#scallop pearl
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Some headshot doodles of gems that are crucial to the lore of Luminescence
#mepostbeech#steven universe#steven universe oc#gem oc#digital art#garnet#iag#iridescent andradite#purple moissanite#green moissanite#orange moissanite#bi-color sapphire#tahitian pearl#scallop pearl#hematite#red moissanite#lace amethyst#orange river quartz
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[Image Description: a digital drawing of an original Pearl based off of Steven Universe.
Scallop Pearl has pale-grey hair, an unseen gem, and a wild bush of white hair that covers her right eye. She is wearing a sleeveless shift of grey, partially-sheer fabric and bandages wrapped around her torso and arms.
Scallop Pearl turns her head upwards, looking down at the viewer with a shadow cast over the top half of her face and unnervingly wide and emotionless eyes.
End Description.]
scallop pearl (she/her) // theme
synthetic gem made of several captured rebel pearls, an empty shell who stands around holding scapolite’s things. wanted a clean ref for her so here we are
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Oyster, origami, one square of paper. Loosely modelled on the black-lip pearl oyster.
#mine#origami#oyster#oystermash#original model by Roberto Morassi you can find the diagram in#Modelli di Roberto Morassi p. 35#I say loosely modelled bc his own is just I suspect one of those generic 'pearl let loose on a scallop shell' type of imagery#now i have nothing against bathroom decor tackiness (evidently)#but I did want smth a bit closer to nature#I chose this type of oyster specifically bc I needed one with a round shell given the model I have and this one happened to be there#also I saw a cool picture of the flesh inside it so I had to recreate that with the additional folds created by the pearl#anyway enjoy! personally I think this fucks
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"The Birth of Divine Beauty" (0002)
(More of The Cosmic Archetype Series)
0001
#ai man#ai generated#ai art community#ai artwork#gay ai art#gay art#homo art#art direction#fashion illustration#ai gay#queerness#black queerness#divine beauty#divine love#supernatural#scallop shell#ocean surf#muscular#male form#male physique#male figure#male art#physique art#black male beauty#black male body#deity#archetypal#black pearl
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Student Profile: Scallop (may add more in the future)
Scallop, Prince
Tribe - Seawing
Winglet - Pearl
Colour - Deep Green
Relatives - Princess Tsunami (sister), Princess Anemone (sister), Prince Turtle (brother)
Clawmates - Ochre (Mudwing), Darkstalker (Nightwing)
Favourite subject - Scavengers 101
Least fav. subject - History. Specifically seawing history
Physical characteristics - large, wavey, luminous markings; royal wing markings; average size, slim, can usually be seen wearing jewellery in the shape of three moons on his neck, big scar in the shape of a dragon claw across his face and claw marks along his body caused by Coral
Other characteristics/personality - Straightforward, fidgety, trouble sitting still, loud about what he wants and how he feels (specifically his goal to challenge Queen Coral and take the throne) Can’t take no for an answer, quick to take charge—Doesnt like being told what to do. Has a collection of scavenger items and equipment (including weapons, trinkets and, mostly strange objects that make noise he says scavengers call “instruments''; he has been advised not to bring them to classes), asks lots of questions (not objectionable, however, he often talks over teachers and other students), agitated whenever someone shows support for Queen Coral (monitor in case it leads to aggression, suggest counselling), “According to Queen Coral, Scallop doesn't understand royal seawing succession. She mandates that he takes history classes specifically focused on seawings” - Webs; loves singing and making noise on his "instruments"; vocally talented; Rumours have started to spread that Scallop is a part of the terrorist organization H.A.T.D (Humans Against the Tyranny of Dragons. most likely fake but continue to monitor just in case), one bad event from completely breaking down
The next member of the Pearl Winglet is probably going to be Ochre (mostly cause I have so much I have to say about him)
#I decided to use Flawseer's format cause I think it looks nice#I forgot to include his necklace but we don't need to mention that#wings of fire#wof#art#wof art#wof oc#wof oc art#pearl winglet#wof seawing#oc art#oc bio#original character#oc: Scallop#ill add more tags later#very proud of how this turned out#Ill accept roleplay if you wanna ask any questions#wings of fire oc#wings of fire art#wof ocs
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BABY, the Stars Shine Bright - Scallop JSK with Pearl Chain in black and pink (2006)
#loveee this jsk it’s so.. good. just such a pretty design#baby the stars shine bright#btssb#sweet lolita#egl fashion#egl community#egl#old school lolita#lolita fashion#lolita community#kawaii fashion#cute fashion#girly fashion#elegant gothic lolita#scallop jsk with pearl chain#jsk#lolita dress#my post tag
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Building alters for deities in animal crossing :)
#Putting Hekates near Butchs house. So far hers will be a cauldron and some fried fish#Aphrodites is by far my favorite. Octopus. Scallop. A pearl. Shell furniture.#Anubis. Not sure what to do for him#This whole thing was inspired by finding a framed photo in nooks and cranny and going “Persephone”#It's so fun#Especially when I cant go all out on their altars irl#Hekate gets to have a freaking *cauldron* and Aphrodite gets a freaking *octopus*#Imagine doing that irl#animal crossing#deity work#Star.txt
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#pearl trim#cottonlacetrim#lacetrimusa#sew#scalloped lace trim#art and craft#sewing ideas#clothes design
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Simon Riley who’s not well adjusted and sticks his thick fingers in your mouth whenever he wants.
He pinches your cheeks together too. Holds the fat tight enough it stings. Enjoys the way your eyes dart around the pub, watching everyone watch you, their concern and curiosity shrinking away when he glares at them.
Ignores Johnny when he hisses to let ‘er go, murmuring that he’s making a scene, and “ye’re gonna get us kicked out again LT.” He holds your pretty face in his fist and smiles as you start to squirm.
Though pinching your cheeks is nothing like sticking his fingers in your mouth.
He’ll grip your chin on the train and press his thumb to the tip of your tongue, forcing it against porcelain teeth. Tips as sharp as razor clams, he scrapes the gnarled edge of his fingernail across their jagged tops, before returning to depress the flat of your tongue until your eyes go wide. Can’t swallow? Can’t breathe. Problem, pet?
He likes the way your teeth shine. Oyster shells iridescent in the sparkling sun of a beach, shucked and shattered, punished by the force of the surf, or the prying strike of a predator. No one shell is alike, millions of spirals and patterns, scotch bonnets and scallops, cockles and cowries, all lining the shore, but you’re the one he sifted through sand to find. His nautilus shell. A perfect spiral, a Fibonacci sequence, the sum of his life and his choices, all here in his hand. One day, he’ll pluck a pearl from behind your teeth, one harvested for him, built from the swirl of brackish water, salt soaked crystals rolled across a seabed until they took shape, a thing, a beautiful thing, made of you, made of him.
He’s fed them to you before. Oysters. Cracked their hinges with his own fists and slipped them down your throat, sea salt and sweet, he couldn’t help but lick inside your mouth after each one, shoving into cracks and crannies, zest of a lemon still tart on your tongue.
You bit him once. The ocean is a tempest, a reflection of yourself, violence humming in a swell only Poseidon could soothe. He gentled your wild tides after that, taught you the stark difference between good behavior and bad, smart choices and reckless ones.
You’re a good girl. You learned.
His fingers find the velvet catch of your cheek too often, and though his cock prefers the back of your throat, the thrashing, vibrating squeeze of your swallows, he likes to tuck into the silk beside your molars. Pretty pockets of a conch shell, protecting a panacea, one made only for him, for his scars.
He drifts there, carried on ocean currents too strong to be stopped when he splits you open on his cock, when he sits you on his lap, when he sates your hunger by his own hand. He insists, even in the pubs, on feeding you bite after bite, thumb and forefinger grazing the roof of your mouth, spongy flesh begging him to press so hard his thumbprint sears to your skin.
At night, he finds your mouth on instinct. Slips right between your teeth and floats away on a twilight tide, like the sea singing a baby to sleep.
