Chapter 9: A Thorned Gift

They continued walking in silence, the stone path beneath their feet winding beneath shaded trellises and towering hedges thick with curling vines. The air was cool here, scented with crushed leaves and the faint perfume of wild roses. Lunaria glanced toward Elowen occasionally, stealing small glimpses of her profile—sharp, refined, beautiful in a way that felt untouchable.

And yet, Elowen walked beside her so casually, as though they were already familiar.

As though they belonged beside one another.

The thought made Lunaria's stomach flutter uncomfortably, and she quickly looked away, focusing instead on the way small petals clung to the path like fallen snowflakes.

Eventually, they came upon a secluded alcove in the garden. A marble bench sat beneath a weeping willow, its delicate branches hanging like a curtain around it. Moss had crept along the edges of the stone, but it was still clean enough to sit.

Elowen motioned toward it wordlessly and took a seat first, smoothing the front of her coat with absent precision. Lunaria hesitated for a moment before settling beside her, leaving a respectful space between them.

Silence stretched for a while.

The kind of silence that felt full—not awkward, but heavy, like it was meant to hold something more.

Lunaria wasn't sure how to break it… or if she wanted to. Being beside Elowen like this made the world feel slightly more distant, like the garden had become its own quiet universe. No cruel siblings. No biting whispers. Just them.

Then Elowen moved, reaching into the inner pocket of her coat.

"I almost forgot," she said softly, drawing out a small, velvet pouch. "I brought something for you."

Lunaria turned her head in surprise. "For… me?"

"Yes." Elowen's voice had a faint lilt to it now, a rare note of warmth beneath her usual calm. "A gift. Consider it… a symbol of our engagement, if you'd like."

She held the pouch out to Lunaria, who stared at it in disbelief for a moment before carefully taking it with both hands. The fabric felt soft, finely made—likely from a noble artisan's workshop.

Slowly, with trembling fingers, Lunaria pulled the drawstrings apart.

Inside was a brooch.

It was shaped like a blooming rose, its petals wrought from blackened silver, each one etched with delicate veins. Tiny garnet stones glittered like dewdrops along the edges, catching the dappled light through the willow's branches. But it wasn't just the rose—the stem beneath it was a twisted thorned vine, curling around itself protectively, framing the bloom in an elegant, barbed embrace.

Lunaria stared at it, breath caught in her throat.

It was beautiful.

Painfully so.

Elowen spoke before she could find words. "I made it myself."

Lunaria's head snapped up in shock. "You… made this?"

Elowen nodded, her expression unreadable but eyes intent. "I'm no master artisan, but I've dabbled with silverwork since I was young. It helps me think."

Lunaria looked back down at the brooch in her hands, suddenly seeing it differently. The way the thorns twisted in subtle patterns. The deliberate sharpness of the edges. The blend of elegance and danger.

It was her. Elowen, carved in metal and stone.

"You put a lot of care into it," Lunaria murmured, voice low.

"I did," Elowen replied simply. "Because it's yours."

Something tightened in Lunaria's chest.

No one had ever… given her something before. Not like this. Not for her. Not something made by hand, shaped with intention, offered without cruelty behind the gesture.

She'd never been seen like this before.

"Why?" she asked before she could stop herself.

Elowen looked at her. Not surprised by the question, just thoughtful.

"Because you're mine now," she said softly, almost too casually. "And I protect what's mine."

Lunaria's heart skipped a beat, the words sinking into her like a stone in still water.

There was no mockery in Elowen's voice. No arrogance. Just quiet certainty, like it was a truth as natural as the sky being blue.

Mine.

She closed her fingers gently around the brooch, cradling it like something precious. It felt strange, how much warmth a single gesture could bring into her frozen world. How quickly one person could begin to thaw her, piece by piece.

She looked at Elowen again, this time unable to hide the confusion and wonder in her eyes.

"I… don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," Elowen said, leaning back slightly, one leg crossing over the other. "But I want you to wear it. Always. Especially around your family."

Lunaria's eyes widened a little. "Why?"

A glint of something sharper flickered in Elowen's expression. "Because I want them to see it and know who you belong to."

That word again—belong.

Lunaria didn't know how to respond. Didn't know what to feel. Her life had been a string of cold nights, calloused hands, and voices dripping disdain. But now, here, someone was speaking to her like she mattered—claiming her, yes, but not to possess or break.

To protect.

To mark her as wanted.

She clutched the brooch tighter, her fingers trembling slightly. The garnets shimmered faintly in the light, like blood and fire caught in bloom.

"…Thank you," she whispered finally.

Elowen turned toward her again, offering a rare, almost-smile.

"You're welcome, Lunaria."

