POV: Seraphina Virelles | Age 12 | Day Before Sylas Arrives
Word count: ~1,200
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Seraphina twirled in front of the mirror for the fourth time that morning.
Not because her dress was new — it wasn't.
Not because there was a ball — there wasn't.
And not because she wanted to impress anyone.
She just liked the way the light spun through the lace when she moved.
And because today… today felt different.
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She couldn't explain it, exactly.
The air in the Virelles estate felt lighter somehow, even though the sky outside was grey with winter clouds. The fire crackled cheerfully. The maids hummed more than usual. Even Cook let her taste the berry filling early, which never happened.
And when she asked her father why everyone seemed so lively today, he had just smiled in that slow, mysterious way of his and said:
> "You're getting a gift, little feather."
That was what he always called her — his feather. Light, soft, easily carried by the winds of the world. He meant it as something sweet.
She wasn't sure if she liked it.
But she liked surprises.
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It was at lunch when he told her.
They were seated at the long dining table — though she always made him sit beside her, never at the far end like proper nobility. He'd humored her since she was six.
He poured her tea with a steady hand and said, almost offhandedly:
> "You'll be getting a new attendant."
Her spoon paused midway to her mouth.
> "A maid?"
> "A butler."
Seraphina blinked.
That was… not what she expected.
> "But I don't need a butler," she said. "I already have Maela."
> "Maela's too old to follow you to the Academy. She'll remain here. You need someone younger. Quieter. Someone to assist you with your schedule and observe the others."
Seraphina tilted her head. "Observe?"
> "You're too kind," her father said, folding his napkin. "Too gentle. One day, you'll realize that softness is a luxury the world often punishes."
She frowned. "But... you always said kindness was our strength."
> "It is. But even strength needs armor."
He met her gaze.
> "This boy — Sylas — is your armor now."
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Seraphina leaned back in her chair, absorbing the name.
Sylas.
It sounded… sharp.
Like snowfall on metal. Or a wind that whispered instead of howled.
> "What's he like?"
Her father sipped his tea.
> "Quiet. Obedient. From a lesser house that owes us favors. You'll find him useful, even if he speaks little."
That didn't tell her anything at all.
And yet…
Her curiosity flared.
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Later that afternoon, Seraphina sat by the window in her reading alcove, knees drawn up under a blanket. A book of fables lay forgotten in her lap.
A butler.
Her own, personal butler.
The idea felt strange. Too stiff. Too formal. Would he bow all the time? Would he scold her for sneaking pastries? Would he treat her like porcelain?
She hoped not.
She didn't want someone who acted like a servant. She wanted someone real. Someone who listened when she talked about the stars. Someone who didn't laugh when she cried over sad books. Someone who wouldn't leave.
Like Maela, only younger. Only…
New.
Unknown.
Sylas.
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She whispered the name once under her breath, testing it.
There was a quiet strength to it. Not noble. Not grand. But grounded.
She imagined a boy with dark hair and serious eyes. Maybe taller than her. Maybe not.
Would he smile?
Would he hate this job?
Would he look at her like all the other nobles did — like she was glass?
Or would he see her?
Her real self — the girl who snuck out barefoot in the rain, who apologized to mice, who loved old stories more than fencing lessons.
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A knock at the door broke her thoughts.
Her mother peeked in, smiling softly.
> "Still daydreaming, my little feather?"
> "Not daydreaming," Seraphina said, sitting up straighter. "I'm preparing."
> "Preparing for what?"
> "For my new butler."
Her mother laughed. "He's not arriving until morning."
> "That doesn't mean I can't plan what to say. First impressions are important."
Her mother stepped inside and kissed her forehead.
> "You'll do fine. You always do."
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But Seraphina wasn't sure.
This wasn't a class. Or a presentation. Or a lesson in etiquette.
This was a person.
A stranger. A shadow she hadn't invited but now couldn't ignore.
And she couldn't help wondering…
> Was he excited?
> Was he scared?
> Was he angry?
She hoped… he wasn't sad.
Because something in her heart told her — even before she met him — that he had known sadness too well.
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And maybe, just maybe…
She could be his feather.
The kind that didn't float away…
…but stayed close enough to lift the weight.
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End of Chapter