#anyway this totally appeared after that earlier reblog#a lot of ridiculous discussion of oysters?#I have a thing for seashells I guess#this is way over embellished#I wrote this high as hell and you can tell#he probably has a collection of your baby teeth#simon riley#simon riley x reader
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Scallop: Inktober 4/31
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"The Birth of Divine Beauty" (0001)
(The Cosmic Archetype Series)
#ai man#ai generated#ai art community#ai artwork#gay ai art#gay art#homo art#art direction#fashion illustration#ai gay#queerness#black queerness#divine beauty#divine love#supernatural#scallop shell#ocean surf#muscular#male form#male physique#male figure#male art#physique art#black male beauty#black male body#deity#archetypal#black pearl
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🫧🐚 ACNH Tidepool Set 🦐🫧
Here is the winner of July's poll, the tidepool set! There are lots and lots of creatures, some rocks, plants, and other items to add even more to your aquariums!
Sims 4, Base game compatible | 59 items | As always, extra swatches added by me! hope you enjoy! 💗
Set contains: -Abalone | 1 swatch | 600 poly -Acorn Barnacle 1 | 6 swatches | 600 poly -Acorn Barnacle 2 (on rocks) | 6 swatches | 816 poly -Chambered Nautilus | 5 swatches | 816 poly -Clam 1-3 (3 items) | 2 swatches each | 402, & 338 poly -Flatworm | 3 swatches | 600 poly -Giant Isopod Decor | 2 swatches | 1014 poly -Hermit Crab 1 & 2 (2 items) | 4 swatches each | 804 poly each -Hermit Crab Pet | 8 swatches for lid color | 1380 poly -Hermit Crab Shell | 4 swatches | 200 poly -Horseshoe Crab | 2 swatches | 1000 poly each -Mantis Shrimp | 1 swatch | 882 poly -Mussel (single) | 3 swatches | 140 poly -Mussels (in a bunch) | 3 swatches | 830 poly -Oyster | 1 swatches | 300 poly -Oyster Knife | 6 swatches | 74 poly -Pearl Diving Pool Bars | 2 swatches | 1256 poly -Pearl Diving Sign | 8 swatches for frame color | 170 poly -Pearl Diving Table | 6 swatches | 138 poly -Pearl Oyster 1 (partial open) | 1 swatch | 602 poly -Pearl Oyster 2 (open more) | 1 swatch | 602 poly -Pearl Oyster 3 (open more, pearl inside) | 4 swatches | 644 poly -Pearl Oyster 4 (shucked, bottom half) | 1 swatch | 322 poly -Pearl Oyster 5 (shucked, bottom half with pearl) | 4 swatches | 364 poly -Pearl Oyster 6 (shucked, top half upside down) | 1 swatch | 294 poly -Pearl Oyster 7 (shucked, top half) | 4 swatches | 294 poly -Pearl Oyster 8 (shucked top half with collected pearls) | 4 swatches | 420 poly -Plant 1 | 1 swatch | 72 poly -Rocks 1-7 | 5, 3, 3, 1, 1, 3, & 3 swatches | 141, 258, 114, 218, 74, 283, & 118 poly -Scallops 1 & 2 (2 items, lying down and swimming) | 5 swatches | 604 poly -Sea Cucumber | 5 swatches | 596 poly -Sea Grapes | 2 swatches | 969 poly -Sea Pig | 3 swatches | 862 poly -Sea Pineapple 1 & 2 (2 items, #2 is on rocks) | 2 swatches | 662 & 878 poly -Sea Slug | 5 swatches | 590 poly -Sea Star 1 & 2 (2 items) | 5 swatches each | 402 poly each -Sea Urchin | 4 swatches | 602 poly -Seaweed 1 (growing) | 1 swatch | 602 poly each -Seaweed 2 (pile) | 1 swatch | 778 poly each -Sea Anemone | 5 swatches | 868 poly each -Shrimp) | 1 swatch | 598 poly each -Slate Pencil Urchin | 6 swatches | 799 poly each -Small Pool (lots of slots!) | 6 swatches | 2360 poly each -Tiger Prawn | 5 swatches | 608 poly each -Turban Shell | 1 swatch | 702 poly each -Whelk | 6 swatches | 798 poly each -Wood and Plants | 1 swatch | 4255 poly each
Type “acnh vacation" into the search query in build mode to find quickly. You can always find items like this, just begin typing the title and it will appear.
As always, please let me know if you have any issues!
📁 Download all or pick & choose (SFS, No Ads): HERE
📁 Alt Mega Download (still no ads): HERE
📁 Download on Patreon
Will be public on July 27th, 2024 💗 Midnight CET
Happy Simming! ✨ Some of my CC is early access. If you like my work, please consider supporting me (all support helps me with managing my chronic pain/illness):
★ Patreon 🎉 ❤️ |★ Ko-Fi ☕️ ❤️ ★ Instagram📷
Thank you for reblogging ❤️ ❤️ ❤️
@sssvitlanz @maxismatchccworld @mmoutfitters @coffee-cc-finds @itsjessicaccfinds @gamommypeach @stargazer-sims-finds @khelga68 @suricringe @vaporwavesims @mystictrance15 @moonglitchccfinds @xlost-in-wonderlandx @jbthedisabledvet
*Deco sims by starrysimsie, Insanity, & Lazysimmies (airport deco sim 9) | Lazysimmies (christmas market #11) | Akuiyumi (Vendors #01b) | xldkx (Coachella set 2, cheering 1)
*Deco sims by starrysimsie, Insanity, & Lazysimmies (airport deco sim 9) | Lazysimmies (christmas market #11) | Akuiyumi (Vendors #01b) | xldkx (Coachella set 2, cheering 1)
-Bucket CC -Flippers Decor CC
The rest of my CC
🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊💗
#s4cc#ts4cc#sims 4 aquarium#sims 4 tidepool#sims 4 seaweed#sims 4 shrimp#sims 4 clam#sims 4 oyster#sims 4 pearl#sims 4 vacation#sims 4 hermit crab#sims 4 starfish#sims 4 rocks#sims 4 driftwood#sims 4 nature decor#sims 4 sign#sims 4 knife#sims 4 maxis match#sims 4 mermaid
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Support me on Patreon or send a tip on Kofi!
A commission from andieandiiandee(@TikTok) based on chapter 14 of “Hounds of Love” by @andiforyou!! ❤️
(ID in alt and under cut)
ID: 1. Waist up of human Nandor dressed in a chainmail shirt with chest plating, a silver sword dangling from his left ear, a brown leather belt, and a brown leather baldric over his shoulder attached to a real sword at his hip. His hair is half up, twin braids from his temples forming a bun at the crown of his head and held in place by a leather clasp threaded with a stick. He is leaning against a doorframe, arms crossed, and staring offscreen with hooded eyes and a small smile, a pink heart floating by his face. 2. What Nandor is looking at. Waist up of Jeremy and Guillermo from the back as they chat idly, the vague idea of a coat rack in front of them. Jeremy is wearing long white robes. Guillermo, half turned toward Jeremy with a smile as they chat, is making motions to shrug off his puffy winter coat. 3. Extreme closeup of Nandor's eyes as they fly open in shock, cheeks flushing red. 4. Close up of Guillermo in profile, from the bridge of his nose to just below his chest, as he shrugs his coat off to reveal his bare shoulder and arm in a plain black tank top, a golden chain around his neck disappearing into the shirt. His right hand, wearing a leather glove, pulls out a piece of black fabric with a dotted white design. 5. Hips up of Guillermo from Nandor's POV on a glowing pink background, surrounded by golden sparkles, as he drops the coat completely and throws a poncho over his shoulders to complete his outfit. He is paused in motion, eyes downcast, pink mouth pursed, arms raised chest-high as the poncho flutters into place around his shoulders. It is black and translucent, decorated with a silver beadwork pattern of spiderwebs. The end of the poncho hits right at his waist line, edges scalloped like bat wings with silver pearls adorning each peak. Four short makeshift spider legs are sewn to the bottom of his tank top, two on each side. In the background are pink-tinted close ups in Nandorvision: the flex of Guillermo's bicep, the stretch of his fingers beneath the glove, and the roll of his back and stomach beneath the tight tank top as his arms stretch overhead. 6. A pink-tinted Nandorvision fantasy: full body of Nandor and Guillermo in their current outfits as Nandor grabs Guillermo at the waist and dips him, knee pressing forward between his legs and head dipped to mouth at his neck. Guillermo's arms are looped around Nandor's shoulders and he is smiling blissfully, hearts floating around his head, cheeks flushed as he tilts his head to allow Nandor access to his throat. His left leg hitches around Nandor's hip as Nandor's right hand creeps beneath the hem of his tank top. 7. Shoulders up of the real Nandor, staring slackjawed at the visions before him, cheeks flushed red and eyes wide, irises gone pink to reflect where his mind is at. 8. Small corner panel of Nandor, chest up and casting a shadow on a sparkly pink background as he comes back down to earth. He blushes, flustered, and closes his eyes with resignation, thinking to himself: "I'm going to be beating suitors away with a stick..." /end ID
#wwdits#nandermo#mlm#hounds of love#fic rec#human nandor#nandor the relentless#guillermo de la cruz#jeremy wwdits#what we do in the shadows#what we do in the shadows fx#my art#fanart#fan comic#image described
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Random PNGs, part 129.
