"Hold out your arms, please."

Layalla did as Maira requested, stretching her arms out to either side while her sister checked the length of each sleeve. She was putting the finishing touches on her debut party dress—the black dress Maira had been toiling over for weeks. She was making sure that the garment fit her better even than her own skin, a talent that Maira was more than capable of.

Layalla had often praised her sister for her skill in sewing. She would tell her that there was more than enough magic in her fingers to make up for her lack of magic elsewhere. Maira would smile, blush, and thank her, but Layalla knew the compliment didn't make up for reality.

Still, she was in awe of the dress as she stared into the floor-length mirror before them. The collar, sleeves, and skirt were trimmed in intricate lace, made of black thread that shone like obsidian. The bodice was painstakingly embroidered with swirling, green vines. From waist to floor, the skirt was made of luxurious black brocade, the underskirt of luscious black velvet. Layalla had never felt more regal, never looked more womanly.

"I think it's about finished," Maira finally said, gently lowering Layalla's arms and staring at the dress through the mirror. She gave a satisfied nod.

Layalla turned to face her, beaming.

"Maira, it's spectacular. It's the most astonishing dress I've ever seen."

Her shorter older sister's cheeks reddened, but she smiled back.

"It helps when my muse is already perfection, herself." Maira patted Layalla's cheek, thimble still on her thumb.

Layalla shook her head. "I can't believe you did all the embroidery yourself. I—"

Her bedroom door opened forcefully, and the two young women spun to face their mother. She strode to stand before them. Her purple nightshade eyes flashed when she saw the close proximity between the two. Before even a word of greeting, she stepped forward and pushed herself between Layalla and Maira, practically shoving the latter away from her with her hip.

"Mother—" Layalla began, startled.

"Let's see it, then," Dame Dunn demanded, looking her over.

She began to inspect the dress, making Layalla hold her arms out again, then spin to show off every angle. Her blank expression settled into a frown.

"Yes… I suppose it will have to do. Though, my debut gown was much more memorable. At least your pretty face makes up for what the dress lacks."

Layalla opened her mouth to protest her mother's rude dismissal of Maira's hard work, but found her chin caught in her mother's grasp. Dame Dunn tilted her daughter's head this way and that, inspecting her face in much the same way as she had the dress.

"You're very lucky to have taken after me in looks, rather than your father," she mused. "Except for your eyes, of course. But they have their own charm. Besides, the Dunn eyes provide you with claim to your legitimacy." She finally relinquished Layalla's face and turned suddenly to step toward a dressing table, pushing past Maira once again.

Dame Dunn's rude treatment of Maira rankled Layalla to no end, as it always did, but there was nothing to be done. Layalla watched her older sister closely, as she silently bore their mother's behavior. Her two-toned eyes stayed always on the floor—those eyes, which were her only legitimate claim to her lineage. One the orange of the Dunns', the other the rare purple of their mother's. Maira knew that Dame Dunn hated her eyes, which is why she made sure to keep them averted. If Maira's eyes were ever to meet their mother's, she took the very sight of them as a threat. Those eyes accused her of everything that Maira's very existence represented—which, in Dame Dunn's mind, was her greatest shame.

Even still, if Maira did everything right, if she avoided any possible offense toward their mother, it did not always guarantee peace. Dame Dunn was easy to displease, and Maira was the perfect subject for her to inflict her displeasure upon. Even Layalla, golden child as she was in the Dunn household, was thought of as nothing more than a possession to their mother, and therefore was expected to always submit to her will. She had no real power to save Maira, not unless she went about it very carefully.

"I think it best to put your hair up tonight, don't you?" Dame Dunn said, finally returning to where Layalla still stood before the mirror to begin pinning her long, black hair away from her face. "It makes you look more mature. We don't want any potential suitors thinking of you as nothing more than a young girl."

Layalla held in a wince as her mother poked her scalp with a pin.

"I'm afraid all the guests will see me as nothing more than a foolish mute," she admitted, watching her mother's expression carefully. "There are going to be so many people here tonight! More people than I've ever met in all my life. I'm so nervous, I'm scared that I'll forget how to speak."

Her mother jabbed in another pin, frowning. "Nonsense. Greeting people with a pleasant smile isn't some kind of difficult task. I was nearly a decade younger than you when I debuted, and I had no trouble at all."

