Morning arrived at the Marudas estate, not with warmth but with an unsettling quiet. Nerine hadn't slept a wink. She sat in the wide velvet chair beside her window, the vampire novel resting shut on her lap, her thoughts tangled somewhere between fiction and reality. The irony was not lost on her—reading about blood-drinking predators while being promised to one.
But fiction had rules.
Her life didn't.
A soft knock came at the door.
"Yes?" she called, adjusting her night robe to look composed.
A maid entered with downcast eyes and a bundle of folded cloth. "Lady Kate asks that you wear this today. Breakfast is served in the dining room."
Nerine nodded stiffly. Once the maid left, she unfolded the dress—another overly frilled gown, lilac in color and uncomfortably snug at the waist.
"This again," she muttered. No room for preference. No say. No choice. She changed in silence, brushing her hair back and slipping on the ruby pendant her mother gave her. If she was to play this game, she'd do it on her terms....even if quietly.
When she stepped into the corridor, she found Sofia already walking ahead, flanked by two maids like guards before a queen.
Sofia glanced back. "Try not to trip on the stairs. We wouldn't want another embarrassment," she said, lips curved into a smirk.
Nerine said nothing. But her fists clenched behind the folds of her dress.
In the Dining Room
Sir Marudas and Lady Kate were already seated. The long polished table was decorated with delicate china, jammed rolls, meats, and gleaming silver utensils. The air smelled of expensive teas and tension.
"Good morning, daughter," Marudas greeted Nerine with a rare, almost performative smile. "Come, eat. You'll need your strength."
"For what?" Nerine asked lightly as she took her seat.
Lady Kate answered instead, voice sharp beneath politeness. "Your father simply means the day may be eventful. We're expecting a guest."
Nerine tilted her head. "Anyone I know?"
Sir Marudas cut in smoothly. "You'll find out soon enough. Eat."
She obeyed, chewing slowly. Every bite tasted of lies.
Nerine escaped to the garden, finally alone with her thoughts. The hedges were too neatly trimmed, the flowers too perfectly arranged. Everything about this place was sterile, artificial. Even the birds seemed to chirp out of obligation.
She sat on a stone bench beneath a tree, staring at the ring of sun through the leaves. Just a week ago she was laughing with Elizabeth in Madam Helen's kitchen.
Now?
Now she was being dressed like a porcelain doll, spoken to like a guest, and dragged into something that reeked of politics and blood.
A shadow fell across her lap.
"I thought I'd find you here," Sir Marudas said, voice calm but commanding.
Nerine didn't rise. "Is there something you need?"
He sat beside her, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. "We haven't had a real chance to talk since your arrival. I know this is all strange for you. But I promise it's for the best."
She turned her eyes to him. "That depends on whose 'best' we're talking about."
He chuckled, but there was no warmth. "You always were sharp. Just like your mother."
That name still felt like salt in a wound.
"There's something you should know," he continued, tone shifting. "You will soon be introduced to someone very important. Someone who represents... an alliance. And you will do your part."
Nerine looked away. "And if I don't?"
He didn't respond immediately. But then he leaned closer, his breath cold against her ear. "You will."
Nerine felt anything but refreshed, her mind churning with her father's cryptic words in the garden.
You will do your part.
She still didn't know what "part" that was. But it wasn't hard to guess—some noble's daughter she was supposed to become. A painted lady. An ornament to be displayed.
And they were wasting no time.
A series of sharp knocks broke her daze.
She opened the door to find not one, but two unfamiliar women standing there. One held a bag full of beauty tools; the other carried bolts of fabric and a polished wooden box.
"Good morning, Lady Nerine," the taller of the two said with a sugary smile. "We've been sent by Lady Kate to prepare you. Today is your transformation."
"My what?" Nerine asked flatly.
"Makeover," the second woman clarified, already stepping inside. "Hair, wardrobe, etiquette lessons… we're to begin immediately. Lady Kate's orders."
Nerine blinked. "I wasn't informed."
The stylist chuckled. "She said you would comply. Let's get started."