(1. Scallop shell vase, 2. Victorian ruby & pearl ring (?), 3. Pink agate, 4. Victorian beetle brooch, 5. 1915 San Francisco fair pin, 6. Teapot, 7. Slippers from 1890, 8. Top by Elsa Schiaparelli in 1938, 9. Perfume bottle)
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Blue Sapphire Rings
Bayco's Sapphire & Diamond Lotus Ring
"A platinum & oxidized silver Lotus ring centered upon a cushion Ceylon sapphire, set atop a bed of sapphire pavé setting with an underlying colorless diamond micropavé accent."
- Jedora
Sapphire Diamond Platinum Ring
"A sapphire and diamond ring, set with an oval faceted Ceylon sapphire, weighing an estimated 2.07cts, surrounded by round brilliant-cut diamonds, weighing an estimated total of 0.92cts, within a navette shape, with calibré sapphires and round brilliant-cut diamonds forming a scallop shaped surround, with diamond set shoulders, mounted in platinum."
- 1st Dibs
Marquise Halo Diamond & Sapphire Ring
"This stunning ... ring has a 4.4 x 10 marquise diamond center stone with square sapphires on the inner halo and paves of diamonds in the rounded scallops, bows and ribbons; surrounded by milgrain all over. The bow on each side has a bezel diamond with a twisted ribbon shank half way."
- PriceScope.com
Chatila Sapphire and Diamond Flower Ring
"This mesmerizing 18 carat white gold transparent blue oval sapphire and diamond ring by Chatila features 49 smaller sapphires spread out on a bed of white diamonds on the petals. The band is also decorated with three rows of diamonds and a front row of blue sapphires. Guaranteed to turn heads."
- 1st Dibs
Cultured Pearl and Sapphire Ring
"Centering on a cultured pearl surrounded by light and dark blue sapphires
Metal: 18k white gold Sapphires: 24 oval and 16 round sapphires Cultured Pearl: 1 white cultured pearl measuring approximately 15.00 mm in diameter Marks: 750 Size/Dimensions: US ring size 6.75 Gross Weight: 18.7 grams"
- Christie's
Secret Wonder by Harry Winston
"Exquisite medallions, meticulously set with a starburst of round and pear-shaped diamonds, rotate to reveal a symphony of sapphires, diamonds, and aquamarines hidden on the other side."
- Harry Winston & Vogue
Sapphire, Diamond and Emerald Ring
"Designed as a serpent set with round sapphires, the eyes set with round emeralds, centering a cabochon sapphire weighing 10.32 carats, size 7."
- Sotheby's
#jewelry#jewellery#jewels#high jewelry#high jewellery#rings#ring#reversable ring#blue sapphire#sapphires#sapphire#diamond#diamonds#aquamarine#aquamarines#emerald#emeralds#cabochon#cabochons#platinum#white gold#silver#oxidised silver#bayco#chatila#harry winston#christies#christie's#sothebys#sotheby's
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The Somerset Affair | Chapter 2: When the Music Stops
pairing: lsk x fem!reader genre: Bridgerton AU, friends to (?????) to eventual lovers, brother’s best friend, SLOWWWW BURNNN chapter wc: 8.8k warnings: alcohol consumption, societal expectations, crying, mentions of a panic attack (not being able to breathe), eventual smut, more to be added a/n: sorry sorry i know ch 2 took forever // as always, ENORMOUS thanks to indi @wongyuseokie for this GORGEOUSSSS banner // and to my lovely betas shu @welcometomyoasis lou @tusswrites haneul @chanranghaeys this could not have happened without you // 3rd chapter will be up faster than this one i swear!!!
summary: when the music stops and everything goes wrong, will seokmin always be there to defend you?
comment to be tagged when chapters are posted, or join the fic taglist here!
The morning of your debut should have been perfect. Every detail had been painstakingly planned over months, from the delicate lace of your gown to the pearls in your hair. But as you sit in front of your vanity, eyes bloodshot and heavy with fatigue, you know deep in your bones that this day is not destined to go smoothly.
You had stayed up the entire night, restless, thinking about Seokmin. Every word he had said, every smile, every fleeting touch that had seemed so innocent before now felt charged with meaning, occupying your thoughts and stealing away any hope of restful sleep. The result was staring back at you in the mirror: bloodshot eyes, dark circles beneath them, and lips that trembled as your maid worked tirelessly to dress you. It’s a pity – no amount of powders or rouge can hide the exhaustion and heartbreak written plainly across your face.
The soft rustling of your white debutante gown fills the room, each movement whispering of elegance and careful tradition. The gown is a masterful creation, carefully chosen by your mother months ago to reflect the quiet dignity of your family’s name. Its bodice is fitted, meticulously embroidered with the finest ivory threads that weave delicate patterns of lilies and vines across the fabric, adding dimension without overpowering.
Around the neckline, a border of tiny pearls catches the morning light, giving the gown a subtle shimmer that, like everything else about it, speaks of refinement over opulence. The gown’s sleeves, long and sheer, are trimmed in lace as fine as a spider’s web, designed to lay gently against your skin rather than cling, as if even the gown itself recognizes the demands of decorum.
The skirts cascade from the waist in a perfect fall of lace and satin, layers upon layers of gossamer fabric that float with your every step. Each layer, though fragile to the touch, is artfully arranged to maintain the gown’s perfect shape, a testament to the skill of its makers and the patience it took to assemble. At the hem, more intricate lacework peeks out, creating a subtle scalloped edge that brushes softly against the floor, finishing the gown with a grace that echoes the restraint of your mother’s discerning eye.
You cannot deny that the gown itself is a marvel, designed to highlight and enhance rather than dominate. It is beautiful, in the way a rose is beautiful—with an elegance that feels both timeless and delicate, whispering that a lady’s virtue lies in restraint, in never asking to be noticed and yet never failing to command attention.
But the corset. Oh, the corset. It felt as though it were designed to squeeze the very life from you.
“Breathe in, my lady,” your maid instructs, her voice strained from the effort of pulling at the stiff fabric. She pulls at the stays until your ribs protest in pain.
“I can’t breathe in anymore,” you bite out, trying and failing to draw in a proper breath. The corset feels like it’s made of iron, constricting your lungs until your vision begins to blur. “It’s too tight. I— I can’t—”
But your lady’s maid is relentless, ignoring your protests as she cinches you even tighter. She ties the final knot with a satisfied sigh. “There. That should hold.”
Hold? It felt more like it was keeping you prisoner, you think grimly, but before you can voice any more complaints, your mother sweeps into the room, her graceful presence filling the space with a quiet authority. Dressed in an elegant gown of soft gray silk, she pauses to take in your appearance, her sharp eyes noting every detail.
