Lyra's steps sounded hesitant as she walked across the cold marble floor. The pale blue gown she wore was too simple, too cheap, as if screaming that she did not belong in such a grand house. The thin fabric clung to her slender body, leaving the outline of protruding bones. Her face was touched with only a little powder and cheap lipstick, just enough to cover the pallor, but unable to hide the weariness of life carved clearly in her gaze. Her black hair hung loosely, dull, like strands that had lost their light.
Lord Veylen looked up from his chair when he saw the figure of his eldest daughter. His chest trembled, a faint whisper rising from the small corner of his heart that he refused to hear. "Beautiful, my daughter is still beautiful, even in such simple clothing." But that whisper was quickly buried deep inside. What came out of his lips was only a sneer, harsher than any slap.
"What kind of gown is that, Lyra?" his voice was sharp. "You came here as if you were going to a night market. Even the maids know better how to appear more presentable than you."
Lyra lowered her head, her fingers clutching tightly at the side of her gown. Her heart trembled, her tongue tied. She wanted to explain that this was the only gown she had, that she had no other choice, but the words stuck in her throat.
Lady Serene, her stepmother, immediately stepped forward. Her face was sweet, her smile delicately graceful, polished to perfection. She touched Lyra's arm as though to comfort her, though her gaze carried hidden scorn.
"Enough, honey… don't be too harsh on Lyra. She came as she is. After all, she's simply not used to all this. Let me and Selene take care of everything. Later, she will look more suitable."
Selene, her stepsister, also smiled sweetly, letting her eyes travel from Lyra's head to toe with a gaze that stripped her bare. "That's right, Father. Sister Lyra only needs a little touch. Maybe, she could even look better than she does now."
Lord Veylen let out a long sigh, then looked straight at Lyra. "There is only one thing you must do tonight, obey."
His tone left no room for argument. "If you want your mother to keep receiving treatment, if you want her to recover, then do not resist. Do not ask questions. Only obey." The words struck Lyra like an iron hammer. She felt her chest crack open. "Mommy… this is for Mommy…" was the only thought she could repeat in her mind.
Lady Serene and Selene immediately ushered Lyra into Selene's room. Once the door closed, the gentle, feigned expressions disappeared. What remained were stares full of scorn sharp, degrading, and merciless.
"My God…" Serene clicked her tongue, her eyes scanning Lyra's body with disgust. "Are you a girl or a walking skeleton? Look at you, dried up and brittle. There's nothing to show. Even an expensive gown could never cover this emptiness."
Lyra hugged herself, lowering her head deeply, trying to hide the body now mocked and ridiculed.
Selene stepped closer, pinching Lyra's arm harshly until the girl flinched. "Oh my, I can feel the bone right away. Sister, you're truly pathetic. Looking like this, even as a servant people would be disgusted by you." She chuckled, her light tone cutting through Lyra's pride like a blunt knife.
Serene opened her makeup box, pulling out stuffing pads. "We have no choice. Pad her chest. Pad her hips too. At the very least, when others look at you, they won't vomit on sight." Her hands moved quickly, rough, as though punishing Lyra's body with every motion.
Selene busied herself plastering Lyra's face with thick powder, smearing overly red lipstick across her lips. "There, that's better. Better than that pitiful pale face from before. Though still, too awful. You really are nothing without other people's help."
Serene continued in a gentle tone, yet one that slapped at the soul, "Remember this well, Lyra. If not for your father, you would already be rotting alongside your sickly mother. So stop shedding tears. You live because of his generosity, so just do what is asked of you. Understand?"
The tears she had been holding back finally surrendered, falling one by one, then streaming down her pale cheeks. Lyra looked at her reflection in the mirror, and what she saw was not herself. That unfamiliar face was covered in heavy makeup, a cheap mask forced to conceal her innocence. Her hair was neatly arranged, her body stuffed here and there to appear fuller, as though she were not human but a display doll, altered only to invite stares.
Her gown had now been changed. Though the upper part was covered, the tight black cut clinging to her body made Lyra feel as though she had been turned into a seductress. The gown was not hers, not even meant for her body. It hung loose in some places, too large in others, for it was truly Selene's dress. Selene, the one with the perfect body, proportional, beautiful, everything Lyra did not possess with her thin, fragile frame.
Lyra felt a suffocating weight pressing deep inside her. Her fingers trembled as they touched the gown's waistline, as if every stitch bound her, stripping away the last of her dignity and honor. She hated the reflection before her. She hated herself, powerless and stripped of control. In her heart, she whispered faintly, almost inaudible, "Mom… forgive me. I only want you to recover. I will obey, whatever they ask. For you, Mother. Because I cannot bear to lose you."
Her heart cracked as those words passed through her mind. She knew her sacrifice was not merely the lowering of her pride, but the surrender of her entire identity. She handed her life over to the cruel game of others, only to save the one she loved most. But would her mother understand? Or would she be shattered if she knew her daughter was forced to bear such a disgraceful burden? Lyra closed her eyes. Each tear that fell felt like blood, blood marking the beginning of her own ruin.
At last, the door to the room opened. Lyra's steps were slow as she emerged, her head bowed, her fingers clutching the black gown that now wrapped her small frame. The heavy makeup made her face look unfamiliar, not the innocent, simple Lyra, but a doll forced to appear grown and alluring.
Lord Veylen, who had been waiting in the living room, lifted his head. His eyes narrowed, judging the appearance of his own daughter. The gown had indeed succeeded in turning a shabby impression into something captivating. Yet in Veylen's eyes, the change was too drastic, his daughter looked like a temptress, not the pure girl she should have been. A strange stir flickered in his heart, but he quickly buried it beneath a rigid expression.
"Have you not mistaken in doing this?" he asked in a flat tone, though his gaze was piercing. He turned toward Serene and Selene, as if seeking an answer.
Lady Serene immediately stepped forward, her movements graceful. Her smile was sweet, her voice as soft as the morning dew, yet beneath it lay a subtle poison. "Honey, she must look beautiful. Surely it would not do for her to appear shabby? This is already the very best." Her tone was soothing, lulling away the doubts that had begun to surface.
Selene, Lyra's stepsister, quickly chimed in with a cheerfulness that was clearly feigned. A small smile played on her lips, but her eyes still carried traces of mockery. "Yes, Dad. Sister looks beautiful, truly. There is nothing wrong. It's better if you and Sister go at once. I've already contacted my friend, Daddy, you can meet him directly later."
Lord Veylen fell silent for a moment. A faint hesitation crossed his face, as if his heart wanted to refuse, yet logic and the weight of circumstance tightly sealed those feelings. At last, he let out a heavy sigh, then rose to his feet and gave a signal. "Very well. Let us depart."