"Yes, but you'd had more practice meeting people by then…" Layalla fiddled with her fingers, clasped in front of her. She glanced toward Maira, who was making herself busy, straightening out the hair accessories on the dressing table. "I think, if I had someone more familiar by my side, someone who could escort me around the party, I would feel so much more at ease."

Dame Dunn scoffed. "You think I have time to follow you around all night? I'll be hosting the party! I can't be holding your hand through the whole occasion…"

"Of course not," Layalla quickly said. "I never expected you to chaperone me, you'll be much too busy! I was thinking Maira—"

Layalla's head was suddenly yanked back by the grip her mother had on her hair. Dame Dunn's purple eyes glared at her through the mirror. She had pulled Layalla's head back so that they were cheek-to-cheek, and so she had no trouble hearing her mother's seething, whispered words.

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"That girl wants to be your chaperone? She presumes to hold enough importance? To walk beside the shining star of the party?"

"N-No," Layalla stammered, her eyes tearing up with the pain in her scalp and neck as her mother's grip tightened. "It was my idea, Maira never asked—"

Dame Dunn released her, only to spin and deliver a thunderous slap to Maira's face. Her older sister stumbled sideways, knocking most of the items she'd just been arranging on the dressing table to the floor, before falling in a heap herself. Their mother loomed over her, her pretty face twisted into something hideous and sinister.

"You dare to place yourself beside someone so far above you," Dame Dunn hissed down at her. She raised her arm to deliver another blow, but Layalla lunged forward and grabbed it.

"Mother, please," she said through her tears. "Maira had nothing to do with this, it was all my idea! I thought both you and Father would be too busy to stay by my side through the night! Don't blame her for my request!"

Maira scrambled to her feet and backed away, even as Dame Dunn attempted to wrench free of Layalla's grasp to deliver the slap she'd intended. But Layalla held fast. The hand that gripped her mother's arm even began to glow with eternal flame. Dame Dunn's eyes widened and she froze.

It was the first time Layalla had ever even seen a hint of fear in her mother's eyes. It was barely there, gone almost instantly, but she'd seen it. And then a sudden realization hit her—this woman, who Layalla had lived in fear of all her life, would be nearly powerless against her magic. Though Dame Dunn had married into the Dunn clan, into the clan of Dark magic wielders, she had only ever possessed weak, unsettled Neutral magic. If Layalla were to wield her magic against her own mother, if she were to fight back…

Her mother would never stand a chance.

A terrifying feeling of power swelled within Layalla's chest. She relinquished her mother's arm as she yanked away from her, but that powerful feeling remained. There they stood, facing each other, and though Dame Dunn's face was cold and expressionless, Layalla couldn't help but feel that similar thoughts were passing through her mother's mind.

A knock came at the door.

"Dame Dunn," a servant entered, bowing low.

Though he stepped into a sight of chaos—items strewn across the floor, Maira clutching her quickly swelling cheek, Layalla's hair wild and half-pinned—he only glanced over the scene and proceeded with his business. To work on the Dunn estate was to get used to such incidences.

"Lord Lark is here and wishes to greet his cousin before the party begins."

Dame Dunn's face lit up. "Lark? Well, show him in, then!"

As soon as the servant stepped away to fetch their guest, Dame Dunn spun to glare at Maira.

"Well, hurry up and get this mess cleaned up!" she barked.

Maira did as she was told, kneeling to collect the fallen items and quickly reassembling them on the dressing table. Layalla watched her with concern, the welt on her face only growing redder by the minute.

"Look at the state of you," her mother scolded, stepping up to Layalla to fix her disheveled hair.

Layalla only stood numbly, still watching her sister, though she wanted to flinch away from her mother's touch.

"There," Dame Dunn turned her to face the mirror, smiling brightly as if all was well, "that's much better."

Indeed, Layalla's hair was much improved, but she could only focus on the reflection of Maira in the mirror. Her older sister's lip quivered. Dame Dunn said something about finding a pair of gloves and stepped toward the wardrobe across the room. Layalla took the opportunity to turn and face her sister.

