A Thread Unraveled

The sun filtered softly through the linen awnings of the Artisan District, casting pale golden light on bolts of fabric, spools of thread, and colorful buttons arranged like jewels on velvet trays. Lily strolled between stalls, her brown dress and woven shawl blending in perfectly with the locals. Her eyes darted between vendors, fingers brushing over silks and cottons, her mind already racing with design ideas.

She stopped at a table where a pale green fabric caught her eye — light, breathable, and durable. As she reached for it, someone collided into her shoulder.

"Ah, sorry!" Lily instinctively muttered, stepping back.

The other girl, slightly taller with curled auburn hair tucked under a simple cap, tilted her head. Her eyes — sharp, calculating — swept over Lily with deliberate precision.

"My fault," the stranger replied smoothly. "Didn't expect anyone to move that fast in a crowd like this."

Lily gave a tight smile and nodded before stepping away, but she could feel the girl's gaze lingering. Something about it prickled under Lily's skin.

She paid for her fabrics quickly and disappeared into the late-morning crowd. Despite the buzz of voices and the clatter of hooves on cobblestone, Lily's instincts screamed that she was being watched.

Michelle kept her distance.

There was something off about the girl she'd bumped into. She moved like she belonged, yet there was an edge — a subtle grace and discipline in how she scanned her surroundings. It was the way a noble might pretend to be poor — too calculated, too perfect.

Michelle had seen pretenders before. She was one, after all.

She trailed Lily through alleyways and market turns until the girl entered a crooked boarding house tucked between a scroll shop and an apothecary. The third floor window creaked open moments later.

Michelle was about to leave when something fluttered from the girl's cloak as she walked up the stairs — a slim leather-bound book.

Michelle bent down and picked it up. No name. No markings.

Her thumb hovered over the strap that held it closed.

She shouldn't.

But she did.

Lily paced her small room, pulling out swatches and pinning sketches to the cracked wall above the desk. Her mind buzzed with designs — cloaks lined with protective enchantments, scarves that warmed themselves in winter, gloves tailored to fit enchantment gems.

She reached into her satchel to retrieve her planning journal — and froze.

It wasn't there.

Her heart plunged. No. No, no, no.

She turned the satchel inside out. Nothing.

Panic scratched at her chest. That journal had everything. Her plans. Her disguise. Names, places, codes she intended to use.

There was a knock at the door.

She jerked to attention.

Another knock. Softer this time.

She opened the door a crack — and saw her.

The girl from the fabric stall.

"Hi," the girl said calmly, holding up the book. "You dropped this."

Lily stiffened. "Thanks." She reached for it.

But the girl didn't let go.

"I read it."

Lily's breath hitched.

"I know who you are."

Silence swelled between them. A storm waiting to break.

"I don't know how you're alive," the girl continued, her voice low, "but you're Seraphina, aren't you?"

Lily said nothing.

"I saw your handwriting at the end. And the royal sigils. That planning is not something any common girl would make."

Lily tried to laugh it off. "You're mistaken. That was a story. A… fantasy."

But the girl just looked at her.

"You don't need to lie. I won't tell anyone."

Lily closed her eyes. She had no choice. Lying further would only draw suspicion.

"Yes," she whispered. "I'm Seraphina."

The girl didn't gasp. Didn't step back. She just nodded slowly.

"I thought so."

Lily stared. "You're… not shocked?"

"Oh, I'm shocked," the girl replied, stepping into the room uninvited. "But I'm not stupid. You have enemies, and if you're alive, it means the throne is still in danger. Which makes you the most important woman in Elaria right now."

"…Who are you?"

The girl smiled.

"Michelle. I'm a noble. Technically. But I've been living among commoners for years. Hiding from my own family's scandals."

Lily frowned. "Why follow me?"

"Because you were too smooth. Nobles learn to pretend. I recognized it."

Lily sighed, retrieving the journal from Michelle's hand. "Now what?"

Michelle folded her arms. "Now? You let me help you."

"I don't need help."

"You do if you want to build a public identity without alerting every spy in the capital. You need permits, backers, a place no one will question. I know people who can help set that up."

"Why?"

"Because I believe in justice. And maybe I'm tired of pretending too."

Lily studied her for a long moment.

Michelle's eyes sparkled with quiet defiance, but there was no deception there. Only resolve.

"Alright," Lily said slowly. "Help me start a business."

Michelle's smile widened. "Done."

The two girls stood in the silence of the candlelit room — a dethroned princess and a runaway noble. Both liars. Both rebuilding from ruins.

For the first time since Lily woke up in that graveyard, she felt like she wasn't alone.