Your mother’s eyes scan your dress approvingly, but when her gaze lands on your face, her expression falters. “Dearest, you look... unwell.”
Your heart sinks. “I didn’t sleep much last night,” you confess, eyes cast downward, though you don’t dare mention why. The last thing you need is your mother knowing Seokmin has occupied your thoughts in such a way.
Your mother sighs softly and moves to stand beside you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “This day is important, darling. I had hoped you would be well-rested, but...” She trails off, her tone not unkind, but laced with concern. “There is no time now to dwell on it. The Queen waits for no one.”
You nod, feeling a rush of guilt, knowing how much effort has gone into preparing you for this moment. But the weight of the corset and your sleepless night are conspiring to make you feel utterly overwhelmed. Your mother notices, of course. She always does.
“Try not to worry too much,” she says, her voice softening, though it still holds that undercurrent of expectation. “You must keep your chin high, shoulders back. No one need know what little sleep you had. You are beautiful, my dear, no matter the circumstances.”
Her words, though comforting, do little to ease the anxiety building in your chest. But there’s no time left. Your lady’s maid places the final pearl pins in your hair, and your mother gives you a reassuring squeeze before she gestures toward the door. “It’s time.”
Your nerves flutter violently as you’re escorted downstairs and into the awaiting carriage. The ride to the palace feels both endless and far too short. Every bump in the road jostles your already-tight corset, pressing against your ribs and leaving you breathless. The palace is as magnificent as you had heard—no, it’s more. The palace itself is a marvel of architecture, an opulent structure that seems more the work of fantasy than reality. Vaulted ceilings soar impossibly high, held aloft by marble columns adorned with delicate carvings of ivy and mythical creatures that seem to come to life in the flickering candlelight. Every archway is flanked by gilded moldings, winding and curling like golden vines, each detail rendered with the precision of a master sculptor.
Each corner, each angle of the palace seems to lead to something grander than the last, as if it were designed to swallow you whole in beauty. And perhaps it is, you think, as you press a hand over your fluttering heart. For despite the elegance, there is an undeniable sense of intimidation in the sheer scale of it all—a reminder of how small you are in the face of such a place, and of the scrutiny that awaits within these towering, timeworn walls.
You can feel the architecture itself imposing upon you, weighing down like the firm hand of tradition. For a fleeting moment, you imagine yourself wandering through the palace alone, exploring every column and arch, free of the hundreds of eyes upon you. But here, now, with the gaze of history and expectation pressing down, you straighten your shoulders, drawing in a steadying breath, and follow your Mama into the Great Hall.
The hall is grander than anything you had even dared to imagine. The polished marble floors shine like glass, capturing reflections in delicate ripples that turn the passing gowns of debutantes into pools of lace and silk. Chandeliers hang from above, so immense and dazzling that they appear to drip crystal stars. They illuminate the room with a glow that is almost celestial, casting every inch of the hall in a warmth befitting the Queen herself.
To your right and left, mirrors taller than any man stretch to the ceiling, framed in gold leaf as intricate as lacework. The mirrors hold your gaze as you pass, capturing the girls beside you as they float forward with their mothers, each one a shimmering, blushing vision in white. You see yourself in these mirrors too, and although the gown fits you perfectly, somehow you feel like you’re wearing another’s skin. For a moment, you imagine your reflection whispering back, “Are you really here?”
The walls are covered in the richest velvet, deep greens and ruby reds that somehow make the hall feel even grander, as if you’ve stepped into the very heart of royalty itself. Enormous portraits of past queens and kings line the hall, each gaze strong and serene, as if they’re assessing every girl who dares to walk beneath their painted eyes. Somewhere in your chest, a knot forms and tightens. It’s strange, the feeling of being surrounded by so much opulence, as if the walls are watching, waiting for something that only they understand.
And perhaps that’s why your breath is so unsteady, why your heartbeat seems to echo through the hall in time with your footsteps. The palace, beautiful as it is, leaves you feeling like a creature of some lesser world, an intruder who has somehow wandered into a realm that does not belong to you. It’s not so much a place as a spectacle, a stunning, overbearing reminder of all that you must live up to, of all the scrutiny you’ll face from these grand walls, these glittering chandeliers, and yes, the very Queen herself. Every step feels like you are walking deeper into a lion’s den, where your every move will be scrutinized, your worth as a young lady judged by the sharpest eyes in the kingdom.
You move with the other debutantes, each girl dressed in white, adorned with jewels and delicate veils, the picture of youth and grace. The line seems to stretch forever as you wait your turn to be announced. The air is thick with anticipation, the rustle of satin and silk as the ladies murmur quietly to one another, some excited, others as nervous as you feel. Your own dress, despite its beauty, feels like a trap. The corset restricts your every breath, and the weight of expectation presses on your shoulders like a leaden cloak.
Your heart pounds in your chest as you scan the room, your nerves growing worse by the second. And then, in the far corner, you spot them. Minghao stands with an air of composure, his eyes quietly observing the room, his presence as regal as ever. Your brother watches the proceedings with a detached elegance, his eyes flickering over the debutantes without much interest. His gaze flicks to you, and for a moment, you feel a strange sense of calm knowing your brother is watching.
But next to him, is Seokmin.
He stands taller than most, his posture rigid but his face warm, though tinged with concern. While your brother is a portrait of his birthright and title, Seokmin is different. His gaze is sharper, more intent, and when his eyes find yours, the familiar comfort of his presence makes your heart stutter. You try to remind yourself to breathe, but the memory of his touch, his words, from the night prior clings to you like a shadow.
Seokmin’s expression softens when he sees you, and for a moment, the whole room seems to fall away. His lips quirk in a small, reassuring smile, and though you try to return it, your own face feels tight, your nerves too frayed to muster anything convincing.
As if sensing your unease, Seokmin’s eyes narrow with concern. Does he notice how your corset presses too tightly into your ribs? Or how your eyes are puffy from lack of sleep? The warmth in his gaze is mixed with a flicker of something unreadable, something almost protective. You are painfully aware of his gaze, and the thought of him watching you stumble through this day feels like too much to bear.
The line of debutantes inches forward, each young lady presented with grace and poise, or at least, the appearance of it. Your nerves churn violently in your stomach as your name is finally called. Your mother tightens her grip, ever so slightly, and it’s a silent reminder – You are a Xu. Do not falter.
“Miss Y/N Xu, sister of the Duke of Somerset,” the herald crows, and every eye in the room fixes on you. “Presented by her mother, the Right Honorable Dowager Duchess of Somerset.”
Your legs feel like jelly as you take your first step forward, your skirts swishing around you. The weight of the gown, the tightness of your corset, and the heavy stares from all corners of the room press down on you. You try to steady your breathing, but the corset refuses to allow for even that small comfort.
Just as you take a step, disaster strikes.
Your heel catches on the hem of your gown.
You stumble forward, arms flailing slightly to catch yourself, but the weight of your skirts and the tightness of your corset make it impossible to recover gracefully. A collective gasp echoes through the room, and you feel your cheeks flush with mortification.
The whispers are instant, rippling through the crowd like wildfire. You can feel the stares—sharp, judgmental, unforgiving. Your mother’s grip tightens, and though she says nothing, you can feel her disapproval radiating through her hold. She doesn’t need to scold you—not in public. But the sting of her disappointment is enough to make you want to shrink into the floor.
Still, you manage to regain your footing, if only barely. You take a shaky breath and continue forward, your knees trembling with each step. But it gets worse. With every move, the corset seems to tighten further, squeezing the breath from your lungs until black spots dance in the corners of your vision.
Just as you’re about to curtsy before the Queen, your knees buckle.
A choking cough rips from your throat, loud and desperate, echoing through the grand hall. You’re bent over at the waist, gasping for breath, your corset pressing tighter with every moment. You cough again, and again, unable to stop, your eyes watering as you struggle to compose yourself.
The Queen, perched on her throne in all her regal glory, watches with a raised eyebrow, her disapproval palpable. Her expression is one of distaste, as if you are a spectacle—an amusing disaster.
