Night kept flowing like ink, and Mira sat in the chair, her sword resting by the armrest, while fireworks painted the gauzy window curtain with dream-lit silhouettes.

She kept her eyes closed, turning away from the easy beauty she could claim with a lift of her hand, and counted inside like tapping beads.

One… two.

One… two.

Two numbers, looping like a lullaby for children, yet her pulse refused to soften, beating like a trapped sparrow against a cage.

Lostness, confusion, self-reproach drifted through her skull like cold fog, and a snow-static hiss filled her inner ear like winter wind.

It hurt.

What a disappointment.

Yes—disappointment, a sour fruit she had to chew in the dark.

The jittery unrest gnawed at her, sanding her will raw like grit under skin.

But it wasn’t Adelaide driving her away that disappointed her; that thorn didn’t aim at her sister.

She could never be disappointed in her sister; she didn’t have that right, like a beggar before a shrine.

She was disappointed in herself, a shadow judging the body that cast it.

This pain should have been familiar, like an old scar; in those days by Adelaide’s bedside, when coma held her like deep water, Mira lived every day with this inner grind.

Yet self-blame alone was useless, a stone tied to the ankle; her pain meant nothing to Adelaide, like smoke that wouldn’t warm.

If pain blocked her atonement, it was a useless husk to be shed like old bark.

Mira thought she understood, thought she could seal it, ignore it, live as a blade meant to guard her sister’s path.

But at the moment Adelaide flared and told her to get out, a childish hurt burst inside her like a pricked blister.

Why? When did she go so soft, like damp clay?

Was it after leaving Balad, back under the same roof, warmth pooling like lamplight?

Or was it that night, hand in hand, lying in the endless sand sea, eyes on the star-sown sky, the illusion of more rising like a mirage?

…

She couldn’t lie to herself; truth stood like a mirror she couldn’t look away from.

Mira knew when the shift began, as surely as a bell marks dawn.

She tilted her head, and the bell hairpin on her bright gold hair chimed, a small sound rang like a silver fish flicking in dark water.

Since that day, Adelaide combed her hair each morning, then fixed that clip with careful fingers, like tying a red thread.

After choosing Toka’s surgery, Mira never dared dream this future, like a door she thought sealed by iron.

Yet somehow, that scene from a dream had become her waking world, settling like dew on a blade.

It was probably this—the not-quite-crisp bell tone, soft as cotton, still steady enough to let her set down every burden like stones from a pack.

Strike by strike, it knocked loose the steel locks on her sealed heart, giving her again the right to be Adelaide’s little sister, like a name returned.

One…

Two.

Her breath went deeper, longer, waves rolling out, and the pressure in her chest thinned like silt carried downstream.

Maybe this version of herself could be accepted, like a leaf gathered back to a branch.

Praise from her sister made her happy like sunlight; blame from her sister hurt like frost—if she was the younger sister, maybe that was allowed.

A small hope tugged her lips into a faint curve, a crescent moon that faded a beat later.

Maybe that much was fine—but only that much, Mira Izabella, a name sounding like a bell in an empty hall.

In the underground cave, the day your hand rested on her thigh, your throat swallowed like a dry riverbed, and your fingers slid up the soaked white stockings like a slow tide—you should’ve seen what you were.

Even now, you hold that laughable, shame-stained hunger for Adelaide, aching to edge closer, though you don’t even know what she fears or refuses to hear, like knocking at a closed door in a storm.

As you are, you can’t, and you don’t deserve to ask for more; it’s a price you can’t pay.

A faint sound brushed the window, and her thoughts cut off like a string snapped.

For a breath she thought Adelaide had come back, a flutter of panic rattling her like a sparrow in a cage, because she hadn’t decided how to ease the earlier awkwardness, a knot she couldn’t unknot.

Even a pale “sorry” would be better than silence, a small candle in rain—but when she turned to speak, the figure slipping in wasn’t a person; it was… a fluffy little cat, a tuft of warm cloud.

It hopped onto her desk like a pebble skimming water and began to lick its paw, neat as a tea ceremony.

Mira frowned at the intruder, then the oddness snapped into focus like ink on paper.

