Dinner was served in a more intimate room with subdued lighting, far from the solemnity of the great hall. The table, narrower, was set for only two. A fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting dancing shadows on the walls.

  Lyssandra entered first, a little nervous, but hiding her unease beneath perfectly controlled elegance. She wore a dark velvet dress, less sober than the one she had worn that morning, with a delicate neckline and long slit sleeves. A subtle scent of night-blooming flowers wafted around her.

  Kael arrived shortly after, visibly washed and changed, as if nothing bloody had happened earlier. He wore a sober but noble outfit, with black and silver accents. His hair, still damp, fell freely down his neck.

  They sat down without a word.

  The meal began calmly. There was no tension, but a silence that bordered on intimacy. Lyssandra dared a smile.

  “You know, you could almost be charming... if you didn't try so hard not to be.”

  Kael didn't answer right away. He raised his glass, took a sip, and then finally looked at her.

  “And you, you could almost be discreet... if you didn't try so hard to be seen.”

  She laughed softly, this time without forcing it.

  “Point taken.”

  The meal continued in a strange harmony, punctuated by small exchanges and more candid glances. And when dessert was served—a strange sorbet with pearly highlights—Kael got up without a word, took a few steps out of the room, then returned.

  He was holding a small black box.

  Lyssandra raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

  “What is it...?”

  He placed it in front of her.

  “A gift.”

  “For... me? You're not the type to give gifts.”

  “Maybe I'm becoming that type. Open it.”

  She obeyed slowly. The box revealed a delicate bracelet, made of dark silver and encrusted with tiny obsidian gems. It was a piece of jewelry that was both understated and fascinating, its shine seeming to absorb light rather than reflect it.

  Lyssandra remained silent for a moment.

  “It's... beautiful. It's... strange. But beautiful.”

  Kael approached her and, without waiting for permission, took her hand to slip the bracelet onto her wrist. The bracelet was cold... then suddenly warm, as if it was reacting to her skin. She shivered.

  “It suits you,” he said, sitting down again.

  “Thank you... but... why?”

  “Because tomorrow, you'll be on my arm. And I want you to be noticed.”

  She stared at him, her heart beating faster.

  “You know how to say things... when you want to.”

  He smiled almost imperceptibly.

  What she didn't know was that the bracelet was much more than a piece of jewelry. An ancient magic lay dormant within it, forged by hands long dead. An invisible barrier, ready to deploy in case of danger, to protect her... whatever the cost.

  But Kael said nothing.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  And Lyssandra, unaware of the spell woven around her wrist, ran her finger over the dark stones, enchanted by their warmth.

  “I think... I can't wait for tomorrow.”

  “Me too,” he whispered.

  The morning of the ball.

  The pale light of the winter sun filtered through the curtains, softened by the tinted windows of the manor house. It was a gentle but distant glow, as if the sky itself were holding its breath for the evening ahead.

  Lyssandra awoke slowly, the sheets wrapped around her bare legs, still numb from a strange sleep. She lay still for a moment, staring at the moldings on the ceiling. A ball of nervousness pulsed gently in her chest.

  Then her gaze slid to the mannequin near the bed.

  The dress.

  Still there, lying like a black velvet specter. Kael's gift. It felt like an eternity had passed since she had first touched its folds.

  She stretched slowly, then carefully left the sheets. The icy floor beneath her feet brought her back to reality with a jolt.

  A shiver ran down his spine.

  And at that moment, as if moved by an invisible command, they arrived.

  Three spectral maids, veiled in mist and pale light, floated through the walls of the room. Without a word, they bowed, and one of them handed Lyssandra a black silk dressing gown before motioning for her to follow.

  She blinked, taken aback.

  “Um... okay. All right.”

  She quickly tied the robe around herself and followed them. Their silence, the way they glided rather than walked, and everything about them betrayed their nature: they were not alive. Not really.

  They led her to the mansion's large bathroom. There, warm steam already filled the room. The water had been heated. Dark petals floated on the surface of the bath, mixed with amber and musk oils.

  Lyssandra parted her lips slightly.

  “Is this for... me?”

  No answer. Just a respectful, almost ceremonial nod. One maid slipped off her dressing gown. Another began to gently undo her hair.

  She blushed violently.

  “Wait... I can manage, really...”

  But the vaporous hands, soft as fabric, continued their movements. Delicate. Experienced. And completely indifferent to her embarrassment.

  She was naked in seconds.

  A trembling sigh escaped her as she slipped into the warm water.

  Gulp... sigh.

  The heat enveloped her completely, eliciting a second shiver. The scent was heady. Luxurious. Much too much so.

  Part of her told her she didn't deserve it. That she wasn't born for this kind of treatment. That she hadn't done anything to deserve it.

  While another part of her thought she deserved every drop and much more after having suffered so much.

  The maids began to wash her. Slowly. Meticulously. Long, almost ritualistic movements, as if they were preparing an offering.

  Lyssandra kept her eyes closed. So as not to show her embarrassment. So as not to admit how pleasant it actually was.

  Then came the oils, the perfumes, and the ivory combs. They dried her skin with scented towels, enveloping her in silky warmth.

  Afternoon.

  And finally, the long-awaited moment.

  The dress.

  In her room, the maids helped her put it on. The fabric slid against her skin like a caress held back. The laces were tightened just enough. The silver patterns came to life in the light.

  The corset sculpted her with almost cruel precision.

  Then came the jewelry. The bracelet. Always there. Almost burning on her wrist.

  And her long hair was styled and carefully pinned up, her neck exposed just enough to invite the gaze.

  Finally, in front of the mirror, a servant drew a final line of black kohl along her eyelid.

  Lyssandra opened her eyes.

  She saw herself.

  And barely recognized herself.

  Not a survivor.

  A witch. A noblewoman. A living temptation.

  Her heart pounding, she whispered to herself, barely audibly:

  “Tonight... I won't let him look away.”