“My lady, you must prepare for the tea party! At the seminar last month, the teacher would always remind us that the key point was: ‘this tea party is almost as important as your debut into society – this is where you first make the connections!’ ” her personal maid, Chance, who was brushing her hair, had told her.

 

Besides her attempts to stop the motherly nagging, Lillian had tried, but failed to think of what to do to get the characters on her side. 

The day of her tea party was two days from now. She hadn’t picked out a dress yet. 

To elaborate, the original dress that Lillian from the novel wore was so bulky that she tripped and made a fool out of herself, falling into mud, ruining what was supposed to be a very happy day. Instead of her, Annabella from the novel takes the spotlight, and becomes friends with the other characters first – leaving Lillian too late, and due to this, the atmosphere between Lillian and the other characters was always tense.

She would not let this happen!

She would establish connections, and attempt to avoid her fate!

She would try…

 

And however ridiculous it sounded, the first step would be to choose the right dress. 

***

 

Annabella, too, had yet to choose her dress. 

 

The head maid, Cura, had decided to take them shopping today, as the Duke was swamped with work at the palace, and would only return tonight, a day before the tea party. Annabella found this very exciting. Lillian, however, felt unsure. 

She had barely left the estate before, and at the times she did, there would have to be several guards accompanying her. If this world was truly exactly like the novel, the nobles would start gossiping about her if she was seen. And she would be seen. After all, she was Lady Lillian of House Vicus now. The sister of the female lead, who wouldn’t notice her, the graceful figure by Annabella's cheerful side? ‘Even though I’m only seven,’ she thought, ‘even though, this could very well ruin my reputation.’ She had to be very, very careful.

 

She rubbed her eyes as the Sun shone into them. She gazed at her faint, blurry reflection in the window. Her eyes were indeed like gems, so bright. The sunlight hit at an angle that had them shine like diamonds. It was simply mesmerizing. 

A shuffling sound came to her ears. She went to the door, and peeked.

 

“My lady, oh! You are up already!” Chance was at the door, and it was obvious she was bursting with excitement.

***

 

The streets were not especially crowded. That made it harder to not draw attention.

“Cura,” Lillian began, “the Sun is not that bright. I don’t need the parasol.” 

The parasol she held was way too flashy! She had to get rid of it!

Before they left, at first, Cura had held a light, lime green parasol. Lillian, foolishly, had offered to hold it instead.

“My lady, you are very sweet. I suppose it is time that you learn to carry your own parasol,” was what Cura had said.

To Lillian’s dismay, Cura brought out a much flashier umbrella, which was “lighter, for your dainty hands”, with lace embroidery and heavy-looking purple gems draped on it. 

“A lady ought to have a proper parasol for herself,” was what Cura had said.

Lillian sighed. Cura held the green parasol for Annabella, while Lillian carried her own – that overly-grandiose excuse of a “proper” parasol for a child to hold.

It was by a stroke of luck that Cura let her ditch it, though only after Lillian sniffled about how the lace was obstructing her field of vision, and how tired her “frail and dainty body” was.

 

“Cura, won’t one of the dresses we have at home do?” was what Lillian wanted to ask. She couldn’t, for she knew the answer very well herself, for she had created it. 

“Indeed, we may have splendid, beautiful dresses, but your tea party is almost as important as your debut into society!”

Every maid was programmed to think that way. And… it was the truth.

 

Yet this mundane event had caught the eye of a certain someone. Someone she was yet to meet. Someone she didn’t really know yet, someone who had splendid raven hair, someone who was bestowed the silver eyes of the ancient birds who roamed the night sky.

***

 

“Oh my, you two must be Lady Lillian and… Lady Annabella…” the shopkeeper of Madam Roselle’s Boutique greeted them as they walked in.

 

“Hello! Anny would love it if you called her Anny!” Annabella’s radiant smile could replace the Sun itself.

 

“...Oh dear…” As the shopkeeper began to begin her tut-tutting on Annabella’s behavior, presumably because she was, one, adopted, and two, not behaving like a “proper lady”.

 

‘She’s. Literally. Four. Years. Old!’ Lillian tsked, and with one chilling glance that would not be expected from such a six-year-old sent to the shopkeeper, the mouth that was running like unlimited tap water came to an abrupt stop, as if suddenly there was a water outage.

 

"L-Lady Lillian, such a gorgeous dress is surely suited for such a gracious lady as you…" she began to, finally, start showing them the vast selection of dresses. This was an issue… it would lead to choice paralysis, also known as paradox of choice, as Lillian had learnt course back in her life as Platine.

 

The dresses they ended up picking were gorgeous. They were intricately crafted, handmade, meticulous down to every seam and every stroke. 

 

A cute, fresh, pale green one for Annabella, and an elegant, violet one for Lillian. She had made sure they were not bulky. It was very important, and even though it might have made her appear like some spoiled brat making a fuss, it was for the sake of both her and Annabella’s futures. Besides, this would only spread rumors of her house being rich enough to spoil her, not something that would actually ruin her reputation. At least not in this world.

She felt awfully tired. Finally, she was back in the manor. It was dark, but the Moon shone brightly, full at last.

‘Correction. The Moon does not emit light. It reflects the Sun’s light.’ Her thoughts drifted, coming to this and that, memories of the good old days and whatnot.

 

The soft, borrowed light instilled a sense of calmness for the worried, restless spirit in this ill-fated body. 

‘I wonder how this will all work out,’ she peered at the beautiful dress she was to wear, reflecting the enchanting light from the window, like the Moon does to the Sun, as she drifted to sleep… ‘I wonder if I will live.’