Morning dawned softly, with the quiet kind of light that filtered through curtains like reluctant hope.
Virelle awoke before the sun crested the hills, her back straight, her movements methodical. She folded her nightgown with practiced precision, slipped into a fresh pale-blue day dress without a wrinkle, and braided her golden hair down her back like woven silk.
Not a strand out of place. Not a trace of last night's tears.
She moved like clockwork—mechanical, efficient.
Like a girl who'd learned early that a cracked porcelain doll was replaced, not repaired.
Lia watched her silently from her usual hiding spot in the wardrobe drawer, her silver fur warmed by a square of sunlight. The young kitten didn't stir, though her ears twitched slightly when she saw the way Virelle carefully rolled her sleeves to hide the faint marks still fresh on her wrists.
She's only thirteen, Lia thought, her tail curling protectively around her body. Why does she have to move like she's twenty-five? Why does she know how to hide pain like this?
Virelle didn't speak.
Not to her reflection. Not to Lia. Not even to herself.
She just… existed.
She slipped a silver hairpin into place, turned once in the mirror, and left the room like a ghost passing through time.
Downstairs, the mansion had resumed its cold rhythm. Servants bustled politely, heads bowed, expressions neutral. No one looked Virelle in the eye. No one ever did.
Lady Mirane was nowhere to be seen.
She doesn't show her face when Father's home, Virelle had once muttered to herself. She prefers him to remember her as gentle and graceful. So she disappears when he's here. Like a snake shedding skin.
The dining room was too big for two people.
A long mahogany table stretched down the center like a battlefield. The silverware gleamed like weapons. The chandelier above gave off a steady, judgmental light.
The Duke of Elerian was already seated at the head.
He didn't glance up as she entered.
Virelle walked to her seat with the grace of a noble's daughter and sat at the far end, almost twelve chairs away from him.
As always.
"Good morning," she said quietly.
He hummed. "Morning."
That was it.
Servants brought food—steamed eggs, fresh bread, fruit preserves, and a pot of imported tea.
They poured it into Virelle's cup without asking her preference.
Because no one ever did.
She stirred her tea silently, watching the tiny swirl of sugar disappear into the amber liquid. Her hands didn't shake. Her shoulders didn't slouch.
Across the table, the Duke cut his bread. Read his correspondence. Occasionally sipped from his own cup.
They didn't speak again.
Upstairs, Lia paced the length of Virelle's bedroom like a silver storm cloud.
I have to do something, she thought. There has to be a way.
She replayed everything from the previous night.
How the Duke had been cool but seemingly unaware. How Virelle had made herself smaller in his presence. How he hadn't noticed the faint bruises or the fragile edge in her voice.
He doesn't know. But he should. He's her father.
Lia scratched the floor in frustration.
If I were human, I'd march in there and scream it in his face. But what can a cat do? Meow dramatically at dinner?
She paused.
Actually, maybe…
No. It wouldn't work. If she made a scene, it might only draw suspicion onto Virelle—and Virelle was already teetering on thin ice. Lia remembered the fear in her voice when she'd whispered, "If he sees you, he won't let me keep you. I'll lose you."
Lia couldn't risk it.
Downstairs, breakfast ended with no conversation, no warmth, no eye contact.
Virelle stood, curtsied.
"Thank you for the meal, Father."
He nodded, already lost in a letter from the capital.
Virelle left as quietly as she had come.
She returned to her room in silence.
As soon as the door closed, Lia leapt into her arms with a sharp little mew!
Virelle startled, but smiled softly. "You missed me?"
Lia rubbed against her chin.
"I missed you too," Virelle whispered, holding her close.
They curled together on the velvet chaise, Lia's head tucked under Virelle's chin, and the room filled with a silence that wasn't empty this time.
Just... still.
Hours passed.
Virelle studied in the library with old, dusty volumes no one checked on. She practiced her piano for the music tutor who'd canceled again. She walked through the gardens with a parasol even though no one joined her.
She never complained.
Not even once.
Lia watched it all.
She watched the careful smile Virelle wore like a ribbon. The way she flinched when a servant passed too close. The way she whispered to herself sometimes when she thought no one could hear.
And by evening, Lia had curled into a tiny ball of helpless fury.
He's here, she thought. He's finally here. But he doesn't see it. He doesn't see her. How?
She needed to show him.
But how?
Meowing and knocking over vases wouldn't do it. If she made a mess, the servants would just call her a wild beast, and Virelle might get punished again for "keeping unruly pets."
If only I could write, Lia thought miserably. If I had hands, I'd claw the truth into his walls. "Your wife's a monster. Your daughter is dying inside."
But she didn't have hands.
She had paws.
Small, useless paws that could only offer comfort—not confrontation.
She had no power.
Only presence.
Then I'll use it, she decided.
That night, when Virelle prepared for bed, brushing her long wavy hair in slow, absent strokes, Lia climbed into her lap and refused to budge.
She rubbed her tiny head against Virelle's chest, pressed her paws gently to her cheek, and nuzzled close until the girl finally laughed—soft and startled.
"What's gotten into you?"
Lia meowed once.
Let me be your comfort.
Another meow.
Let me be your strength until you can show them yourself.
And when Virelle leaned back onto the pillows, drawing Lia close, the girl whispered:
"You're my favorite thing in this whole cursed house."
Lia blinked slowly.
Then I'll protect you. No matter how small I am now. No matter how long it takes.
That night, as Virelle slept dreamlessly for once, curled around the one creature who had never flinched from her scars or her silence—
Lia lay awake.
Watching the moonlight creep across the floor.
Waiting.
For her moment.
To make the world see what Virelle had been forced to hide.