17 Blood Carrots (at 3 gold each) and one Common Carrot were easy to move. I sold the 17 to Madeleine, who stopped me.

  “Chérie, I told our... mutual friends about an upcoming soirée, darling, and they want to invite you,” she said, smiling. “You have something magnifique to wear? The Counts would not approve of your clothing.”

  I had to smile, looking down at myself. “Really? Some vampires wouldn’t think a farm girl comin’ into their ball like this would be all that pretty, Maddy?”

  “Maddy, chérie? Is Madeleine too... difficile for you?” she retorts, but her voice was soft and light, and her eyes were playful.

  “It depends, Maddy, is Ashley too difficult?” I responded, mimicking her lightness. She laughed at my attempt.

  “Point well made, point well made. But yes, chérie, you cannot wear that at all,” she said, stepping toward me again. Her heels clacked against the stone floor as she approached, her hips jutting out like a woman of the night.

  She was so much shorter than me, and my eyes appraised her with curiosity. She stepped into my personal space, staring up at me. She smiled.

  Her hand wrapped around my waist, far too low for my liking. I felt my blood flow quicken and my nerves snap to attention, but Madeleine quickly wrapped her other arm to lock me in place. It was too close a “hug,” if you could even call it that.

  “W-What are you doi—”

  “The Counts are going to do so much worse than this, chérie. I already told you I prefer lambs, but teasing can be so... divertissant.” Her right hand released the lock on my waist and slid softly over my spine. I shivered, unsure of what was going on.

  It was unpleasant. But her breasts pushed into my chest, and that was... also unpleasant. I glared down at her, but she laughed.

  “Your face is almost as rouge as your hair, chérie,” she finished. She leaned in, on her tiptoes, her lips an inch away from mine. I tried to pull back.

  She released me and gave my rear a rough, playful swat.

  “You failed. The Counts are going to eat you alive if that’s how bad you are at the soirée, chérie.” She giggled, walking back to her end of the room. “Get something nice to wear. Maman won’t let them eat you alive.”

  She licked her lips, slowly—and I assume if I was even remotely attracted to her—sensually. It just disturbed me, and I blushed.

  “Y-Yeah? Well, I’ll make sure you taste worse!” I shouted back, and she looked at me. Then laughed, covering her lips. Her other hand just waved me off.

  I turned around angrily and grabbed a random bag from the counter. I stared at Madeleine, who snickered and shook her head. She gave me a shrug, and I just walked off with... my consolation prize.

  I walked out the door and opened the bag. Inside were... discarded chicken bones and bread.

  Flora damn it.

  But the bones were broken and... I had never bothered to use [Bone Mend]. I guessed I could do that while I figured something out, and then change into whatever Mrs. Bellamine made. I finally opened the package.

  Inside was a dress. I slowly pulled it out.

  The dress that spilled into my hands was made of a velvet so black it seemed to drink the lamplight, leaving no reflection. It felt heavy, substantial, like a declaration. It wasn’t a dress for a farm girl, or even for a scholar. It felt... formal. Severe.

  The bodice was structured, cut to fit a frame much healthier than my own, but designed to give the impression of strength. A high collar of delicate, spiderweb-fine lace was meant to frame the neck, drawing the eye upward. The same black lace made up the entirety of the long sleeves, tight against the arms before flaring out just slightly at the wrist. They were beautiful, intricate, and utterly impractical for any kind of honest work.

  Subtle lines of jet-black beads were sewn into the velvet of the chest, creating elegant, thorny patterns that crept up from the waist like barren winter vines. They didn’t sparkle; they just added a layer of deep, complex texture to the darkness. There were no skulls, no overt symbols of death, but the whole design felt... hungry. Like a beautiful nightshade flower—all elegant lines and hidden poison.

  The skirt was long and A-line, designed to flow and command space, not to be tucked away while tilling a field. It was the kind of dress Ma had dreamed I’d wear to an Academy gala, the dress of a woman who was a “pride an’ joy.”

  I held it up against my body. Staring at my faint reflection in the warped glass of the window, I didn’t see a farm girl. I saw a silhouette of the woman Madeleine was trying to teach me to be. Dangerous. Composed. A woman who belonged in the dark.

  I would definitely pay Mrs. Bellamine back for her gift. I wore it immediately, and even the heels she gave me felt lightweight. She really was a [Master Weaver]!

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  I walked out and glanced about. I finally looked like I belonged to this society—or one even better. I was hungry now, a bit embarrassed, but... I got a pretty dress that really suited me. This simple pleasure did so much for my mood.

  I wanted more. And I wanted a good meal. The only place I knew where to get that from was The Griffon.

  I was lost in thought when I arrived at The Griffon and, much to my dismay, no one really turned their head to look at me. They looked at my dress, for sure, but when they saw my face, they quickly returned to their meals. Mr. Marlow, however, beamed!

