wasn't sure which.
The next morning, the carriage arrived. No horses, no driver. Just a dark green coach with silver lanterns and doors that opened without touch.
Lily squealed, her face glowing. "Viv, we're going to the palace!"
Vivian in her emerald gown and old boots, said nothing.
But as the rolled forward into the mist, she gripped the seats and whispered a promise to herself:
I'm not here to fall in love.
I'm here to survive.