Chapter 1: Moonlight and Shadows
Under the soft glow of the moon, Yvonne sat beside the fountain, its rippling surface reflecting silver light. Her long black hair spilled down her back like a waterfall of night, pale skin kissed faintly by the moon's gentle caress. In her hands rested a sword — not embroidery, not jewelry, but steel. Its weight was familiar, comforting, as her thumb traced the intricate carvings on the hilt.
"Perhaps I should get another," she murmured, voice flat, eyes scanning the shadows with that calm, unreadable gaze she always wore.
Movement stirred behind her. Yvonne did not turn, only asked in her usual composed tone, "What is it?"
A timid voice answered, breaking the quiet. "M-my lady… it's time for dinner."
Sighing softly, Yvonne set the sword aside and rose, the sound of her footsteps echoing lightly through the marble corridors. Even as she walked toward the dining hall, she remained aware of every detail — the flicker of candlelight, the warmth of the hearth, the way the house seemed to celebrate appearances over substance.
The dining hall was as she expected: warm, bright, and full of her family. Her younger sister, Celeste, sat at the center of the table, blonde hair catching the lamplight, green eyes sparkling with laughter as she recounted some amusing story to their parents. Their mother's eyes glimmered with adoration, her father nodding along with an approving smile.
Yvonne's expression remained unchanged, her black orbs quietly observing the scene. She noticed every detail: the way Celeste's laughter seemed to fill the hall, the subtle exchange of glances between her parents whenever Celeste spoke, and the faint shadows that crossed her brothers' faces — except Alexander's. He sat a few seats down, quietly eating, his burly frame relaxed but watchful, eyes flicking toward her with unspoken understanding.
"Yvonne, you'll not eat that so cold," their mother said, touching her arm with a forced smile. "Do try to enjoy yourself, dear."
Yvonne inclined her head slightly, a polite, almost imperceptible gesture. Her eyes never left the center of the table, where her sister's light outshone everything else. She felt the familiar pull of isolation, a quiet fire igniting within her — a determination to prove that strength, skill, and steel could be just as captivating as beauty, laughter, or charm.
As the family conversation continued around her, Yvonne silently resolved that the world would not define her. She would carve her own path, sword in hand, regardless of the whispers, the laughter, or the doubts.
"Celeste, you look radiant tonight," their mother cooed, eyes glimmering. "And Yvonne… perhaps you could try to smile? It suits your face."
Yvonne's black orbs remained steady, unreadable. The words stung more than any blade. Her younger sister laughed, a clear, bright sound that filled the hall.
Roland smirked from across the table. "I'd pay to see you swing a sword without slicing your sleeve, sister," he said, laughter dancing in his eyes.
A quiet fire flared in Yvonne's chest. Let them laugh. They will learn. They will see that strength is not measured in silk or smiles.
Alexander's hand brushed against hers as he passed the bread. A simple, silent gesture, but enough to steady her. He always understood.
And then, almost as an afterthought, her eyes drifted to the far side of the hall, where a rack of practice swords gleamed under the candlelight. One day… one day I'll hold a blade of my own. And then…
The clinking of cutlery and murmured conversation filled the dining hall, but Yvonne's gaze remained fixed on her plate.
Roland's smirk broke her focus. "You really think swinging a sword will change anything, sister?" he said, loud enough for the entire table to hear. "Am I wrong?"
Yvonne looked up from her food, black eyes meeting his with perfect calm. "Perhaps," she said evenly, voice flat and expression unreadable.
A ripple of laughter followed from her younger sister, but Yvonne ignored it. Roland's face darkened, his fingers tightening around his fork. "You… you can't possibly—"
"Enough," their father's voice boomed, cutting the one-sided argument short. "This bickering serves no purpose. Eat, all of you."
Roland shot her one last glare, but Yvonne merely lowered her eyes and continued eating, her lips pressed in a thin line. The fire inside her refused to die.
Later, when the hall fell silent and the family retired to the comfort of their rooms, Yvonne slipped out quietly. The moon still hung low in the sky, casting silver shadows along the castle walls. She made her way to the courtyard, where the gentle ripples of the fountain mirrored her restless thoughts.
Drawing her sword from its stand, she gripped the hilt tightly, feeling its familiar weight. Her swings were unrefined, clumsy even, but every movement carried the tension of the day, the sting of Roland's words, and the quiet resentment of a family that did not see her worth.
With each thrust, parry, and spin, Yvonne vented her frustrations, letting her emotions flow into the steel. She was an amateur, yes, but in the silence of the night, under the moonlight, she was free.
And as the stars bore witness, a thought hardened in her mind: They will see. One day, they will see.
As she trained, the world narrowed to the sword's weight, the moon's glow, and her own breathing. Sweat trickled down her forehead, and her muscles ached, but she persisted. With each swing, she felt a release of tension, a sense of freedom she couldn't find in the confines of her family's expectations.
The courtyard's silence was broken only by the sound of her sword slicing through the air, the soft clinking of metal against metal as she practiced parries. Yvonne's focus was absolute, her determination burning brighter with every passing moment.
As she trained, she thought about her family's words, their expectations, and their doubts. She thought about Roland's smirk, her mother's forced smile, and her father's booming voice. But most of all, she thought about proving them wrong, about showing them that she was more than just a pretty face or a potential bride.
The stars twinkled above, witnessing her struggle, her frustration, and her resolve. Yvonne felt a sense of solidarity with the night, a sense of freedom that she couldn't find in the daylight. Here, under the moon's gentle glow, she was herself, unencumbered by the expectations of others.
As she trained, Yvonne began to notice the small details that made a difference. The way her sword felt in her hand, the balance of weight and power. The way her body moved, the rhythm of her breathing. She felt a sense of connection to the steel, a sense of unity that she couldn't explain.
The night wore on, and Yvonne's movements became more fluid, more precise. She felt a sense of flow, a sense of being in the moment. The world around her melted away, leaving only the sword, the moon, and her own heartbeat.
As she finished her training, Yvonne felt a sense of satisfaction, a sense of accomplishment. She knew she still had a long way to go, but she was determined to reach her goal. She sheathed her sword, feeling a sense of pride, a sense of purpose.
The courtyard was quiet once more, the only sound the gentle ripple of the fountain. Yvonne stood still, feeling the night air on her skin, the moon's glow on her face. She knew that tomorrow would bring new challenges, new expectations, and new doubts. But she was ready. She was determined to prove herself, to prove her worth.
With a sense of resolve, Yvonne turned and walked back to the castle, the darkness of the corridors enveloping her like a shroud. She knew that she would face many obstacles, many challenges. But she was ready. She was determined to forge her own path, to carve her own destiny.