Within minutes, Nerine was seated before the grand mirror in her room, a cloth tied around her neck, her hair being brushed with a force that made her eyes water.
"You have unusual hair," the younger woman known as Sera—commented, pausing mid-stroke.
"It's natural," Nerine said quietly.
"Not for long," the older one replied with a grin, pulling out a small bowl of black dye. "Lady Kate was clear. She wants it dyed to match Lady Sofia's shade. Deep obsidian."
Nerine stiffened. "She can't be serious."
"She's always serious," the woman muttered, already applying the cold substance to her scalp. "Trust me. We've done this before."
She wanted to protest. She wanted to scream. But Nerine sat there, silent as the thick, dark liquid soaked into her roots. Her fingers curled into her lap.
"This color suits elegance and beauty," Sera said, not unkindly. "It tells the world who you belong to."
Nerine met her eyes in the mirror. "I belong to no one."
Neither of the stylists responded. They only continued.
Once her hair was rinsed and dried into gleaming black waves, Nerine barely recognized herself. Her features were sharpened, refined, framed by unfamiliar color. It was like staring at someone else's life.
They pulled her into another room—decorated like a dance salon—and began to instruct her.
"Back straight. Shoulders soft. Eyes lowered when entering a room with nobles present."
"No walking like you're trudging through mud."
"Smaller steps. No stomping. Smile modestly, not too wide."
"Do not interrupt conversations. And never speak unless spoken to."
The rules piled up like bricks. Nerine repeated them, slowly, her voice monotone.
After hours of posing, pouring tea, greeting imaginary guests, and curtsying until her knees ached, the instructor sighed.
"She's a hard case," she said to Sera.
"No," Sera replied, watching Nerine closely. "She's just not letting go."
"But so are we, right?" she said determined.
Dressed in yet another frilled gown, her hair glossy and unnatural, Nerine entered the family dining room with mechanical grace.
Lady Kate's eyes lit up with approval. "Much better. You look almost presentable."
Sofia rolled her eyes and sipped her wine. "She looks like a wilted version of me."
Sir Marudas didn't look up from his meal. He didn't need to. His silence was louder than words.
"I assume the stylists were thorough?" Lady Kate asked, reaching for her napkin.
"They dyed my hair," Nerine replied, voice tight.
Kate raised an eyebrow. "Yes. It was... distracting. Wild colors invite suspicion."
"Or individuality," Nerine said under her breath.
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
Kate smiled thinly. "Now that you're beginning to look the part, we can focus on behavior. Sofia will help. She's an excellent example of poise."
"That's surprising." she thought.
Nerine forced a polite nod. Her jaw ached from clenching it.
Sofia smirked. "Don't worry, darling. I'll make sure you don't embarrass us too much."
After Dinner, Sofia dragged her onto the upstairs balcony again, where the moonlight shimmered off marble pillars.
"I don't know why you're pretending to fit in," Sofia said, arms crossed. "We both know you'll never be one of us."
Nerine stared ahead, unmoved.
"You're just a mistake my father made," Sofia continued, stepping closer. "An illegitimate shadow. You're here for politics, not because anyone actually wants you."
"I'm aware," Nerine said quietly.
Sofia sneered. "Then don't try to act like you belong. Don't smile like you're enjoying this. Don't breathe like you matter."
Nerine finally turned, eyes hard. "That's the second time you've insulted my mother."
"She was nothing."
"She's the reason I haven't ruined you," Nerine replied smoothly.
Sofia faltered for a second, but then scoffed. "You're not even brave enough to speak back to my mother. You're no threat."
She walked off in a rustle of silks, leaving Nerine alone with the cold wind.
Back in her Room ,Nerine shut the door and immediately pulled off the dress, tossing it across the chair. She stared at herself in the mirror—black hair, stiff posture, silent lips.
She looked the part. But she felt hollow.
She reached into her drawer and pulled out her ruby necklace.
Her mother had known this would happen. The necklace, the silence, the secrecy—it was all to delay the inevitable.
But that delay had ended.
Nerine pressed a hand to her chest, over the pendant, and whispered, "I'll play their game. But not forever."
Because one day… the girl in the mirror would break free.