Part 1
Late-morning sunlight filtered through the tall, arched windows of the Nernwick Estate's opulent sitting room. The room was a study in refined elegance: a long, polished table artfully set with fine china, crystal glasses, and silver trays. Mana orbs glowed softly above, casting delicate ripples of light on the brass fixtures and intricate woodwork. It was a sanctuary of aristocratic luxury where every detail was designed to exude timeless grace—and yet, beneath that serene veneer, a storm was about to be unleashed.
Elora Nernwick paced furiously across the marble floor, her heart a calculated riot of feigned anguish and carefully rehearsed jealousy. Today, her emerald eyes—normally calm and analytical—were ablaze with theatrical pain. Rumors had arrived this morning, carried by hushed whispers and discreetly delivered notes—whispers of Philip Redwood, the man she had strategically pledged herself to, found in a compromising situation with a mysterious blonde commoner. Of course, she already knew every detail was nothing more than a deliberately orchestrated cover-up by Lydia and Albert to hide Philip's forbidden summoning of Natalia, his familiar. Elora felt no genuine hurt or surprise—she had deduced Natalia's true nature days ago, through Lydia's cryptic letter, Mia's revealing observations, and her own magical birds discreetly perched at Redwood Estate.
Yet, for Mia's sake and for the greater good of protecting Philip's dangerous secret, Elora had to perform convincingly. With perfect dramatic timing, she approached the elegantly arranged table. Without hesitation, she swept her arm across its pristine surface, sending a delicate porcelain vase tumbling in exaggerated slow motion until it shattered spectacularly upon the polished marble floor. Crystal goblets, silver trays, and decorative figurines followed suit in a chaotic cascade, each crash resonating dramatically off the ornate walls.
"How could you cast me aside so discourteously, Philip?" she wailed, voice quivering theatrically. "I have loved you so well... so long... oh... so long..."
Inside, however, Elora calmly smirked to herself. She just had to convincingly play the wounded lover, then nobody would question Philip's supposed scandal. She privately admired her own flair for drama. After all, good acting skill was critical to a successful aristocratic life.
At that precise moment, the sitting room door clicked open hurriedly. Mia appeared, concern etched deeply into her normally impassive face. Her practical attire contrasted sharply with the elegant chaos strewn across the floor.
"Elora, please, calm down!" Mia rushed forward, wrapping Elora in a firm, comforting embrace. Her voice was soothing, yet tinged with gentle exasperation. "Men come and go. There are so many of them, there will always be better ones. Philip is not worth a heartbreak."
With expertly feigned sobs, Elora grasped Mia's sleeve dramatically, amplifying the emotional tableau. "Oh, Mia, please," she gasped, her voice trembling perfectly, "just… give me a little space. I need some time alone!"
Mia sighed gently, her expression softening with understanding. "Take care, dear. I'll be right outside if you need me." With one last comforting squeeze, she retreated down the corridor, softly closing the door behind her.
As the door clicked shut, Elora made certain to continue her sobbing a little longer—just enough to ensure Mia had truly walked away. She gradually allowed her sobs to subside into quiet sniffles, cautiously listening for any footsteps lingering nearby. Only after she was absolutely certain of Mia's departure did she slowly straighten her posture, her breathing steadying into serenity. Yet, mindful of the possibility of another unexpected entrance—perhaps Kendrick bursting in at precisely the wrong moment—she carefully avoided wiping away the tears that glistened perfectly on her cheeks, leaving her convincingly in a state of delicate sorrow.
Internally, she chuckled at her own flawless performance. Truly award-worthy, Elora. Well-versed in medicine, she knew that as intoxicated as Philip was that night, he couldn't have consummated any act. Hence, it was precisely this supposed scandal that confirmed her suspicion Natalia was indeed Philip's Familiar rather than mistress.
Yet there remained one niggling annoyance—not so much jealousy over Philip's alleged indiscretions, but a humorous, exasperated envy at Natalia's role in the charade. "It's not that Philip might have another lover—no, it's that I never get the scandalous luxury of waking up nude beside him, like Rosetta or that seductive Natalia! How dare the moon outshine the sun!" she thought with an inward sigh, finding the entire situation infuriatingly unfair. She told herself it was a petty frustration, but the thought still rankled.
Her mind turned practical, shifting to the real stakes. Men are fickle, and Natalia's allure is undeniable... but I cannot let him abandon me. Protecting Philip was paramount. If it meant swallowing her pride and tolerating Natalia temporarily, so be it. She would do whatever was necessary to guard his secret. After all, if a Familiar was properly managed, it could become a potent protector for its master—an asset she grudgingly acknowledged was to everyone's advantage.
