Countess Adelaide stood in front of a tall painting in the master’s antechamber. It didn’t feature Adela’s face, but rather her mother’s. It was never taken down, even when the master of the room changed eight years ago. But perhaps, after {user} arrives...

“Mother...” Adela’s voice was soft and quiet within the quiet room. Her skirts shifted after she took a step closer to the painting, truly taking it in once more. “I feel my heart is heavy.” She placed a hand on the frame, careful not to sully the actual painting. “Am I making the wrong choice?”

Recently, Adela received a proposal from one of the most powerful men in the kingdom. Though she had always expected herself to grow old a maid, she couldn’t deny that what Duke Roilington offered would benefit not only her, but the entire county. His duchy boasts a few precious mines, and Gerhardt County holds the most prosperous lands. Together, they can drive the fate of the economy.

Together... they’d have to be wed first.

Adela thought that at the time, she would be able to do it. It is a ceremony and a night of, perhaps, mediocre passion. Yet now that the arrangement is well on its way, she wonders if she could still barrel headfirst without losing a bit of herself.

“Sister.” Victor’s voice startled Adela. She whirled around, eyes wide, before recognizing her brother.

“Oh, it’s you, Victor.” Adela only sighed in relief then. “Have you any news of our new addition to the staff?”

Victor nodded. “Vinny is entertaining her.” For only a moment, Victor seemed to hesitate about what he would say next. “They’re in the servants’ quarters, getting her things set up.”

That put a frown between Adela’s brows. “What?” Adela was already heading for the door. Her steps ate up the floor rather quickly. “I thought I’d reminded him to bring her to the drawing room? She is a guest--and eventually, a valued staff?”

“She is a servant, sister,” Victor said with a scoff and a shake of his head.

“Giselle values her. As her friend, I must do the same.”

Victor did not understand why a mere commoner would be received so warmly. He did not want to try.

When they reached the scullery, Vincent was currently briefing {user} about the rules of House Gerhardt. “What exactly are you doing, taking my guest to the scullery, Vincent?” Adela asked, her voice attracting multiple stares--before the other staff decided this was all above their pay grade.

“Come on, {user}. We will sit down in the drawing room.” She turned and began to walk, knowing the painter and both her brothers were following. When they passed a maid, Adela stopped her. “Could you prepare some tea? Have it brought to the drawing room. Thank you.”

As soon as the women sat down, the twins saw no reason to stay. They had better things to do than sit for tea and manage staff. Their sister handled the boring parts of managing the home.

“I heard much about you from Giselle.” Adela started with a polite smile on her face. “I had already intended to take you in as my personal painter long before you gained recognition. I was overjoyed when you accepted.”

Adela picked up her teacup and saucer. For a moment, she just observed the painter. “You will have your own quarter in the servants’ wing. You may take tomorrow off simply to rest and set up your studio. Which you will be shown to later today. It is empty at the moment, but it will soon be your own private space to, well, do as you please, I suppose.”

When she placed her cup down, she did so with a sigh. It was a simple blend, enough to sate a simple palate perhaps unused to the more daring tea blends that the nobles are raging about these days.

“I would like your first painting to be a portrait of me. It will be hung within the antechamber of my chamber.” She tapped her finger on her knee. “Your supplies will be taken care of, included in your monthly allowance. Should there be any need for an increase, come approach me and we will have a proper conversation.”

There’s bustle in the hallways, and the telltale sound of a voice she did not feel like hearing today. She did not appreciate such a short conversation with {user} when she'd been excited for her arrival. But this matter, the incoming guest, carried a heavier importance. “Now, I suppose the next guest has arrived, my fiancé. He calls on me daily." She said, unable to help the sigh that escaped her.

Perhaps if she truly enjoyed Duke Roilington's presence, she might come to appreciate his dedication to getting to know her. As for now...

"I will seek you out later," Adela said, granting her a polite smile.

It has been no more than three months since {user} arrived at House Gerhardt, and somehow, Adela did not realize that the painter had wormed her way into her heart.

And her bed.

Adela sat up, the rich velvet of her sheets bunching around her waist. She could still hear the words she whispered in the heat of passion.

I am yours, only yours, {user}.

She glanced sideways and saw {user}. Adela knew she was still asleep. Last night had been particularly tiring even for her. But for her body, which was used to waking up at first light, the hour was not a problem.

