The night snow danced in the wind with chilling elegance, echoing the light crunch of footsteps under the moonlit sky. Across the snow-covered courtyard, a figure moved with intoxicating grace. Every sway of her hips, every turn of her feet, caught the moonlight and cast a spell on all who watched. Even the moon, seduced, gazed down with sly desire.
A dance of forbidden dreams and unspoken desires—shared with no one but the moon and stars.
At 22, and still unbetrothed, Yona had rejected 37 marriage proposals—each turned away without hesitation. She only wanted to live her life her way, without being tied to a man she'd never love in the misery-stricken existence expected of her.
Gloria, her mother, hosted mixers every weekend at the estate, forcing Yona to attend and "entertain" her noble guests.
"Oh yes—Stede, Charlie, Fayia—thank you so very much for this lovely…" Yona's eyes drifted lazily, searching for a polite excuse.
"Umm, chat—yes. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must mingle with the other guests."
Her voice was tight, her smile strained.
She peeled a hand off her waist and vanished as quickly as she came, leaving the trio in awkward silence.
"That bitch still calls us Stede and Charlie when our names are Steve and Charles," Steve growled, licking his lips. "She thinks she's better than us. Little Yona better watch her back."
Charles only offered a half-smile.
Fayia giggled behind her fan and strolled off, leaving the two men confused.
"One may even say her beauty is envied by all—even the gods watch her regularly," Yona mocked in a voice mimic spell, perfectly imitating the greasy Mr. Avis—aka Creepville—and his son, whatever his name was.
"Ugh." Yona was so tired of these society-choking mixers. She'd rather call up a fling.
"Let the games begin, Mother," she muttered in full annoyance, casting a self-cleaning spell on her person.
It was her cue to vanish—like a magician's disappearing act—ducking away into the emptiest halls of the estate. The best hiding spots. The only solace from her mother's game: Where is Yona?
She cast a concealment spell just in time, feeling Gloria's aura sweep through the mansion, clearly noting her absence.
"Yona! Where did that damned girl run off to this time?! I knew I should've used the magic circle tonight! Just you wait!"
Her mother's voice echoed down the corridor, right past the service roller table where Yona was hidden under thick cloth.
"Hah… serves you right, Mother," she whispered, rolling her eyes. Once the coast was clear, she kicked off her shoes and slipped into the cold night air.
Though she didn't notice the shadow watching her from the corner, its stare burned into her back.
She flowed barefoot across the snowy courtyard like a drifting leaf. Wild, heartfelt freedom surged through her, giving her an exotic aura no noblewoman could mimic. She hummed a tune on her lips—shameless, defiant. Her hips rolled like waves, hands tracing along her waist, caressing each curve with effortless grace.
Hidden eyes watched her.
Every spin and twirl was a language of its own. Though she was guarded mentally, in public she shrank and faded. But when she danced or sang, her sensuality exploded—raw and radiant. A soul stripped bare in motion.
Since her grandmother's death, Yona had stopped praying to the gods. Now, she danced only for the stars—hoping they'd carry her to the world Silvia once spoke of. A world without nobles. A world of freedom.
Second eldest in the Meckler family, she was known mostly for her rare beauty. Her father, Gareth, a revered warrior-mage, had died in the Sapphire War when she was five. Her mother remarried within the year and sent Yona to live with Silvia, her grandmother. Her brother Miles vanished overseas as an adventurer—never to be heard from again.
They agreed Silvia would raise Yona until she came of age at 17, ready to be married off.
"Some mother and brother she has, huh?" she scoffed.
Silvia raised her. And they lived.
The years with Silvia were the best of Yona's life. Silvia was a force of nature on wheels—an interesting character. A mage with a high affinity for spiritual energy and a weird naming sense.
A court priest healer and powerful spiritual mage, Silvia had a soul strong enough to mend even astral wielders. A Blessed One. She taught Yona how to fight, to travel, to feel. Mornings began with sparring—Yona getting slammed into the dirt, face red with frustration.
"Women are sexier when they can fight for themselves," Silvia would say. "We aren't damsels. You wanna die weak and crying, or live wild and free?"
She taught her priest dances, rituals, and blessings under the stars. Yona excelled—her mind sharp, her spiritual affinity stronger than even Silvia's. She became the youngest priest in the region, whispered about in both noble and religious circles.
But when Yona turned sixteen, Silvia brought her home early, without explanation. Weeks later, a package arrived—inside: a blank scroll, two stone rings, a key, a gem necklace, and a sealed jewelry box.
News followed: Silvia was dead.
Yona's birthstone shattered in her hand.
She cast a soul-finding spell in desperation—birthstones only break when a soul's life force is drained. Days of tracking led to the truth: Silvia's body had been found, brutally displayed in a ritual circle.
Yona's rage became quiet but relentless. She trained, she plotted, she rose. The guards began to fear her wrath, ducking for cover when her sparring moods struck. One blow was enough to drop them.
That night, as her dance ended, Yona knelt on the glacial tiles, tears brimming. Her hand stretched toward the sky, aching to be taken. Slowly, she disrobed, her gown falling in silence. The freezing air clung to her skin, but she didn't flinch. A veteran of pain. Of loss.
A blush rose to her cheeks—was it the cold, or the feeling of being watched again?
Unbothered, she stepped into the hot spring, steam curling around her like silk. Even knowing she had an audience, she didn't stop. She bathed and sang till dawn, a mischievous smile fixed on her lips.
⸻
Yona avoided her mother like the plague. She'd rather visit her sisters, Sam and Tilley—at least their estate wasn't crawling with expectations.
But the gods weren't smiling on her.
She was nearly to Sam's courtyard when unease prickled her spine. Her pace quickened. Cold sweat dripped down her back.
And then—
A flash of light.
She flew backwards, slamming into a tree with a grunt.
"You thought you could escape me, little girl? You've still got years of lessons to learn."
Gloria's voice oozed smug satisfaction.
"I told you—I don't want to marry. I won't," Yona snapped, casting a self-healing spell.
"Here we go again with that priest nonsense," Gloria groaned.
Yona's glare could melt steel.
"If I marry before I'm 23, I'll lose the ability to speak with the world spirit."
"Don't believe those old fairy tales," Gloria huffed. "You're not getting any younger! What's that got to do with finding a husband—starting a fam—"
She stopped. Her hands flew to her throat, gasping.
"Priests aren't meant to breed like dogs, Mother." Yona's face darkened, her hand glowing with soul magic as she gripped her mother's spirit. "Remember your place, Gloria."
She released her, barely restraining herself.
"Silvia wasn't even from this world. She was special—she bore my father, yes, but most priests never bear children. And mages? Rare as well. It takes powerful lineage and soul force to even consider it. Most court priests live long lives, far outlasting their lovers. They choose lust and freedom over chains."
She healed her mother's wounded throat with a touch.
Gloria exhaled shakily, subdued.
"I may have heard something like that. But still—you need to decide your next step. It's… uncommon for a woman to be unmarried at 22. People will start to talk."
She walked off, defeated—for now.
But as she vanished down the hall, her voice called back:
"Your father would be proud. Silvia too. Lead your life with your head held high."
The words stunned Yona. Then came the smile. A real one.
Finally—freedom.