ᜇᜒᜁ ᜇᜓᜐ᜔ᜐᜒ

My hands trembled from hours of angling and measuring, carefully refining the initial layout Azzruelle had sent me. Mr. Hart's design was undeniably unique—intricate, ambitious, the kind of vision that demanded precision. And that was exactly what made it so frustrating to bring to life.

I had expected nothing less. A man raised in luxury would, naturally, have high expectations. But there was no time to dwell on that. Slacking off wasn't an option. Twelve years after high school, I never imagined I'd be working alongside Azzruelle Auclair, a former classmate and once-close friend. But what surprised me even more was working for her absurdly wealthy crush—Mr. Elwin Hart.

A high-profile client, he seemed to have taken an immediate interest in Azzruelle. I hadn't heard the full story, but anyone would have assumed as much after he whisked her off to dinner following their very first meeting.

I couldn't lie—he was undeniably attractive. A man born with a silver spoon and an unfairly handsome face. Ugh. And yet, despite that, it was hard to hate him. He was demanding, yes, but not as entitled as I had expected. Worse still, he was actually… nice.

———

I met with Asta—another friend I never expected to keep in my life, yet somehow, we remained tethered by time and circumstance. She painted worlds with ink and color, breathing life into the still, while I helped shape the characters in her newest comic. What started as a favor became a rhythm, our nights blending together in the quiet hum of creativity.

More often than not, I spent my evenings at her place, sketching away until the early hours, my own home becoming little more than a place to sleep. Tonight was no different. When I knocked, the door swung open, revealing Asta's older sister, Aella. She stood with one hand on her hip, her head tilted just enough to seem both amused and exasperated. "You're here more than I am these days, Rei," she mused, her lips quirking into a smirk. I exhaled a laugh, stepping past her without hesitation. "Tell your sister to stop summoning me, and I'll finally disappear."

Aella sighed dramatically, shaking her head as she shut the door behind me. "At this rate, she should start charging you rent." I kicked off my shoes, already making my way toward the familiar living room, where the scent of ink and paper lingered in the air. "Honestly? Wouldn't even blame her." Aella snorted but didn't argue. Instead, she disappeared down the hall, leaving me to another night of sketches, laughter, and the quiet comfort of a home that wasn't mine—but almost felt like it.

. . .

Aella lounged nearby, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded as she watched us work. "You could make her staff pop more, y'know?" she commented, eyeing my sketch. Before I could respond, she grabbed a sheet of paper and attempted to replicate what I had drawn. The result was... questionable. The proportions were off, the lines shaky, but she still gestured at the staff with feigned confidence. "See? Just add more depth here—" she shaded a random spot, "—and make the gem glow more."

She handed the paper back with a smirk before tucking her legs to her chest. I sighed, glancing between her attempt and my original. My phone rang, pulling me from the moment. I blinked. Had Asta been saying something? My thoughts scattered, reality blurring at the edges.

Before I knew it, I was sitting in a meeting with Azzruelle and Mr. Hart. The shift felt abrupt—one moment, I was hunched over sketches, the next, I was surrounded by polished surfaces and serious conversation. Mr. Hart spoke with unwavering certainty, every detail of his vision already mapped out in his mind. From the structure of the roof to the exact shade of the flooring, there was no room for uncertainty—only precision.

August 4, XXXX

All the meetings about the studio's structure and design were finally done. Now, all that remained was construction.

The three of us sat at the site, the air thick with the scent of cement and sawdust, waiting as the workers wrapped up their break. In the distance, the steady hum of machinery filled the silence between us. Azzruelle idly tapped her fingers against her knee, while Mr. Hart, ever composed, scrolled through his phone.

I exhaled, stretching my arms as a warm breeze carried the scent of fresh-cut wood and cement. The workers' laughter died down, boots scuffing against gravel as they started to rise. It was almost time to get back to work. I hadn't noticed one of the workers approaching us until he was already standing nearby. His expression unreadable.

"What is it?" Elwin asked, barely looking up from his phone. "For Ms. Auclair and Mr. Rossi, sir," the man replied, holding out a letter. Elwin gave a slight nod, and the worker carefully handed it to me and Azzruelle before stepping back.

The envelope was thick, made of expensive parchment, and stamped with a red wax seal—an unmistakable mark of importance. Only old, powerful families still used wax seals. I ran my fingers over the emblem, a strange weight settling in my chest as I exchanged a glance with Azzruelle. She looked just as puzzled as I felt. Slowly, I peeled away the seal, the wax cracking softly under my touch. The letter inside was written on crisp, elegant stationery, the ink dark and precise.

"An invitation?" I murmured, scanning the first few lines. The words felt heavy, deliberate. Azzruelle leaned in slightly, her brows furrowed, though her eyes held a hint of excitement. "Who do you think it's from?", She asked, I didn't answer right away. Instead, I let my gaze linger on the graceful handwriting, the delicate loops and flourishes. Something about it felt deliberate—too formal, too careful. Whoever had sent this wasn't just asking for our presence. They wanted something... more?