And they sat in silence once more.

But now it was warmer.

Heavier.

Like a seed had been planted between them—something small and wild, wrapped in thorns and roses.

Something beginning to grow.

The moments after the brooch had been gifted stretched long and quiet. The garden had grown dimmer, the sun lazily dipping behind the estate's towering walls. The gentle rustle of leaves above, the trickle of water from a distant fountain, and the occasional chirp of birds framed the growing intimacy between the two girls.

Lunaria turned the brooch over in her palm again, tracing the delicate thorns with her fingertip. She could still feel the warmth of Elowen's gaze from earlier—possessive, protective, terrifyingly intense. But there was comfort buried beneath that sharpness, a strange reassurance that Lunaria didn't know how to process.

She cleared her throat softly, daring to break the stillness between them.

"…You said you've worked with silver since you were young?"

Elowen turned her head slightly, glancing toward her. "Yes. My first project was a ring. It was awful. Misshapen. Sharp in the wrong places. I cut my finger putting it on."

A soft, surprised laugh escaped Lunaria before she could stop it. It sounded foreign even to her ears—light, unguarded.

"You kept it?"

"I still have it," Elowen said. "It's ugly. But it was mine. I created it, flaws and all. That… means something to me."

Lunaria looked down again. "I think I understand."

"Do you?" Elowen asked, voice low and curious.

Lunaria hesitated. "I don't know if I've ever had the chance to make anything. Or have anything that's mine."

There was a pause.

Elowen didn't speak immediately, and for a moment Lunaria worried she had said too much.

But then—

"…That must be a hollow kind of life."

Lunaria's breath hitched faintly. The way Elowen said it—it wasn't pitying. It wasn't mocking. It was quiet acknowledgment. A soft truth.

"It is," she admitted. "But I've gotten used to it."

"That's worse," Elowen said simply.

Lunaria blinked at her.

"To grow used to emptiness. To accept it." Elowen's voice was flat, but there was something coiled beneath it. "That's what they want, you know. People like them. They want you hollow. Quiet. Grateful for scraps. Easier to break."

The bitterness in her voice was sharp now, blooming like thorns beneath every word.

"You talk like you've lived that, too," Lunaria said gently.

Elowen turned her face toward the sky, the wind brushing strands of silver hair across her cheek.

"I have."

There was a pause again—then Elowen spoke, quieter this time, almost as if confessing.

"I was locked in a tower wing for most of my early years. My existence was… inconvenient. Not proper enough to show the world, but too dangerous to discard. They didn't want me, but they feared what I might become if they let me go."

Lunaria's fingers tightened around the brooch unconsciously.

"They treated you like a threat."

"Because I am," Elowen said, meeting her gaze again. "Or at least… I've become one."

There was no pride in her voice, only fact. A cold truth she had embraced because there was no warmth offered to her.

"…I heard stories," Lunaria said softly, almost afraid to admit it. "The maids whisper about you. Say you're dangerous. Cruel. That you've driven tutors insane."

Elowen didn't flinch. She only tilted her head slightly. "And what do you think?"

"I don't know," Lunaria said honestly. "You're not what I expected."

Elowen's lips curved faintly—something between amusement and something gentler. "Good."

"Why?"

"Because if people always expect thorns, they'll never see the bloom."

Lunaria looked at her for a long moment.

"You speak poetically for someone so feared."

"Poetry and terror aren't mutually exclusive."

Again, Lunaria found herself laughing—soft, surprised, fleeting. And again, she was startled by how natural it felt around this girl.

"I don't think I've talked like this… in years," she admitted quietly.

"Because no one's listened," Elowen said without hesitation.

It was such a simple answer. So blunt. But it struck deeply.

"No," Lunaria said, voice barely a whisper. "No one ever did."

The silence that followed wasn't empty—it was shared. Mutual understanding, quietly acknowledged between two broken souls who saw reflections of themselves in the other.

"I like your voice," Elowen said after a while.

Lunaria flushed slightly, caught off guard. "My… voice?"

"Yes. It's soft, but heavy. Like you're always holding something back."

Lunaria looked down, embarrassed. "That's… not a compliment most would give."

"I'm not most," Elowen said simply.

Lunaria didn't know what to say to that. So instead, she clutched the brooch again and whispered, "Thank you. For this. For… everything today."

Elowen's gaze softened just a fraction. "There will be more."

"More?"

"Gifts. Time. Things that are yours. If you'll have them."

Lunaria looked up into her eyes—and for the first time, she didn't feel like prey beneath a predator's gaze.

She felt wanted.

And for someone like her, that was far more terrifying.

And far more beautiful.

