Chapter Nine: Little Redheaded Doll

Arielle paused at the doorway, her eyes sweeping over the long dining table bathed in warm candlelight. The air smelled of freshly baked bread, melted butter, and something richer—perhaps a stew still steaming in its bowl. The chandeliers above cast a golden glow, reflecting off the polished silverware and fine china.

She had expected the vampires to wake only at midnight, to sip their glasses of blood before vanishing into the night like specters. Yet here they were, gathered at the table, engaging in casual conversation like any human family would. The sight unsettled her in a way she couldn't quite place.

Feeling suddenly self-conscious, she shifted her weight before stepping forward.

"Sorry I'm late," she murmured.

Lady Aphelion looked up, her lips curving into a gentle smile. "It's okay."

Arielle slid into a chair, the cool silk cushion pressing against her thighs as she reached for a slice of bread. She smeared it with butter, the warmth softening it under her fingers. As she took a bite, the rich, creamy texture coated her tongue, grounding her in the present.

The conversation shifted, words mingling with the soft clinking of utensils against porcelain.

"Oh, Myra," Madeline said, her voice carrying a lilt of excitement. "The dressmaker is coming today. I hope you're free."

Myra, who had been sipping her tea, blinked in surprise. The porcelain cup made the faintest clink as she set it down.

"She's done with the dress already?" Myra asked, arching a brow.

It had only been two days since the dressmaker had taken her measurements. That kind of speed was almost unnatural.

She turned toward Nathan, who was the true keeper of her schedule. He shook his head.

Madeline answered before he could. "She'll be here this morning. Around nine."

Myra sighed, rolling her shoulders. "Alright, we'll make time."

Arielle, who had been listening in silence, furrowed her brows. "What do you need a dress for?"

She knew Myra. Myra hated dresses. If it weren't for their father forcing her into them for certain occasions, she would never wear one in her life.

Myra exhaled through her nose, shifting in her chair. "Mr. Harrison's daughter, Lady Helen, is throwing a party this week. I'm attending."

Arielle nearly dropped her fork.

Myra? At a social gathering?

She tried to mask her surprise, but a bit of incredulity must have slipped into her expression because Myra shot her a pointed look.

"Helen Harrison?" Arielle asked instead, regaining her composure. "I know her. Her father and my foster parents are business partners. I was actually planning to go to that party too."

The moment the words left her lips, she felt a shift in the air.

Myra's face darkened, her expression carefully unreadable. The casual buzz of conversation dulled, and for a moment, even the gentle crackling of the fireplace seemed muted.

"Foster parents?" Myra echoed, voice quiet but sharp.

Arielle nodded slowly, suddenly regretting bringing it up. "Yeah… well, Hell isn't exactly the best place to raise a child, so my dad arranged for a human couple to take care of me."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Arielle could feel Myra's mood shift, like the air pressure had changed, like the temperature had dropped just a few degrees. She swallowed hard, keeping her gaze on her half-eaten bread.

The rest of breakfast passed in tense quiet, the lighthearted atmosphere gone like a snuffed-out candle.

---

Ezra Thorn stared down at the comic book in his hands.

It was perfect.

Absolutely perfect.

The cover art gleamed under the bright mall lights, the scent of fresh ink and crisp pages filling his nose. He wanted to cry. This was the one.

As he reached for it, his fingers brushed against another hand.

His eyes snapped to the side.

A girl stood beside him, gripping the other end of the comic with surprising strength. She was small, delicate—almost doll-like, with wide brown eyes, freckled porcelain skin, and fiery red curls that tumbled down her shoulders.

The word slipped out before he could stop it.

"What a doll."

The girl stiffened.

Then—

"What?!" she exclaimed, eyes blazing with indignation.

Ezra immediately regretted speaking. He scratched the back of his head, about to apologize, but something in the air caught his attention.

Her scent.

It was different.

Not human.

"Witch," he muttered before he could stop himself.

The girl's eyes widened. "Are you a vampire?"

Ezra hesitated, then nodded.

To his surprise, she beamed.

Then—

She cupped his face with both hands, tilting his head from side to side, studying him with wide-eyed curiosity.

"But where are your horns?" she asked. "Your tail? And why aren't your eyes red?"

Ezra blinked. "...My what?"

"Your horns!" she insisted. "My brother told me vampires have horns and tails and huge red eyes."

Ezra stared at her.

Was she confusing vampires with demons?

"Vampires don't have horns," he said flatly. "And we definitely don't have tails."

The girl tilted her head, clearly unconvinced. "But… my brother said vampires were hideous."

She studied him again, scrutinizing every feature.

"You're… not hideous at all," she concluded innocently.

Ezra felt his face warm.

Before he could respond, the store door swung open, the faint jingle of the bell drawing both their attention.