She also accepted, with a wry inward grimace, that future intimacy between Philip and Natalia might well occur. "I suppose if he's truly that... enthusiastic," she joked quietly to herself, "let him have that fling. But he'd better remember who has stuck by him all these years." She refused to let that possibility unnerve her. It would be painful, yes, but she would not allow it to drive her away from her rightful place at his side.
Still, the notion of Natalia's eternal youth gnawed at her pride in a way she could barely describe. If Natalia never aged, never lost her pristine bloom, while Elora's own beauty succumbed to time's relentless march, how could she remain the brightest star in Philip's sky? Letting out a long breath, she pushed aside her petty frustration and made a private vow: she would double down on her research—especially her studies in cellular restoration and magical augmentation—and break the barrier of aging once and for all. If the rest of the world benefited from that glorious breakthrough, so be it. But primarily, it would secure her throne as the most stunning woman in Philip's life—and, truth be told, in the entire empire.
Part 2
Elizabeth sat on the edge of her rickety bed, quietly watching her daughter Marigold sleeping soundly beneath the threadbare blankets. The late-night chill seeped through the cracked walls of their tiny, rundown apartment, whispering of a cold spring evening that refused to surrender its grip. Her eyes softened at the sight of Mari's peaceful expression. This little girl, her entire world, slept without care, unaware of the worries that plagued her mother's mind. Elizabeth tightened the covers gently, her heart swelling with resolve.
She exhaled, watching her daughter's tiny chest rise and fall in peaceful rhythm. If only she could give Mari a better life—one where they weren't always trapped by poverty, working from dawn until dusk just to scrape by. Elizabeth clenched her fists, determination mingling with the bitterness of her thoughts.
If only things were different… if only they could have some help.
Her gaze drifted to the battered desk by the window, where a small business card lay innocuously under the flickering lamplight. Philip Redwood's name shimmered softly, illuminated like a subtle temptation. Just days ago, he'd shown her kindness she hadn't expected, helping her after the disastrous incident. Elizabeth felt warmth rush to her cheeks at the memory of his gentle eyes and considerate words.
But then a shadow darkened her expression. She knew better, didn't she? Men like Philip were always too good to be true. She knew from bitter experience that kindness from those in power usually came with strings attached—strings that tugged at hearts and tightened around necks.
She sighed deeply, memories drifting unbidden to the story of her mother's youth she'd heard so often. A beautiful nineteen-year-old waitress, charmed by a sincere and kind immigrant who promised to build a life of love and stability with her. The man had claimed to be a humble accountant from Avalondia, yet after Elizabeth's mother became pregnant with her, her father's butler from Avalondia revealed his real identity—an heir to a wealthy business empire destined to marry into nobility. A man who couldn't risk a scandal.
Her mother had been given a cruel choice by his family's intimidating butler: take a large sum of hush money and disappear, or expose him publicly, only to face enormous legal fees with minimal child support. Overwhelmed and heartbroken, she chose the money—only to discover it was securely locked in a bank account behind a password she never figured out.
Elizabeth's lips twisted into a humorless smirk. Even after all these years, no one had bothered to check what remained in that mysterious account. Her mother always complained it would be impossible, "Oh, darling, who knows what terrible secret password your father set? Probably something ridiculous like his favorite dessert or his fiancée's nickname. Who has time to guess nonsense?" Elizabeth herself assumed the money would be nearly worthless now anyway, decimated by decades of inflation.
A quiet knock jolted Elizabeth from her thoughts. She quickly rose and opened the door, only to find a newspaper thrust into her hands by Mrs. Holloway, her gossipy neighbor.
"You're still awake, dear?" the older woman whispered conspiratorially, passing the wrinkled paper through the gap. "Thought you'd wanna see this. Gossip columns talkin' 'bout your fancy employer, Philip Redwood."
Elizabeth felt a flush creep up her neck but politely accepted it. "Thank you, Mrs. Holloway. I'll… I'll take a look."
She closed the door gently, returning to the flickering lamp. Curiosity quickly overcame her embarrassment, and she unfolded the gossip columns with wary skepticism. Her eyes flicked through the bold headlines before her gaze settled on a scandalous rumor:
"Sources report the esteemed Master Philip Redwood was seen with a nude blonde beauty in his bed chamber."
Her heart dropped instantly, and her cheeks burned—partly in humiliation, partly in disappointment. Of course. Elizabeth laughed bitterly at her own foolishness. "Really, Elizabeth? You thought one nobleman would be different? Foolish dreams never suit commoners like us."