Slitted beast eyes, yellow-and-white fur, a signature little mustache, pink pads soft as petals—cat traits, yes—but those round ears sat wrong, like moons where knives should be.

She stared for a few seconds, and the thought clicked like a latch.

More than a cat, it looked like a… shrunk-down lion, a cub sculpted from butter.

And somehow, this lion felt familiar, like a scent on an old scarf.

The curtain rustled again, a wave through grass, and she looked up; this time it wasn’t a small animal, but a lithe, strong girl stepping in like a shadow cut by moonlight—

“…Why is it you?” The words snapped like a twig.

“Why can’t it be? Honestly, it had to be me,” the girl said, voice dry as dust and sharp as a blade.

The “cat” hopped from the desk to the floor, then sprang to the newcomer’s shoulder like a spark, rubbing her chin like a soft brush.

“Well? Never seen Barni in this look, right? She likes this small body, like a pebble in a pocket; when she’s big, she can’t squeeze under the sheets.”

Varie scratched Barni’s neck, and Barni purred, a bubbling gurgle like spring water, but Mira didn’t bite; her first question cut clean, cold as rain.

“How did you get in?”

“Told you already, slipping in’s easy for me, like smoke; only my brothers are a pain to smuggle, like mules on a mountain.”

“The Sealing Array’s kept the Elf lands cut off for thousands of years, a wall like winter—you couldn’t enter without help—”

“First off, this isn’t ‘the Elves’ homeland,’” Varie said, hand raised like a pause sign, and sliced across Mira’s words with a look like a whetted edge.

“At least, the land inside the seal has never wholly belonged to the long-eared; keep that in mind like a stone in your pocket.” She paused, then tilted her head. “Second, you’ve got bigger things you want to know, right? Like a storm on the horizon.”

“…Say it.”

“Fine. Your sister got grabbed by long-eared bitches, hauled like a netted fish.”

…

Mira’s eyes flew wide, pupils blurring like smeared ink, then pinning tight to a point like a needle; her voice trembled like a taut string.

“What did you say?”

“I said your sister was taken by long-ears at the festival, an open snatch under lantern light; I saw it with my own eyes, cold as stars—”

“You just watched?!” The shout cracked like thunder.

Mira seized Varie’s collar, anger and panic spilling like boiling water.

“You signed a pact with her; you should’ve backed her, not stood aside like a fencepost!”

Varie hung steady in Mira’s grip, a rock in a stream, even had time to shoo baring-teeth Barni off her shoulder like flicking a leaf, then shrugged, loose as wind.

“I’ll back her—when she wants it, like a hand offered not forced.”

“What are you saying?” The words fell like stones.

Varie didn’t rush; she spoke slow, like a knife set gently on a table.

“She saw me on the roof, the way you’d see a hawk, and before I moved, she lifted her hands and surrendered, like setting down a blade. She even cuffed herself with a magic shackle, a signal bright as a flag.”

“That… can’t be.” The denial stuck like gum.

Mira’s grip loosened without her noticing, fingers slackening like thawed ice.

“Yeah. With her skill, if she wanted to fight, she wouldn’t fold flat; with me backing her, running would’ve been easy, like two feet on open ground.”

“You mean… she did it on purpose?” The thought glinted like a shard.

“You know her better than me; is there another way this falls?” Varie’s shrug rolled like a wave.

After a few heartbeats of silence, heavy as wet cloth, Mira let go of the collar like dropping a stone.

“Where did they take her?” The question thudded like a drum.

“Same prison as our chieftain, a cage with highest-grade teeth; a straight raid is a bad bet, like charging a cliff.”

“Take me.” The demand cut like a knife point.

“…You two sisters are a matched set, a dragon and phoenix, one drama empress, one deaf to hints,” Varie muttered, rolling her eyes like marbles. “Fine. I can show you, give you a peek like lifting a curtain.”

She turned, then paused, looking back like a cat checking its trail.

“Speaking of, forgot to ask.”

“What?” The word hung like a drop.

“You haven’t told her what ‘playing with fingers’ really means, have you?” The tease twisted like smoke.

…

The unlit room sank into silence, falling like snow.

After a beat, Varie sighed, breath light as mist, a little glee curling in the sound like a fox’s grin.

“Heh. Looks like there’s good theater coming.”