Your mother murmurs beside you, “Steady yourself,” and her grip tightens with fury and disappointment in equal measure. It’s too late. Your corset has robbed you of the ability to breathe, and the weight of the entire room’s gaze crushes you. Your vision swims again, and for one horrifying moment, you think you might faint right there in front of the Queen.
Finally, you manage to straighten yourself, gasping for air, your face flushed and tear-streaked. You risk a glance toward the far side of the room, where Minghao and Seokmin still stand.
Minghao’s face is impassive, though his eyes are dark with what could only be disappointment. Seokmin, on the other hand, looks as though he might bolt across the room to help you. His hands clench at his sides, his jaw tight as his eyes flick between you and the Queen.
The Queen’s cold, cutting voice slices through the silence. “Miss Xu,” she says slowly, her tone dripping with disapproval. “It seems you are... unwell.”
Your heart sinks into your stomach. You manage a wobbly curtsy, your knees nearly giving out beneath you again as you lower yourself.
“Perhaps Miss Y/N should reconsider her readiness for society,” the Queen continues icily. “A young lady of such delicate constitution may not be suited for the rigors of court.”
Her words land like a blow. You rise slowly, trying to keep your chin held high, though your hands tremble and your vision remains blurry from the humiliation. All you want is for this moment to end. To disappear.
As you retreat, the whispers rise in volume, filling the grand hall with gossip and speculation. You can feel the weight of every gaze on you, every judgment passed in an instant. But it is Seokmin’s gaze that you search for in the crowd. His eyes meet yours, and though they are filled with concern, they are also gentle, understanding. A small comfort in the midst of your disaster.
Your mother, ever composed, whispers to you as she leads you from the room, her voice calm but firm. “We will speak of this later, darling. But for now, we must leave with grace.”
You nod weakly, still too breathless and embarrassed to respond. And as you step out of the grand hall, the day that was supposed to mark your entrance into society feels like anything but. All you can think about is how miserably everything went wrong—and how, even in the midst of it all, Seokmin’s gaze had found yours, steady and unwavering.
The silence presses on as the carriage trundles through the city streets, each wheel hitting the cobbles with a sound like a hammer to your heart. You’re trapped, here in this carriage, with no escape from your mother’s disappointment or the day’s memories—the whispered laughter, the blunder before the Queen, and the sheer, unbearable heat of your mortification.
Minghao’s hand rests over yours for only a heartbeat, but it’s enough to keep you from crumbling entirely. Though he releases your hand quickly to avoid Mama’s watchful eye, the gesture is enough to ground you, pulling you back to this place instead of letting you spiral into all the things you could have, should have done differently.
At last, your mother clears her throat, a carefully composed sound that cuts through the quiet like a knife.
“Well,” she says, her voice clipped and precise, “that was… quite the spectacle.” Her tone is a blend of disappointment and a tight, forced restraint. “I had hoped, naturally, for a… more dignified presentation.”
You swallow, feeling the flush of embarrassment burn anew. “I—” you start, but the words catch, failing under the weight of everything you wish to explain and the knowledge that no explanation will undo what’s done.
She adjusts her gloves with a sharp, precise tug, a calculated movement that somehow manages to convey her frustration without a single word. “I trust,” she begins slowly, every syllable measured, “that you understand the gravity of today’s events.”
You swallow, focusing on the intricate embroidery of your gown, tracing the delicate threads to distract yourself from the pressing sting of her words.
“Mother, I—” you stammer, but she holds up a gloved hand, silencing you before the words even form.
“We spent months preparing for this moment,” she continues, her voice tight with restrained emotion. “Months, to ensure you would have the debut any young lady of our family should. Your dress, your bearing, every detail was attended to so you would represent us with grace, with decorum. And yet, today…” She trails off, her eyes gliding over you with a look that could curdle milk.
“It wasn’t her fault,” Minghao interjects quietly, and though his tone is gentle, there’s a faint edge to his words, as though even he cannot quite hold back his defense. He shoots a quick, sidelong glance at you, a small, reluctant smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The Queen’s hall was suffocating, and the entire affair was clearly designed to unnerve anyone in attendance.”
Your mother’s expression softens just a fraction as she regards her son, but she’s hardly swayed. “The Queen’s hall has been the site of countless debuts. If anything, the occasion called for composure, not… fainting spells.”
You clench your fists, the fabric of your dress twisting between your fingers, and look resolutely at the floor. As painful as it is to hear, you know your mother is not entirely wrong. Today was supposed to be your moment of triumph, the day you stepped forward as a young woman ready for society, carrying your family’s reputation with poise and dignity.
But instead, you remember the heat that had pressed in from all sides, the feeling of your corset cutting into your ribs, how your hands had trembled with each step. It was supposed to have been an easy task, to walk forward, cursty, and meet the Queen’s gaze with calm respect. And yet, you had felt every gaze upon you like a burn, each stumble echoing through the endless hall. And then, Seokmin’s eyes finding yours, calm and steady…
The memory stirs something warm within you, a faint flicker of relief that somehow dampens the embarrassment. The Queen’s gaze may have been unyielding, your mother’s disappointment all-consuming, but for that one moment, you had felt tethered, no longer alone.
Outside, the sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the city as the carriage continues its steady roll homeward. The silence stretches again, and the weight of it settles around you like an invisible veil. Minghao catches your eye, and though he says nothing, the look he gives you speaks volumes—a quiet reassurance, a reminder that this one day does not define you, that he still believes in you despite every misstep.
Your mother finally sighs, a faint softening in her shoulders. “We’ll regroup,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “There will be more opportunities, of course, but we’ll need to be mindful, thoughtful. A second chance may not be as kind.” She glances at you, and though her expression remains stern, there’s a glimmer of something almost like understanding.
The carriage ride stretches on in silence once more, each of you lost in thoughts. You glance out the window, watching the city roll by, lanterns casting fleeting golden glows against the carriage walls. It feels surreal, how a day so longed for turned into a series of mishaps, one after another. But as the carriage rounds a corner, you catch a memory from earlier: Seokmin’s eyes, grounding you, unwavering, somehow knowing how terrifying each step felt, how every misstep seemed amplified beneath the weight of so many watching.
As the carriage wheels finally begin to slow, approaching the gates of your family estate, you feel a shift within yourself. Today may have been a disaster, and yet, Seokmin’s gaze and Minghao’s quiet support linger, like small anchors in the storm of the day.
The drawing room is a sanctuary of elegance, its ornate moldings and rich fabrics designed to impress. Tall windows frame the view of the manicured gardens outside, sunlight pouring through in golden streams that dance across the polished wooden floor. Yet, despite the beauty surrounding you, it feels more like a gilded cage today. The delicate scent of lavender from the nearby vase does little to soothe the turmoil within.
You sit hunched over a needlepoint project, your fingers fumbling with the bright threads that feel foreign against your skin. The canvas before you, a swirl of colors and patterns, seems to mock your inability to focus. Your mind wanders far beyond the needlework, replaying the events of your disastrous debut like a never-ending nightmare. Each time you think of it, a fresh wave of humiliation washes over you, sharp and unyielding, like a thorn that refuses to dislodge itself from your heart.
“Goodness, how is one expected to focus with this nonsense?” you mutter under your breath, the needle slipping from your fingers yet again and leaving a careless knot in the thread. You curse softly, frustration bubbling to the surface.
Your mother sits comfortably in her armchair, her brow slightly furrowed as she loses herself in the pages of a novel, the rustle of paper punctuating the silence. Minghao lounges on the settee across from you, flipping through a collection of sketches, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement at his artistic efforts. Every so often, his gaze flickers towards you, a mixture of concern and curiosity etched into his features, but he respects your silence, understanding that you are still recovering from the scarring events of your debut into polite society.