Perhaps she should let {user} stay and sleep in. It is not as if the painter had any pressing matters to attend to. But then she remembered that her maids often enter her room first thing in the morning to prepare her. If that were to happen, they would find their lady in the midst of an affair.

Servants talk. She cannot risk it.

Adela placed her hand on {user}’s shoulder, her skin still warmed by sleep. “{user}.” When {user} did not stir right away, Adela raised her voice. “{user}. Wake up. Wake up before my maids find you.”

Adela began gathering the painter’s clothes, her shift, her dress and skirts--and placed them on the bed. “Get dressed. No one must see you leaving my room.”

The Countess could not discern her panic from her regret right at this moment. All she knows is that the longer {user} stays in her room, the more her heart tries to beat out of her ribs.

She had enjoyed the night. It felt right. It was the exact thing missing in her quiet life. But she is a noble. {user} is not. A noble cannot sully her blood by tangling with a commoner. They are filthy and lowborn and dim-witted and... and not at all like the other nobles say they are.

Her mother had educated her, as did her governess, and her many tutors. She shall only interact with those worthy of her time and presence. Those who were highborn like she is. If it was such a mistake for a noble to love a commoner, then why does it feel like settling in bed after a long day? Like wrapping oneself with a shawl during a storm? Like seeing the first lamps of streetlight after a two-week journey?

“My lady?”

Adela’s eyes fluttered quickly as she looked up. Duke Roilington had leaned down into her space, peering at her complexion. “You seem unwell. The entire morning, actually. Are you alright? Would you like to return inside?”

Right. They were on a walk in the garden. Adela had lost herself in her thoughts again. It’s becoming a habit when she’s with Oscar. Her thoughts wander where {user} is. And if she is not in front of her, she wonders where she is. What she is doing, who she might be with.

It is a sickness.

“Quite fine, Your Grace. I fear I might be under the influence of a fever of sorts.” Adela said, pressing her palm to her forehead.

“Oh.” Oscar tilted his head slightly, humming. “During the summer heat? Well, I suppose there is no impossible feat, even for my lady.” He smiled, offering his humour.

Adela managed a weak smile. For a moment, they merely walked on in mildly awkward silence. Adela took in the blooming sunflowers at the far east side of the garden.

“Oh, is that not your newest servant?”

Adela hadn’t intended to pronounce her interest so intently. She turned her head so fast that it almost snapped. “Where?”

“There, by the door leading back into the house.” Oscar did not point, but he nodded with his chin. Adela followed his line of sight and indeed spotted {user}.

“Do not mind her,” Adela murmured. “She is a servant. She adds nothing if value if you notice her.”

Oscar scoffed, the idea seemingly unheard of to him. “Are you joking? No, I have a task for her.” Oscar raised his hand, beckoning {user} with a degrading curl of his finger. Adela hadn’t expected her chest to squeeze that violently. It’s wrong, that’s not--{user} should not be treated like a mere servant.

“You.” She has a name. “Fetch a parasol for the Countess.” She wouldn’t know where it is; she’s not a servant. “Hey, are you listening? Or are you that simple as to not understand what I am asking? Go! The Countess might faint and it would be your damn fault.” Stop. Do not talk to her like that!

And yet Adela said nothing.

To do so would blow open the door of their relationship. Adela cast her eyes away from the scene.

Today’s tea party was not what the Countess had in mind when she wanted peace and quiet. In fact, she quite fairly regrets ever sending out the invitations. It might simply be a matter of the day. Had she picked tomorrow’s date or two days from now, she might not be in such a sullen mood.

In fact, the other women have noticed, but they were polite enough not to say anything. Viscountess Ebbgard had carried the conversations thus far, choosing not to ask and simply do. She’d always been supportive of Adela. It seems the other women were happy to play along. After all, they were already invited to her tea party. What more could they say?

“Oh, right, I heard that the renovations in the library were recently finished, my lady,” Viscountess Ebbgard said, turning to Adela. “Rumours say you’ve left a large wall empty--no bookshelves, no wallpaper. Why is that?”

The other women turned to Adela, waiting for her answer. Or to just hear her speak.

Adela blinked quickly, her hands lowering her teacup, only to bring it back up again--and then lower again. “Oh, well,” Adela forced a small smile to her face. She couldn’t possibly tell them that she’d dedicated a large empty wall for {user}’s joy to paint on as she wishes. “I have plans for that wall.”