The grand double doors of the Azar estate creaked open as Lunaria and Elowen stepped back inside, the warmth of the garden replaced instantly by the cold, suffocating weight of noble grandeur. The towering chandeliers above gave off a pallid golden light, casting long, harsh shadows across the polished marble floor.

Elowen walked just a step behind Lunaria, her eyes tracking the way the girl's silver eyes glanced around—cautious, uncertain, always too quiet. The faint sway of her midnight-black hair was like a ribbon of ink dancing through the stale air of the estate.

Lunaria still held the thorned rose brooch delicately in her hands, clutching it against her chest like a fragile secret. The sight sent a strange ache curling through Elowen's chest—tender, possessive, and just slightly bitter.

She was beautiful. Not the polished, pristine kind of noble beauty, but something raw and untouched. Something bruised and stitched together with silence. And Elowen felt it again—that whisper in the back of her mind. That gnawing voice that told her this one is mine.

They passed through the corridor in silence. Lunaria seemed to shrink a little more with every step, her shoulders curling inward as if bracing herself for whatever would come next. Elowen hated it.

And then it happened.

A voice—sharp, sneering, and just loud enough to be heard.

"Look at her. Even with a noble at her side, she still stinks of servant blood."

Lunaria froze.

The words came from a servant girl—no older than Elowen herself—carrying linens down the hallway. She hadn't meant to be heard aloud, or maybe she had. Either way, she smirked when Lunaria turned, pale face crumpling in embarrassment and pain.

Something inside Elowen snapped.

The world narrowed into a tunnel of red.

Before Lunaria could react, Elowen moved. A blur of silver hair and black velvet.

The servant didn't even have time to scream.

Elowen's hand slammed into her shoulder, sending the girl crashing into the wall with a hollow thud. She gasped in pain, linens scattering across the marble like falling snow.

"What did you say?" Elowen's voice was low, poisonous.

The servant stammered, fear finally dawning in her eyes. "I-I didn't mean—"

Elowen's palm cracked across her cheek.

"You did," she growled. "You meant every word. You dared to spit filth at her—at my fiancée."

Lunaria stared, wide-eyed, frozen in place as the scene unfolded. The air around Elowen seemed to hum with pressure. The soft charm she'd shown in the garden had vanished, replaced by something jagged and unrelenting.

Elowen grabbed the girl by the collar and slammed her back into the wall again.

"You think you can speak her name with disdain? You think you're above her?" Her voice rose, sharp with fury. "You wouldn't be fit to breathe the same air as her."

Elowen's hands curled tighter. Her divine blessing stirred—barely visible, but there was a faint shimmer around her fingers, like thorns twitching beneath her skin, aching to bloom.

The servant whimpered, tears sliding down her face. "Please—p-please, I didn't mean it—"

"You'll learn respect," Elowen hissed. "Even if I have to carve it into your memory."

She slammed the girl down to the floor, her knee pinning her roughly.

From Lunaria's perspective, it was surreal—watching the beautiful girl who had smiled so gently earlier now looming like a storm, eyes alight with rage, lips curled in disgust. There was no hesitation in her, no uncertainty. Only unwavering fury in her defense.

Lunaria wanted to move—wanted to say something—but her voice was locked in her throat.

In Elowen's mind, everything else disappeared. The estate, the decor, the rules of nobility—it all faded beneath the roaring pressure in her chest.

How dare anyone mock her.

How dare anyone look at her with disgust. Her Lunaria.

Even now, she could see Lunaria's fingers trembling, her face pale.

That broken look—she had seen it before. Too many times. On her own face in silvered mirrors. She remembered what it felt like to be spoken to like trash. To be looked at like an insect. But seeing it on Lunaria twisted something inside her. Twisted it deeply.

Her hands curled tighter around the servant's collar again.

"Say one more word," she whispered, voice low and poisonous. "Say anything."

The servant only whimpered in terror, eyes squeezed shut, waiting for the next blow.

Elowen's expression remained calm—but her eyes burned. Something darker had taken root behind those silver irises. Something that enjoyed this, just a little. Not because of the pain itself—but because it meant something. It was proof that no one would dare hurt Lunaria while Elowen stood by her side.

And if they tried?

She would ruin them.

Lunaria stepped forward—just a little, uncertainly. She didn't know what to do with what she was seeing. Her heart pounded in her chest. This wasn't what she had expected. This wasn't normal.

But something deep inside her stirred—a terrible, confusing warmth.

Someone was defending her.

Someone cared that she was insulted.

And it wasn't just empty words.

It was violence. Unflinching. Real.

Something twisted in Lunaria's chest. Something she didn't have a name for.

And in front of her, Elowen raised her hand again.