Just then, the door swings open, and Seokmin steps into the room, his presence a burst of light that seems to chase away the shadows clinging to your thoughts. It has been years since the butler last announced his arrival—his visits are far too frequent now, and you can’t help but feel a mix of warmth and apprehension at his entrance. His usually buoyant demeanor is tempered by a trace of concern as he takes in the scene before him, the way your shoulders droop as if weighed down by invisible chains.
“Good morning!�� he declares, his voice bright yet careful, testing the waters of your melancholy. “I do hope I’m not intruding.”
“Not at all,” your mother replies, glancing up from her book, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. “In fact, you may be just what our dear girl needs.”
You offer a small, half-hearted smile, the corners of your lips barely lifting. “And what would that be? A distraction or a dose of reality?”
Seokmin approaches, his smile as warm as the sunlight flooding the room. “A bit of both, if you’ll allow me.” He perches himself on the arm of your chair, leaning in just enough to draw your focus from the needlepoint chaos. “That was quite the debut you had, dear friend. How are you holding up?”
“Barely,” you sigh, tossing the errant needlepoint aside as if it were the source of all your woes. “I feel as if I’ve stumbled through a door marked ‘exit’ into an abyss of mortification.”
His eyes widen with sympathy, and in that moment, your heart flutters, torn between admiration and the painful reality that he may never feel the same. Seokmin has a way of making the world feel lighter, yet your feelings for him are a weight that often threatens to pull you under.
“Ah, yes,” he nods sagely, as if you have just shared the most profound wisdom. “The abyss of polite society can be quite unforgiving. I believe it’s marked with ‘no entrance’ signs, but alas, they are easily overlooked.”
Minghao chuckles softly, his attention now fully diverted from his sketches. “You do have a gift for exaggeration, Seokmin.”
“It’s a talent,” Seokmin replies, feigning an air of grandeur, his hand pressing dramatically to his heart. “But truly, do not let the Queen’s judgment define you. You are far too radiant for that.”
You snort, the sound escaping before you can suppress it. “Radiant? Is that what you call it when one trips over their own gown and nearly faints in front of our sovereign?”
“Why, yes! A splendid display of athleticism!” he shoots back, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’ve inadvertently entertained a room full of people—something they are certain to remember for ages.”
“But not in the way I had hoped,” you reply, frustration seeping into your voice as the memory of the evening flashes before your eyes, a storm of embarrassment churning within you.
“Ah, but hope can be a slippery creature,” he counters, tilting his head to meet your gaze. “What matters is how you choose to move forward. I have heard of many a lady whose debut was marred by similar accidents—yet they rise from the ashes like phoenixes, dazzling everyone with their resilience.”
“Is that your way of saying I should make a grand return to society?” You raise an eyebrow, your heart flickering with the suggestion. “Perhaps adorned in feathers and sequins to distract from my previous mistake?”
“I’d be the first to support such a feat,” he replies earnestly, the sincerity in his voice a soothing balm for your frayed nerves. But beneath your amusement lies an aching truth: his encouragement only highlights the chasm between your feelings and his indifference. He will never look at you the way you long for.
“Yes, Lord Lee, what a wonderful idea!” your mother exclaims, her book long forgotten. “The Fitzwilliam Ball is to be held in the coming weeks—what a splendid way for our darling girl to re-enter society!”
Your face falls. A ball? So soon? The very thought sends a tremor of panic racing through you. “Mama, I—”
“Yes, Mother, a splendid idea indeed,” Minghao muses, a teasing glint in his eye. When you turn your glare to him, he sticks his tongue out meanly, and Seokmin suppresses a chuckle.
You take a deep breath, fighting against the swell of anxiety rising in your chest. “I’m not certain I’m ready for another ball, not after—” you start, but the words die on your lips as Seokmin’s gaze locks onto yours. His expression is gentle yet determined, a silent encouragement that stirs something deep within you.
“Ready or not, life moves on,” he says softly, leaning closer as if sharing a secret. “You have to take the reins, even if the prospect is daunting.”
You want to believe him, to embrace his unwavering optimism, but doubt gnaws at you. Can you truly face another crowd, the whispers, the judgment? Your heart flutters erratically, caught in a tempest of affection and despair. Seokmin’s eyes shine with an earnestness that quickens your pulse, yet it only reminds you of the gulf that lies between your feelings and his casual indifference.
“Life indeed moves on,” you echo, your voice barely above a whisper, more to yourself than to anyone else. “But what if I stumble again? What if I make an even greater fool of myself?”
Seokmin’s smile falters for just a moment, replaced by a flicker of understanding that cuts through the air like a knife. “We all stumble, but that’s how we learn to rise,” he replies, his tone steady yet soft. “And besides, I’ll be there. I promise I’ll help you navigate any disaster.”
His words wrap around you like a lifeline, a flicker of hope igniting your heart. But as the warmth of his promise settles in, a cold weight begins to press upon you. You look into his eyes, searching for something more, but find only the steadfast gaze of a friend—someone who would catch you if you fell, but only as a friend.
“Right,” you murmur, the pain of acceptance settling in your chest like a stone, heavy and unyielding, a reminder of the distance between you.
The late evening light filters softly through the sheer curtains of your room, casting a warm glow that barely reaches the pile of books haphazardly stacked beside your bed. These books, filled with tales of love and adventure, have provided a much-needed refuge from the reality of your recent debut. For days now, you’ve chosen to cocoon yourself in their comforting embrace, avoiding the whispers and curious glances of society that followed you after your disastrous introduction.
You had resolutely refused to attend any of the society events your mother deemed essential—the lady’s tea, with its orchestrated conversations and veiled judgments, or the garden party, where laughter seemed to echo around you while you felt only isolation. The thought of facing the same debutantes, the same mamas, their glances lingering a moment too long on you, made your stomach churn. Instead, you preferred the solace of your room, the pages of your books offering both distraction and comfort as you lost yourself in worlds far removed from the judgmental eyes of the ton.
But tonight, your mother is insistent. At last, the Fitzwilliam Ball is upon you, and you have no escape from your mother’s gentle chiding. “Darling,” she calls gently, her voice a melody that pulls you from the pages of your latest escape. The delicate scent of lavender wafts through the air as she steps into the room, her presence commanding yet warm. It is an unusual moment—your lady’s maid typically oversees your dressing, managing the layers of fabric and the intricate details of your ensemble. But today, it is your mother who steps into that role, a significant act that carries with it the weight of her affection and a chance to bridge the gap that your previous missteps had created.
“It’s time to get ready, my dear,” she says, her tone gentle but firm, as she approaches your wardrobe. As she opens the doors, the sight of your gown hanging inside takes your breath away.
The dress, an ethereal creation of lavender silk, shimmers like moonlight trapped in fabric. The bodice is adorned with intricate embroidery that depicts delicate vines and blossoms, each stitch telling a story of artistry and care. The sleeves are fitted, with lace cascading down to create a soft ruffle at the wrist, and the skirt flows in layers, each tier of lace and silk billowing like clouds as it moves. It is a gown befitting a princess, meticulously designed to showcase your family’s esteemed standing while allowing a hint of youthful exuberance to shine through.
“This gown is truly magnificent,” you murmur, your fingers tracing the embroidered flowers as your mother gently lifts it from the wardrobe. “I can’t believe you chose it yourself.”
“Of course, I did. It’s time for your grand re-entrance to society, after all,” she replies, a smile dancing on her lips as she helps you into the gown. The fabric wraps around you like a dream, soft and luxurious, but as your mother laces the bodice, the realization of how tightly it pulls leaves you breathless. Each tug of the laces feels like a reminder of the expectations that have come to define you, but your mother’s presence softens the edges of that pressure.
Yet, it is not discomfort that fills the room. Instead, the sounds of your mother’s laughter and intelligence wrap themselves around you. Your mother’s hands are gentle as she fastens each lace, her fingers brushing against your skin in a manner that reassures you. The stern disappointment of your debut, where you felt like a shadow beneath the weight of expectations, seems to dissipate, replaced by her usual grace and kindness. As she works, her voice drifts like a melody, recounting stories from her own youth, her laughter echoing softly against the mirror as if the memories bring light to the room.