A tall, broad-shouldered boy strode in, his fiery red hair identical to the girl's.

Ezra stiffened.

The girl gasped.

Ezra barely had time to react before—

She disappeared.

Her scent lingered, but she was gone.

The boy approached him, his sharp eyes scanning the store.

"Yo, kid. Have you seen a little red-headed girl about your age—but cuter?"

Ezra raised a brow.

Should he be offended?

For a second, he considered ratting her out, just to be petty. But he sighed and shook his head.

The boy frowned but eventually left.

The moment the door shut, the girl reappeared, practically vibrating with excitement.

"My invisibility potion worked!" she whispered gleefully.

Then—

"Oh, and thanks for covering for me! If my brother found out I came here, he'd kill me. Older siblings are the worst."

Ezra laughed. "Tell me about it. My sister is so annoying."

And just like that—

They became friends.

Myra slowly sipped her tea, her fingers tapping against the porcelain cup.

It was nine-thirty.

The dressmaker was late.

She exhaled through her nose, trying to keep her patience in check.

"Just wait a little longer, Myra," Madeline said, flipping through a book. "She's on her way."

Myra sighed but set her cup down, leaning back against the couch.

Arielle, sitting across from her, raised a brow. "And where are you going that you can't spare some time?"

Myra ignored her.

A few minutes later, the doors finally opened, and the dressmaker rushed in.

"Apologies, Lady Thorn!" she blurted. "I ran into some delays—"

Myra didn't respond. She just gestured for the woman to get on with it.

The dressmaker hesitated before carefully unwrapping the garment bag.

And then—

Myra's breath hitched.

The dress was stunning.

A deep green gown, perfectly tailored, with a blue lily embroidered across the waist.

Even Arielle, who usually found these things boring, let out a soft "wow."

"Try it on," Arielle encouraged.

Myra hesitated.

Then—without a word—she grabbed the dress and went to change.

When she stepped back out—

The entire room stilled.

Madeline smiled, about to say something when—

"Awful!"

The dressmaker's voice cut through the room.

Everyone froze.

Myra frowned.

Then—

To everyone's shock—

The woman dropped to her knees.

"Please forgive me, Lady Thorn!" she cried. "This dress is ugly! I will make you a new one immediately!"

The entire room stared in disbelief.

Even Myra was confused.

She turned to Madeline.

Madeline looked just as lost.

"Please take off the dress," the dressmaker begged. "I cannot let you wear something so unworthy!"

"A new one?" Madeline frowned. "But the event is tomorrow, Evelyn!"

"I know, Your Grace—but this dress is not for Lady Thorn!"

The two women began arguing.

Myra sighed.

"Enough," she muttered.

They stopped.

"If you want to make a new dress, fine," Myra said. "But make sure I have something to wear."

The dressmaker beamed.

"Thank you, Lady Thorn!"

Myra rolled her eyes and went to change.

As she left, Arielle followed.

---

Halfway up the stairs, Arielle bumped into Nathan.

"Sorry," they both said.

Then—

"No, I'm sorry."

They both spoke at the same time again.

Then—

They laughed.

Nathan smiled. "Is Myra finally done with her fitting?"

Arielle nodded. "I was heading to her room."

Nathan nodded back.

Arielle smiled at him, then continued on her way.

When she entered Myra's room, she found her lacing up her sneakers.

Arielle hesitated. Then, slowly, she walked in and flopped onto Myra's bed.

Silence.

Then—

"I didn't want to leave, Myra," she said softly.

Myra didn't respond.

Arielle swallowed.

"My father forbade me from seeing you."

Arielle sniffled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. The warmth of Myra's embrace lingered even as Myra pulled away, studying her carefully.

"You should have told me sooner," Myra said, her voice quieter than before.

Arielle swallowed. "I was scared."

"Of me?"

"No," Arielle shook her head quickly. "Of what you'd think. Of what you'd say."

Myra leaned back, resting her arms on her knees. The candlelight flickered between them, casting soft shadows on the walls.

She stayed silent for a moment.

Then—

"Did you ever want to come back?" Myra asked.

Arielle's heart clenched. "Every day."

The words sat heavy in the air. Myra didn't say anything, but Arielle could see it in her eyes—the hurt, the betrayal she probably hadn't even realized she was carrying.

"It wasn't my choice," Arielle added, her voice barely above a whisper.

Myra's gaze flickered. "I know."

Silence stretched between them again.

Arielle hesitated, then asked, "Did you… hate me for leaving?"

Myra's fingers curled slightly, but she didn't look away.

"At first," she admitted. "But not anymore."

Arielle let out a shaky breath. Relief and guilt tangled inside her chest.

She reached out, gripping Myra's hand tightly. "I missed you."

Myra squeezed back.

"I missed you too."

And just like that—after years of distance, of wondering, of unanswered questions—something between them finally healed.