The Starlight Conservatory wasn't listed on any map.
There were no public records of its existence, no photos circulating online, no influencers posing beneath its crystalline arches. It was, as far as most of the world was concerned, a myth whispered through high society like a fairy tale. A place known only to those who understood that beauty didn't need to be broadcast to be eternal.
And tonight, it belonged to Amara Lyselle and Elara Whitfield.
The entrance was unassuming—just a pair of intricately carved wooden doors set into a stone wall along the Seine. But when Amara tapped a seemingly random sequence into the brass keypad beside the door, the wood shifted. The carvings of vines twisted and curled as though waking from an ancient slumber, slithering apart to reveal the glowing interior beyond.
Elara inhaled sharply.
From the outside, it looked like nothing. From the inside, it was…
magic.