With every loop of ribbon and every gentle tug, she weaves a tapestry of love and support, a tangible reminder that tonight is not merely a duty but a celebration of who you are. As she arranges your hair into an elegant updo, delicately weaving in pearl pins that glimmer like stars, you catch a glimpse of the woman she has always been beneath the layers of propriety. The warmth of her presence washes over you, igniting a flicker of hope that perhaps tonight will mark a new beginning.
“Are you ready?” she asks, stepping back to admire her handiwork, a satisfied gleam in her eyes.
“I suppose as ready as I’ll ever be,” you reply, taking a moment to admire your reflection. The gown transforms you into a vision of beauty, yet beneath the surface, you feel a tempest of uncertainty swirling within you.
“Now, let’s see what your brother thinks.” Your mother gestures toward the door, and as you descend the staircase, your heart quickens with every step.
At the foot of the stairs, Minghao waits patiently, the embodiment of duty and familial pride. His presence, regal and calm, adds to the moment’s gravity. Dressed in a tailored coat that accentuates his stature, he stands as the dutiful son and duke, ready to escort both you and your mother to the ball. The contrast between his composed demeanor and your own fluttering heart is stark, yet comforting. As you make your way down the stairs, your mother’s gentle squeeze of your hand gives you a modicum of strength, each step drawing you closer to the world outside that awaits your return.
“Sister,” Mighao greets, mirth dancing in his eyes. “I suppose if tonight is your big night, this gown does not offend the eyes.”
“Minghao!” Your mother’s rebuke is instant, a gentle reprimand that lightens the atmosphere with her authority.
“For goodness’ sake, brother,” you admonish, donning a façade of false bravado to hide the anxiety swirling within. “It seems as if you would simply keel over before you ever paid me a proper compliment!” You attempt to feign indignation, but the corners of your mouth betray you with the hint of a smile.
As you reach the bottom step, he extends his arm, a silent invitation to escort both you and your mother to the ball. It’s a gesture of duty, but there’s an undertone of affection that brings warmth to your heart. He may be the dutiful son and duke, poised and impeccably dressed in his tailored attire, but in this moment, he is simply your brother—standing beside you as a steadfast protector against the uncertainties of the evening ahead.
Your mother glances at both of you, her eyes sparkling with pride and a hint of nostalgia. “Shall we?” she prompts, her voice carrying a note of excitement that sends a flutter through your stomach.
With a deep breath, you take Minghao’s arm, feeling the reassuring strength of his presence as he leads you both toward the waiting carriage. The air outside is brisk, filled with the scent of blooming jasmine and the distant hum of music preparing to fill the grand halls. Each step you take resonates with the rhythm of your heartbeat, a mix of trepidation and hope.
As you settle into the plush interior of the carriage, the door closes with a soft click, sealing you away from the familiar confines of home and ushering you into a world of possibility. The grandeur of the evening awaits, and as the carriage rolls forward, the cobblestones beneath you echo with the anticipation of what’s to come.
You can’t shake the feeling that this night holds the promise of something new—perhaps redemption, or at the very least, the opportunity to reclaim your place among the society that had once felt so cruel. As the carriage sways gently with each turn, you steal a glance at your mother and brother, their expressions a blend of excitement and encouragement. In this moment, surrounded by their unwavering support, you begin to believe that maybe, just maybe, tonight could be different.
Fate is certainly a cruel mistress—despite your greatest hopes, the ball is positively dismal.
The ballroom is every bit as grand as you’d imagined—no, grander. Chandeliers dripping with golden light cascade overhead, casting a warm, ethereal glow over the polished marble floor. The air is thick with the intoxicating scent of roses and jasmine, mingling with the lively music of the orchestra, where violins soar and the occasional trill of laughter punctuates the harmony. Silks and satins swirl in every direction as the season’s debutantes twirl with their suitors, their gowns a riot of color that makes you feel like a ghost in comparison.
But none of it feels as magical as you once thought it would. Instead, you stand to the side, clutching the silk of your gown, its intricate lace and delicate pearls feeling like a weight rather than a luxury. Your mother had ensured that every stitch was perfect, every detail immaculate, to help erase the memory of your disastrous debut. Yet, it hasn’t worked. The whispers haven’t stopped. Even here, amidst the splendor, you can feel the gazes sliding over you, only to dart away, as if your very presence is a reminder of your failure.
The other debutantes are radiant, their smiles bright as they are swept onto the dance floor by handsome, eligible gentlemen. But you... you might as well be invisible.
Your heart sinks as you watch them, a heavy weight settling in your chest. This is meant to be a night of joy and celebration, yet you feel like a fragile glass ornament left behind, forgotten in the bustle of a festive occasion. The laughter and music create a vibrant tapestry of life around you, but inside, you’re drowning in a sea of insecurity and self-doubt.
Just when despair threatens to envelop you entirely, a presence beside you breaks through the haze. Seokmin, as effortlessly charming as ever, sidles up, his dark eyes twinkling with mischief. “Quite the spectacle, isn’t it?” he remarks, his voice low so only you can hear. “I’m certain some of these mamas could lead an army with the way they maneuver their daughters.”
You blink at him, surprised by his lightheartedness. Despite the heat of embarrassment burning your cheeks, a smile pulls at your lips, momentarily pushing aside the shadows clouding your heart.
Before you can respond, he holds his hand out to you, a silent invitation, and for a moment, you hesitate. Seokmin, who could have any lady in the room, is asking you to dance? Your heart stutters, a wild flutter of hope mingling with anxiety, and you glance around, acutely aware of the whispers beginning to stir again. People are noticing the exchange, their eyes narrowing in speculation. But Seokmin stands before you, his hand outstretched, waiting with an easy confidence that momentarily disarms you.
With a deep breath, you place your gloved hand in his, and he leads you to the center of the ballroom as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The moment your feet hit the floor, however, the murmurs begin in earnest, slicing through the enchantment that had briefly settled around you.
“Isn’t that the girl?” someone whispers, just loud enough for you to hear. “The one who fainted?”
“I’d heard,” another voice chimes in, “that no one would ask her to dance. Poor dear, but what did she expect after such a performance?”
You keep your eyes firmly fixed on Seokmin, but each word is like a needle, sharp and painful, pricking at your composure. The worst of it comes when you catch sight of one of the mamas, her face set in a smirk as she whispers to her daughter—the same daughter you had once taken pianoforte lessons with. The girl lets out a small, mean-spirited laugh, and your stomach twists, the laughter echoing like a death toll.
The memory of your debut hangs over you like a dark cloud, heavy and suffocating. Your embarrassment simmers, threatening to boil over. The murmurs become unbearable, and instinctively, you move to pull away from Seokmin, ready to flee. But before you can, his grip tightens, firm but gentle.
“Leaving so soon?” he teases, his voice low and playful, a lifeline in the midst of the storm. “Didn’t your mama teach you it’s bad manners to leave in the middle of a dance?”
You try to focus on his words, on the feel of his hand in yours, but it’s no use. You feel like every eye is on you, dissecting your every movement, judging, whispering, laughing. Seokmin is a shield, but he can’t block all the venom aimed at you.
“I can’t—” you begin, your voice thick with emotion, but Seokmin cuts you off.
He reaches up, loosening a perfectly pinned curl from your hair, letting it fall gently by your cheek. His eyes are soft, almost tender, and in that moment, you feel something flutter to life in your chest. “Eyes on me, Tulip,” he murmurs, and the way he says it—so calm, so sure—makes your heart skip a beat.
For the briefest moment, you think he might love you. That despite the gossip, despite the humiliation, Seokmin sees you—the girl beneath the debutante, the one who has admired him from afar for so long. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you see Minghao. He stands by the edge of the ballroom, watching. And then—he nods. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but Seokmin notices, and he nods back.
Your blood runs cold.
You blink up at Seokmin, the warmth in your chest turning to ice. “Did you do this because Minghao asked you to?” The words slip out before you can stop them, low and desperate, laced with betrayal.
Seokmin’s brow furrows. “Do what?”