  “Ash—I mean, Ms. Hart! You look gorgeous, my dear! Come, take a seat; let me get you something to drink. Do you still like honey mead?” His warm, booming voice beckoned.

  I... blushed. A genuine smile crept onto my face as I looked at Mr. Marlow. “T-thank you so much.”

  Mr. Marlow smiled too and approached me. I didn’t take a step back, but let his arm rest gently on my shoulder as he guided me to a booth. I was still blushing and downcast as he sat me down and poured me a honey mead. “I’m glad to see your business is doing well, As—”

  “I’m sorry for earlier. You can still call me Ashy, Gramps.” I... corrected? I didn’t know.

  He looked stunned, then snickered. “Amaril be praised, Ashy is being a sweetheart,” he cooed. His hand rubbed over my hair and scalp.

  It wasn’t... pleasant, but I didn’t hate it. It felt nice to be liked, you know?

  He let me be, and I looked at the menu again. I had a bag of chicken bones, but if I wanted to practice here, I’d have to order chicken.

  That sentence felt so prohibitively pricey to me, but I was sitting on 51 gold. I needed 50 silver to use the seed maker later—if any of the three in town were available—and then I had to wait 24 hours. The rest was pure profit, which I could put aside to settle the debt.

  Mr. Marlow and Mrs. Marlow arrived a moment later, and I swear, I could see some of their kids peeking at me. I raised my hand awkwardly at them and tried to do what passed for a smile. Their five kids snickered. Some even gawked openly, and even Matthias, the youngest boy, stuck his tongue out. Their older teens rolled their eyes. I think Mary was in my class.

  That reverie, however, was shaken when Mrs. Marlow leaned in and hugged me, which made my body stiffen and the hair on my arms stand. She smelled like lavender, primrose, and roast meat. That scent was one I remembered from working here for a few coins and a meal. My lips curved into a gentle smile, even if my body wouldn’t return the affection.

  “Ashy, dear! I am so happy to see you! Dan told me you were in a bad mood last time, but I told him that can’t be our Ashy—she might be a bit prickly, but she’s a sweet girl, that’s what I told him—”

  “Hi, Nana,” I whispered, looking at the table. “Um... I’m doing good. May I please have the roast chicken and potatoes?”

  “Of course you may, dear! You must be starvin’ living at the house by yourself, and here I was thinkin’ you’d be going in a bad way, just drafty there, but you look so gorgeous, my dear—you must have worn that at the academ—”

  “Bertrude, please,” Mr. Marlow tried to cut her off. “You must be talking Ashy’s ear off. She just wants something to eat. I’ll get her something to drink.”

  “Nonsense, Dan! Ashy loves listening to Nana talk and my stories—she’s the sweetest girl...” she rattled. I continued to stare at the table, my eyes locked on the wood. Why did this feel so weird?

  I tried to smile sweetly, and Nana... Nana kissed my cheek and slipped me a candied peach! I stared at the treat with utter confusion, but she had already left. My eyes watered as I looked around. No one else really seemed to notice me, except the Marlows and their kids. I was all dolled up, but still, I felt out of place.

  I guess even like this, I was that poor farm girl in their eyes. Even the Marlo—

  They love you, shut up already. You’re just making people miserable.

  I swallowed that thought, and couldn’t silence it. I was a bad influence, and I even snapped at Gramps just because he wanted to check in on me.

  I sighed and poured out the bag of bones on the table. My hands idly pushed them around, my eyes scanning, but my brain was lost in thought. There were many shards, and that made more sense than what I was feeling.

  I normally didn’t care if anyone liked me or not.

  The bone shards of the chickens were numerous.

  So why was I so hurt that when they saw my face, they looked away?

  I could probably connect them if I tried, too.

  Was I really that ugly?

  These two connected together, and so did these ones...

  Or was it me?

  [Bone Mend]

  The chicken bones connected together with an ephemeral green light and looked brand new. I blinked at that, my head clearing immediately. That was very interesting. There were more pieces, but I saw Mr. Marlow approach and I quickly shoved the... literal trash underneath my handkerchief. I blushed again, glancing at him and then the bones, trying to work out if he was in line of sight and saw me playing with them.

  I looked away as he put the honey mead on the table. “On the house, Ashy. Oh, did you know the Skye boy is back from the Capital, too?”

  That... soured my mood. “I am aware, yes,” I said quietly.

  He laughed and put his hand on my shoulder. “Yeah, he’s set to be betrothed to Melissa Bell—”

  “WHAT?!” I shouted, causing the patrons to look at me and Mr. and Mrs. Marlow to laugh.

  “Always knew you had a thing for the neighbor boy,” he mock-teased. He was teasing. He likes you, Ashley.

  I glared up at him. I was basically assaulted, given trash, ignored, called ugly—and it was finding out Adrian was getting married to Melissa that broke my resolve? My blood boiled, and my fingers clenched tightly. I could feel my nails indent my skin.

  A system notification popped up.

  Adrian could ossify and die.