She crumpled the paper and tossed it aside, feeling hurt despite herself. Elizabeth drew a shaky breath, startled by how deeply the silly gossip affected her. "Stupid…" she muttered, voice thick with unshed tears. What was I thinking? Asking a man like him for help? she thought, pressing a trembling hand to her brow.
After a moment's hesitation, she looked again at her sleeping daughter, thinking: it's best to avoid men like Philip, no matter how kind they appeared on the surface.
Suddenly, the flame of the lamp flickered violently and dimmed dramatically, startling Elizabeth out of her melancholy. A soft rustling whispered through the cramped room, and Elizabeth's breath hitched as she sensed something stirring in the shadows behind her. She spun around swiftly, pulse quickening, her gaze drawn to the corner near the window.
A mysterious, softly glowing figure emerged slowly, as though stepping from a dream into reality, framed by ethereal white light. Radiating gentle yet mysterious power, the figure's presence filled the tiny, dingy apartment with a surreal calm. Elizabeth stood frozen, staring wide-eyed as the glow intensified, washing away the shadows and softly illuminating every corner.
The figure's face was deliberately concealed beneath a gentle luminous glow, hiding her precise features yet hinting at a beauty beyond mortal comprehension. Elizabeth squinted, straining for clarity, but could make out only the faintest impression of delicate features—eyes shimmering softly behind a silken veil of light, cheeks that seemed touched by moonlight, lips curled in an enigmatic, serene smile. The ambiguity drew her closer, curiosity warring with awe.
Elizabeth's heartbeat quickened further as four large, graceful angelic wings unfolded behind the visitor, majestic but restrained, feathers like spun silver silk catching the pale luminescence. Each wing stretched outward gracefully, the feathered tips brushing the peeling wallpaper lightly, lending an ethereal quality to the scene that captivated Elizabeth completely. It was as if a painting from the grandest cathedral had suddenly come alive before her very eyes.
The angelic figure wore a form-fitting robe of purest white silk, the garment subtly accentuating the refined curves of a figure both alluring yet tastefully restrained. While not as voluptuous as the famed Empress Celestica, this ethereal beauty stood taller and slender, carrying herself with elegant poise reminiscent of high nobility. The gentle fabric seemed woven from moonbeams themselves, flowing gracefully around her as though moved by a private breeze.
Elizabeth found herself trembling slightly, her heart torn between disbelief and hopeful reverence. She had encountered this radiant being before, of course—the mysterious angel calling herself Aurora had appeared several times now. Still, every encounter filled her with both profound awe and a curious anxiety she couldn't quite explain.
Gazing at Elizabeth tenderly through the soft glow obscuring her exact features, the figure stepped forward with impossibly graceful movements, her delicate feet hardly seeming to touch the creaky floorboards. She paused, head tilted slightly as though examining Elizabeth with fond amusement, then gently whispered with a voice soft, angelic, and mysterious—like a gentle breeze brushing past midnight bells.
"My dear Elizabeth," Aurora murmured gently, with an overly soft tone that bordered on theatrical. "Why do tears stain a face that should shine brightly?"
Elizabeth sniffled softly, embarrassed by her display of emotion. Yet she couldn't help but voice the bitterness that churned within her. "You were right, Aurora. You warned me about Philip and all those rich people. They're no different from my father—they do whatever they please just because they can. And that poor blonde girl..." Elizabeth's voice trailed off, her bitterness simmering beneath the surface as she glared resentfully at the crumpled gossip column.
Aurora, appearing deeply moved by this simple admission, opened her arms wide in what was clearly meant to be an angelic embrace. However, despite her visible effort to appear purely divine, the moment Aurora's arms wrapped around Elizabeth felt more reminiscent of a practiced seductress than a comforting guardian angel. Elizabeth stiffened slightly, awkwardly conscious of the angel's overly affectionate grip and the inexplicable, subtle perfume that seemed decidedly more sensual than heavenly. Yet, out of reverence for this supposedly divine being, she tried not to show any discomfort, instead politely patting Aurora's back in return.
Releasing Elizabeth from the drawn-out embrace, Aurora straightened with regal elegance, adjusting her robe slightly as though correcting her composure after a brief lapse. Her voice deepened dramatically, echoing slightly with grandiose mysticism. "That is precisely why I have told you that change is coming, Elizabeth. Soon, the world will be ripe for justice and renewal, for the poor souls who—" she paused briefly, clearly searching for suitably stirring imagery, "—for the poor souls who tirelessly scrub... um, floors and, well, you know—those smoke-covered factory workers? Yes, those noble souls toiling endlessly."