"Let me see," she said softly, barely loud enough to hear. Maira paused her tidying and allowed Layalla to place a gentle hand on her swollen cheek, though she kept her eyes averted. Layalla's palm glowed with eternal flame, and Maira winced before relaxing again. When Layalla removed her hand, the swollen cheek was smooth and unharmed once again.

"Thanks," Maira said under her breath, before returning to her work.

Layalla wanted to ask her if she was all right, to tell her that what their mother did was wrong, and to apologize for putting her in such a situation in the first place. But the bedroom door was opening, so she was forced to turn her attention to their entering guest.

"Let me see the star of the show!"

Lark Dunn stepped into the room, arms open wide, grinning from ear to ear. His orange Dunn eyes flashed with youthful excitement. Layalla bowed her head to him in greeting.

"Hello, cousin."

Lark stopped in his tracks, eyeing her. "What's this? Here you are, wearing a beautiful gown, on the eve of your big night, and yet you're wearing the gloomiest expression I've ever seen! Shouldn't you be more excited for your big debut party?"

Layalla cursed her over-expressive face and attempted to fix it.

"Of course I'm excited."

Lark stepped up to her and took each of her hands in his, looking down at her with concern, just as Dame Dunn returned from the wardrobe with a pair of black velvet gloves.

"My Lady," Lark said, almost pouting at his aunt, "have you seen the melancholy cloud hanging over your daughter's head?"

"Lark, you know how women are," Dame Dunn said with a dismissive wave. She pulled Layalla's hands from Lark's and began putting on the black gloves. "Our moods come and go with every passing moment. There's nothing to it. By this evening, she'll be as carefree as a bird."

Layalla clenched her jaw. Her mother knew very well the reason behind Layalla's "mood." And if Lark hadn't shown up when he did, who knows how much worse it all could have escalated?

A thought came to Layalla's mind. Lark was here now. She may as well use him to her advantage…

Layalla put on an exaggerated pout of her own.

"I won't be carefree by this evening, that's just the thing." She boldly pulled away from her mother to face Lark. "I'm so nervous, Lark! Tonight, I'll have to talk to more strangers than ever before. That's why I asked Mother if my handmaiden, Maira, might be able to accompany me—"

"Layalla!" her mother hissed, trying to cut her off, but she only pushed forward.

"—might be able to accompany me throughout the party, so that I may have someone familiar by my side to comfort and support me. But Mother refuses to allow it. She thinks a handmaiden is too lowly to be seen by my side."

"My dear little cousin," Lark smiled at her. He reached up and playfully patted her cheek. "If you're scared to traverse the party alone, then allow me to be your escort."

Layalla bit her lip. "I appreciate the offer, Lark, but…"

He raised an eyebrow. "But…?

She frowned. "Oh, don't take this the wrong way, but you just wouldn't do! Lark, you're known to me and one of my dearest friends in the world, but to most anyone else you're… Well, you're intimidating."

He smirked at her. "Intimidating, you say?"

"Well, yes…" She grabbed Lark's hands and squeezed them. "Having you by my side would bring me comfort, however, I'm meant to meet new people and introduce myself to society tonight, and if your presence scares everyone away from me…"

He chuckled, giving her hands a squeeze back. "You're right, it just wouldn't do." He looked toward Dame Dunn. "I don't see why her handmaiden can't escort her, my Lady? You say she is too lowly, but isn't this just what a handmaiden is for? Besides, look at Layalla." He pulled Layalla along, guiding her into a little spin and making her giggle with glee. "No one will even notice the handmaiden by her side! She'll be stealing every eye in the room!"

Dame Dunn smiled at him, and Lark smiled back. To Lark, her smile may have seemed genuine, casual, but Layalla was well-trained in her mother's expressions. She wasn't happy or carefree at all.

She was furious.

"You've convinced me," she said to Lark, still smiling. "I'll allow it then. Your handmaiden may escort you during your debut party, tonight."

"See," Lark spun Layalla around again, "no need to be gloomy!"

"I suppose we'll need to find you something befitting to wear," Dame Dunn said to Maira, barely containing her contempt. She snapped at the girl and motioned for her to follow as she left the room. Maira scurried along after her, throwing a quick, wide-eyed glance Layalla's way.

Gloom weighed heavier than ever over Layalla, even as she forced out a laugh while Lark continued to spin her around the room.