“This. The dance.” You glance around at the swirling crowd, the eyes that have never left you. “The attention. Did you ask me because he wanted you to? To salvage my prospects?”
His confusion is genuine, but the truth is written in his face—open, honest, and devastating. He hesitates, and it’s all you need to know.
“Damn you,” you whisper, voice shaking with fury and hurt. His eyes widen, shocked by the venom in your voice, the curse slipping from your lips like something foreign. “Damn you, Lee Seokmin.”
“Y/N—” he starts, his voice softening, trying to explain, to defend himself. But you don’t give him the chance.
“I thought,” you continue, the words tumbling out in a rush, “I thought you asked me because you wanted to, not because you were told to. I thought you held me in higher regard than this.” You laugh bitterly, a sound that catches in your throat. “How foolish of me.”
The onlookers are whispering more now, their curiosity piqued by the tension in the air, the way your voice trembles with barely contained emotion. But you don’t care. You’re done caring.
With a mocking curtsy, you drop your hands from his and step back. “My lord,” you say, dripping with sarcasm, “I do apologize for any inconvenience to your social standing.”
Seokmin’s eyes widen, panic flashing in them as he realizes the gravity of your words, the weight of what you’re about to do. “Y/N, wait—”
But you don’t wait. You turn on your heel and stalk toward the ballroom’s exit, your skirts swirling around you in a flurry of lilac silk and lace, your heart pounding painfully in your chest. The gasps and murmurs of the guests fade into the background as you flee, your vision blurred with unshed tears.
Behind you, Seokmin’s voice calls out, desperate, pleading. “Y/N, please—stay—”
But you don’t look back. You run.
The chill of the night air bites at your skin as you emerge from the grand ballroom, the sounds of the festivities quickly swallowed by the night. Minghao is hot on your heels, and you hear the familiar click of his shoes echoing against the cobblestone streets. As you enter the carriage, your fury erupts like a dam breaking.
“How dare you meddle in my life?” you exclaim, the words bursting forth with a fervor that sends a shiver down your spine. The tears spill over, mingling with the delicate fabric, each droplet a testament to your exasperation. “I wish to be left alone!”
Minghao, ever the picture of serene composure, raises an eyebrow, though his calm demeanor only serves to ignite your temper further. “I’m only trying to help you, dear sister,” he replies, his voice as soothing as a summer breeze.
“Help? Is that what you call this? You think I’m some delicate flower that requires your constant tending?” Your heart beats faster, each pulse an echo of your indignation. “You are not my keeper, Minghao!”
He opens his mouth, surely to deliver some well-meaning retort, but you are not in the mood for restraint. “You think I can’t manage my own affairs? That I need you to dictate who I should associate with? Let me remind you, I am not a child!”
In a fit of fury, you throw one of your shoes toward him, the delicate slipper soaring through the air; Minghao ducks just in time, the shoe landing with a soft thud against the carriage wall.
“Is this truly your idea of a civilized discussion?” he remarks, feigning offense. “Throwing footwear instead of engaging in rational discourse? My, how you’ve mastered the art of temper tantrums!”
“Better to throw a shoe than to be lectured like a schoolgirl!” you counter, your voice rising to match his. “You presume to know what is best for me, but you are merely reflecting your own apprehensions! You have no concept of my struggles!”
Minghao’s brow furrows, and for a fleeting moment, his expression softens, as if he might relent. But then he leans forward, his voice low and fervent. “And you believe that sulking in the corner will resolve anything? You are only isolating yourself further!”
“Perhaps I wish to be alone!” you declare, your voice ringing with defiance, the words spilling out like water from a broken dam. “Perhaps I grow weary of this charade, that everything is perfect when it is most decidedly not!”
A tense silence envelops the carriage, the air thick with unspoken words. You both breathe heavily, the conflict hanging between you like a fine silk thread ready to snap. The rest of the ride is steeped in a heavy silence, each passing moment thickening the air with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. You lean against the plush seat of the carriage, your gaze fixed on the world outside. The blurred lights of the city flicker past, dimming into the encroaching darkness, and with each glimmer that fades from view, a piece of your heart seems to shatter.
Inside, your thoughts spiral. Betrayal gnaws at you like a ravenous beast, devouring any remnants of confidence you had managed to muster before the ball. Seokmin was supposed to be your ally in this fight, your so-called “loyal servant”; a beacon of warmth amidst hushed whispers. Yet now, as the reality settles in, you realize he is merely Minghao's friend, not yours.
How could you have been so naïve? Your mind races back to moments you once cherished: the laughter shared over private nicknames, the comfort of his presence when you felt small and insignificant. He had danced with you, yes, but it had been an act of duty, an obligation to your brother, not a genuine desire to hold you close. You had hoped, foolishly, that he might look beyond your failed debut, that he might understand the person beneath the gown and lace. Yet here you are, reduced to a mere pawn in a game you didn’t even want to play.
A sob catches in your throat, but you swallow it down. Instead, you grip the edges of your gown tightly, feeling the intricate lace and delicate pearls dig into your palms, until you are sure you will have bruises in the morning.
How could Seokmin have allowed himself to be used this way? Did he not care enough to stand by you when it mattered most? He had seen you, yes, but only through the lens of loyalty to Minghao, not as the woman you wished to be, not as the friend you had thought he saw.
By the time the carriage arrives at your home, the bitterness in your chest is a wellspring of anguish. The vibrant ball is now a distant memory, a dream turned nightmare, and all you can do is silently mourn the friendship you thought would endure. You glance at Minghao, his face set in a mask of determination, oblivious to the storm of emotion swirling inside you.
As you step out of the carriage, he follows closely behind, his footsteps heavy with regret. “Y/N,” he begins, his voice low and earnest, “I thought I was doing what was best for you. I thought—”
You cut him off, spinning to face him, your expression fierce with hurt. “It’s too late, brother,” you declare, the words like shards of glass spilling from your lips. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me. You’ve ruined everything.”
His eyes widen, a mixture of shock and remorse flooding his features. “I never meant to hurt you—”
“It doesn’t matter what you meant!” you snap, frustration and pain intertwining in a chaotic dance. “You acted without thinking. You’ve taken something precious from me.”
Minghao opens his mouth to argue, to defend himself, but the words die on his lips. The truth hangs in the air, heavy and palpable, as the reality of your fractured trust settles between you.
For the rest of the season, you do your best to blend into the walls at every ball, and you succeed. You become a shadow flitting between vibrant gowns and boisterous laughter. Each event becomes a blur of swirling colors and muffled sounds. You move quietly, navigating the sea of opulence with a heavy heart, wearing a mask of indifference that hides the turmoil brewing just beneath the surface.
You linger in corners, your fingers tracing the intricate patterns of wallpaper as if seeking solace in their delicate designs. The bright chandeliers above cast their warm glow on the happy couples swirling in perfect harmony, while you remain firmly anchored in your solitude, an invisible wall erected around your heart. You watch as others twirl and laugh, and your heart aches for Seokmin’s easy companionship, the lively conversations and playful banter that now feel like a distant memory.
With each passing ball, the weight of your isolation grows heavier. Minghao’s well-intentioned apologies echo in your mind, but their impact fades against the reality of your existence. You’ve become an expert at deflecting curious gazes, practicing the art of blending in so well that the laughter and music seem to wash over you like water off a duck’s back.
But it is Seokmin’s absence that echoes loudest in your heart. He might have always been your brother’s best friend, but you had hoped he would be something more—something real. As the music swells, the realization settles heavily on your shoulders: you are utterly, irrevocably alone.
Seokmin doesn’t ask you to dance again for the rest of the season.
Tagging: @kibs-and-bits@moondustmemories@shinwonderful@ivehypnosis@gwend0lyne @thestoryofana13 @mellowamour @blissedjoon @begentlewithme-please @xabsolutelynothingx @reiofsuns2001 @mngyulvrs @mooniewrld @archivistworld @lexyraeworld @ateez-atiny380 @walkinganxiety01 @lovecleastrange
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