Elizabeth blinked slowly, unsure if she was witnessing divine empathy or an aristocratic impersonation of it. Aurora continued obliviously, her voice brimming with earnest sincerity. "Have you considered my offer, Elizabeth? Have you decided to accept the role fate has assigned to you?"
Elizabeth hesitated, confusion and cautious hope fighting within her. "But Aurora... why me?" she asked quietly, genuine confusion flickering behind her eyes.
Aurora tilted her head delicately, the silvery radiance around her intensifying subtly. Elizabeth could almost feel the angel's exaggeratedly compassionate smile as she cupped Elizabeth's cheek tenderly. "Why you, dear child?" Aurora echoed sweetly, her voice dripping with what she probably intended as benevolent affection but instead sounding suspiciously like an aristocrat commending a particularly well-trained servant. "It is because you possess unique gifts that few can boast. You see clearly through pretty facades, my dear, because you yourself create none—indeed, who could accuse you of vanity in these humble surroundings?" Aurora gestured vaguely at the peeling wallpaper and shabby furniture with benevolent pity.
Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably, the angel's words sounding suspiciously close to a list of flaws rather than virtues. Aurora continued cheerfully, oblivious to Elizabeth's growing unease. "Your heart is pure because you have hardly experienced temptation—after all, one cannot be greedy with nothing to covet. Yes, Elizabeth, you have suffered in ways I could never fathom personally, and your quiet endurance is, in its own peculiar way, admirable."
Elizabeth felt a small surge of embarrassment. For a brief, awkward moment, it sounded as if Aurora were not praising her virtues but rather cataloguing her sins, subtly implying she should repent her very existence. Elizabeth fidgeted, briefly wondering if Aurora expected her to apologize for living in poverty or for failing to resist temptation—whatever that even meant for someone who rarely encountered more than stale bread and watery soup.
Noticing Elizabeth's growing discomfort—though entirely misunderstanding its source—Aurora quickly adopted an even gentler tone, clearly attempting to reassure the bewildered young woman. "Do not fear, child. You need not answer immediately. I shall grant you more time to reflect upon your destiny."
Elizabeth nodded hesitantly, quietly relieved at the reprieve yet still thoroughly baffled by the angel's peculiar assessment.
"However," Aurora declared grandly, her tone resonating with theatrical gravity, "let me grant you a taste of the power that awaits should you accept your sacred destiny."
Before Elizabeth could react, Aurora leaned in gracefully—though perhaps a touch too gracefully—bringing her lips tenderly against Elizabeth's forehead in a lingering kiss. Elizabeth's eyes widened, her posture rigid with shock. A sudden flush heated her cheeks as she felt a peculiar warmth spreading rapidly through her veins, rejuvenating her body with an unmistakable youthfulness. Her heart skipped erratically, embarrassment washing over her as she instinctively stepped back, clearing her throat awkwardly.
Aurora, blissfully ignorant of the unintended sensuality of her gesture, merely smiled serenely. Her form was already beginning to dissolve into gentle, glowing luminescence as she softly whispered her parting words, "Be brave, Elizabeth. The time approaches swiftly when your heart and courage will be invaluable for the world."
In a blink, Aurora vanished entirely, leaving Elizabeth standing alone in stunned silence, still feeling the unsettlingly intimate warmth of the angel's kiss lingering upon her forehead.
Elizabeth's mind raced, reeling with unanswered questions and mounting tension, the mystery deepening sharply inside her thoughts:
Why has fate chosen me specifically? What deeper purpose lies beneath my humble existence?
She looked toward her sleeping daughter and drew a shaky breath, feeling as though she stood upon the precipice of some grand revelation—on the brink of a decision that could truly change her and her daughter's lives.
Far away, beneath a clear, luminous moon, Aurora's angelic figure solidified gently, her pristine robes turning dark in the cool night breeze. A sly smile curved her lips, utterly recognizable beneath her angelic guise. The mysterious being glanced back toward the distant lights of Yortinto, amused satisfaction dancing in her vivid, cunning eyes.
"Who knew just four wings could buy so much obedience, affection, and goodwill?" she mused aloud with an irrepressible, vibrant laugh that rang sensually across the empty night. "Lady Aurelia was right!"
With another delighted, uninhibited laugh, she melted away into the moonlit shadows, leaving only the echo of her amusement hanging gently in the cool spring air.