At dawn, when the sun showed half its pale belly like a shy fish, Lucimia woke early.

A flutter of worry rose like a trapped bird; she shook Yuna. The girl answered at once, quick as a ripple in a still pond, and doubt pricked like a needle—had she slept at all?

Details could wait like leaves on the wind; first came Yuna’s clothes.

Right now, Yuna wore only white bandages, snowstrips wrapped to cover the essentials, inviting the mind to wander like fog over a hidden lake.

One big movement, and those wraps might slip like loose vines; the garden beneath would bloom, wild as spring after rain.

If she was changing, then a bath was a must, like sweeping dust before laying a new mat.

Grit still clung to Yuna’s skin, altar dust like gray ash after a cold fire, and it needed washing.

Her eyes made bathing tricky, clouded like moonlight through gauze, and they couldn’t let the maid help; that meant—

Yes. Let me, Lucimia, wash you myself, like a stream tending its own shore.

Lucimia locked the door with a soft click, a lid on a secret jar, then led Yuna into the bath.

She undressed, skin pale as porcelain in morning haze, sat Yuna on a little stool like a reed perch, and turned the shower on with a hiss like summer rain.

Water beaded on tender skin like dew on lotus, slid from shoulders to chest and back, then pattered to the floor like a light drizzle.

Yuna said nothing, quiet as snowfall, and let Lucimia wash her.

While the water sang, Lucimia asked what burned in her chest like banked coals.

Where did you live before? Your parents? How were you taken?

If Yuna could answer, Lucimia might trace her followers like stars on a map.

But fate turned its face like a cloud, and the answer slipped.

Yuna didn’t know where her parents were; as a child, she’d been lured away like a lamb from the flock, then sold as a slave to a small landlord in a village.

He didn’t touch her at first, only wrung her labor like squeezing water from a rag, and starved her when work fell short, cold as winter wind.

When she grew, womanhood marked her like red on a plum, and the landlord finally reached for beauty like a moth for flame—but before his hand closed, Lucimia’s followers broke the scene like thunder through calm.

A swarm of black-robed figures poured out like a flock of ravens, raided the village, and carried Yuna off as an offering.

Lucimia hugged her, arms a warm cloak against frost, and held the ache like a lamp cupped from the wind.

“Do you know where that village is?”

“I… don’t know. But I know the name… It’s called Kalan Village.”

Kalan Village. Lucimia tucked the name away like a seed in dark soil.

They could try a map, a lantern in fog, though maps here marked only the big places, bare as bones; finding a small village would be a needle in a haystack.

Still, a dim path beat no path, like a lone star better than none.

After drying her with a soft towel, cloud to clear sky, Lucimia fretted over what Yuna should wear.

She drew out clothes and laid them on the bed like petals, banquet gowns and many skirts—one-piece dresses, minis, long hems, puffed skirts, Lolita frills, even a maid outfit. Black-and-white silk stockings gathered like ravens and doves.

“This one’s nice.” Lucimia slipped a white dress over Yuna, pure as a fresh snowfall.

An angel in plain light, white wings imagined where fabric fell.

“This too. And this one—this looks great.” She changed Yuna again and again, from dress to gown to playful mix, like painting the same flower in different seasons.

Under Lucimia’s dressing play, Yuna pinched her skirt hem, shy as a fawn in reeds. “Honestly… just something simple and easy to move in.”

“Ah, sorry.” The mood had carried her like a river in flood.

In the end, she chose simple clothes for Yuna, a white top and a short skirt, clean as linen in sun.

If she called Yuna a friend from outside, the lie had to breathe like air; nothing too rich, just what common folk wore.

Lucimia changed herself too, prettiness like a blade slipped into silk—black silk stockings, lace-up boots to the knee, a dress cinched at the middle, tracing her slim waist like ink on paper.

She turned half a circle in the mirror, a crescent smile rising like moon over water—so pretty.

Sunlight finally speared the clouds, a golden arrow through gray, and poured into the room; it was time for the maid to call.

She needed a plan, fast as a swallow’s dive, to make Yuna her “friend” with no seams showing.

The hardest knot: sneak Yuna out without a sound, while she sat at breakfast with her parents like a dutiful daughter.

Then bring Yuna back after, and the later entrance would settle in place like a tile in a pattern.

To slip Yuna out, the thorn was Kaeli’s eyes, sharp as a hawk’s—how to pass under that sky?

And while she ate at home, how to keep Yuna safe, a candle under a shade?

Solve those two, and the board would open like ice breaking in spring.

Think. Think. The word pulsed like a drum.

Without noticing, Lucimia bit her finger again, habit like a cat’s paw kneading when deep in thought.

“Deceiver… Deceiver…”

If I were truly a Deceiver, how would I trick Miss Kaeli’s gaze, a net cast over the lake?

Why send Yuna out? So no one would see her, like a shadow swallowed by dusk.

Not seen… yes, not seen. The spark caught like dry tinder.

Lucimia’s eyes lit, two stars over dark water, and her gaze settled on the magic book her father had given her yesterday.

…

“Miss, time to wake,” Kaeli knocked, three neat taps like rain on bamboo.

“I’m already up, Sister Kaeli.” Lucimia opened the door wide, and the room lay open like a quiet stage.

A cluttered desk with sketches strewn like fallen leaves, the window ajar with a cool breeze threading in, and the quilt neatly folded on the bed like a stacked cloud. Nothing else.

“My, how splendid. You folded the quilt yourself,” Kaeli said, praise warm as tea.

“Of course. I told you, I’m an adult now!” Pride rose like a banner in a spring wind.

“Yes, already an adult.” Kaeli bowed, crisp as a blade. “Leave the cleaning to me. The master and madam are in the dining room, waiting only for you.”

“Got it. I’m going now.”

Light steps like pebbles on a path, Lucimia brushed past Kaeli.

Once behind her, Lucimia flicked a brow and hooked a smile, a fox’s tail swishing in tall grass.

Hmph. Kaeli or not, I fooled her, like a kite slipping its string.