The scene would continue—thorned rage and blooming obsession intertwining beneath the flickering chandelier light…

Lunaria stood still, frozen like a statue carved from frost.

The sound of the servant's choked sobs echoed faintly against the marble walls. Elowen's knee remained pressed hard against the girl's chest, her silver eyes alight with something fierce and feral. Her hand rose again, fingers curled, trembling with rage—no, not trembling. Controlled. Deliberate.

Lunaria's fingers tightened around the brooch still clutched in her palm, the thorned rose digging into her skin. She didn't even feel the sting.

She should feel disgusted. Horrified.

And she did—on the surface.

There was something wrong about this. Something terrifying. A girl—her fiancée—beating a servant into the floor with such intensity, such venom. That cold expression, that twisted devotion burning in Elowen's voice, the way she had said "my fiancée" with such possessive pride…

Lunaria's throat was dry. Her stomach twisted.

But beneath that terror…

Something else stirred.

It was faint, like a whispered secret in the pit of her heart.

A bloom.

A strange warmth curling in the center of her chest, slow and serpentine. It slipped beneath her ribs like creeping vines, thorns dragging gently across soft flesh. Her breath caught as it coiled deeper, heavier. She didn't know what to name this feeling.

Was it comfort?

Was it longing?

Or something darker?

She watched Elowen strike again, her silvery hair disheveled, mouth set in a line of rage, eyes locked on her target like a predator. The sharp sound of a blow echoed again, the servant's whimper barely audible beneath the pressure of it all.

Lunaria swallowed thickly.

Her lips parted slightly.

Her heart was racing—but not from fear alone.

She had never seen anyone fight for her before.

Never once had anyone raised their voice, let alone their hand, to protect her. Her existence had always been swallowed by silence, overlooked, discarded, ground under heels and sharp words. When she cried, no one came. When she bled, no one cared. The world had always treated her pain as inconvenient.

But Elowen…

Elowen had made her suffering matter.

She hurt someone for me.

The thought was electric. Terrifying. Addictive.

Lunaria's pale fingers slowly released the brooch, watching the faint marks left by the thorns. Blood beaded at her palm, but she didn't mind. Not when that very same thorned design now pulsed in her hands—an emblem given by the girl who had just painted the floor with vengeance.

She shouldn't like it.

And yet…

A shiver ran down her spine.

She saw it again in her mind's eye—Elowen's cold fury, the elegance in her violence, the righteous wrath that had scorched through her words. The way she had stood between her and the world like a blade unsheathed.

Lunaria's legs felt weak.

And when she finally managed to move—just a step, just a breath forward—she didn't speak.

She simply looked at Elowen's blood-splattered hands… and felt the bloom inside her unfurl just a little more.

That night, Lunaria couldn't sleep.

She tossed in her bed beneath the thin blanket, her mind racing with everything that had happened. The image of Elowen's fury burned behind her eyelids like flame. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw her again—striking, snarling, eyes alight with that intoxicating gleam.

Lunaria pressed a hand against her heart. It was fluttering strangely. Not in fear. Not exactly.

It felt like she was being unraveled.

Her thoughts tangled together. She remembered the warmth of Elowen beside her on the bench. The softness in her voice when she'd given the brooch. And then—that same voice spitting venom, growling threats, defending her name with claws and fire.

She should be afraid of her.

But instead… she wanted to be near her again.

A whisper curled in her mind, seductive and shameful:

What if she always looked at me like that? What if I was the only thing she'd ever fight for again?

She didn't understand what she was feeling.

But she didn't want it to stop.

Eventually, exhaustion overtook her, and she slipped into a restless sleep.

But even in dreams, Elowen followed her.

She stood in a dark corridor, crimson petals falling like rain around her. The floor beneath was soaked in shadow and blood. And in the middle of it all, Elowen stood barefoot, her hands painted in red, a thorned crown resting crookedly on her silver hair.

She looked at Lunaria and smiled—gentle, serene.

"I've killed them all," Elowen whispered in the dream, her voice like velvet. "No one will hurt you again."

Lunaria looked down—at the bodies. Servants. Nobles. Her siblings. Even the Duke. All lying motionless in the garden, twisted in vines, their blood watering the roots.

She should have screamed.

But all she did was reach forward—and take Elowen's hand.

The dream bled into warmth.

A soft comfort.

A bloom.

When she awoke in the morning, her cheeks were flushed, her heart pounding.

She stared at her hand—the one that had held Elowen's in the dream.

And for the first time in her life, Lunaria whispered something aloud in her empty room.

"…Please don't leave me."

And somewhere in the shadows, something listened.

Something smiled.

Something bloomed.