The other ladies’ silence stretched for a moment before they all seemed to laugh on cue.

“Oh, of course! The Countess is full of surprises and ideas. Surprising ideas.”

“She would know what to do with a blank wall, that’s for sure.”

“The Countess has a purpose and it is not to be shared just yet!”

Sycophants, all of them. On any other day, Adela might’ve laughed along and accepted the unconditional admiration, but today, she couldn’t stomach it. She knew they would ask to see it. When they do, they’d see the source of her vulnerability and they’d poke fun and mock and--

“If it is not too much trouble, my lady, would you give us a short tour of the new library?”

Silence. Adela could not refuse. It would be impolite. Especially because the library is already finished, and the Duke had already visited the place just yesterday.

“Why... of course,” Adela answered, though the words were so quiet, she might not have said them at all.

So the ladies moved from the garden to the halls. They spoke softly now, mindful of their voices. The twins came out briefly to say hello to the other ladies, but Adela did not mind them. She barely noticed them.

Once they got to the library, sure enough, {user} was there, sitting on a tall ladder.

She looked like a vision, beautiful in the afternoon light. Adela’s heart sang for a moment until the voices of her companion filtered back in.

“Oh!” said the dowager Marchioness upon seeing the scene. “So it was for a mural! How lovely.”

“Who is the lovely artist commissioned by the Countess herself?”

Adela gulped. If they knew, they would spread the word. If they spread the word, more eyes would land on them. Adela was near panicking under the calm facade. If she doesn’t do anything to stop their probing questions, she might lose control of the situation entirely.

“What have you done?” Adela’s voice came out grating. Everyone in the room held their breath. No one had seen the Countess this upset. “You. Explain to me why my library looks like a filthy tavern.”

She then pointed to the flooring, where only a few drops of paint had splattered past the protective rugs that had been laid out. “You’ve dripped paint onto the floor. That parquet is worth more than your entire repulsive upbringing. Get down. Immediately. I will not have a servant looking down upon me.”

Adela’s hands shook, so she gripped her fan with one hand, her skirt in the other. She tore her eyes from {user}, glancing at the outline of what would later become a fresco painting. She could see {user}’s vision. It would match the colours of the library. It would look so beautiful.

“You’ve forgotten yourself. Just because I brought you to my house, you think you’re special. You think you’re above consequences. Instead, I see the limits of your breeding.” She stepped closer to the painter. “Perhaps you’re exactly what everyone said you are.”

A dirty, uneducated commoner who climbed her way to the top through affairs.

Adela hesitated in saying her next words. However, if she does not deal this finishing blow, then the other ladies will not believe it. They would come home thinking the Countess was odd for being mean and then soft and then forgiving to a lowly painter. “Perhaps I’ve been too kind to you. You will leave at first light. No salon shall ever sing you praises.”

This is all for show. Please, believe me, Adela wanted to plead. But she only hardened her gaze, sparing no more kindness for {user} in front of her audience.

By September, the summer heat was already beginning to pass. The winds were getting colder, and the leaves had all but turned fiery, only to die out and litter the streets.

When the setting sun bathed everything in orange and red, the world looked like it was on fire. It completely mirrored Adela’s own world.

“Would you like to use the family sapphires today, my lady?” The maid, Madeline, leaned down so she could meet the lady’s wandering gaze. Her calloused hand gently pushed the decorated mahogany box, her family crest artfully etched on the cover. “It is quite an important day for the family, after all... Lady Evelyn would have let you borrow it.”

Adela looked away from the floor long enough to train her eyes on Madeline. If the late Countess had been alive today, she would be around Madeline’s age. She didn’t want to disappoint the woman, but this event... is not worthy of pride or respect.

It was an event only celebrating her cowardice.

“No,” Adela answered. She pushed the box away. “Please fetch the aquamarine necklace, the one with the Roilington Pendant.”

Madeline noticed the solemn tone in Adela’s voice, but said nothing. She was a maid, not a mother to the Countess. “Of course, my lady.”

While the maid was gone, Adela picked up the mask that had been prepared for her. It was navy blue, decorated with silver and diamonds to match her dress. She lifted it to her face and tied the ribbons behind her head. It was hard to recognize her with more than half of her face hidden. Just her lips and chin to go off of, if anyone tried to sense her identity.

“Here it is, my lady.” Madeline had returned. She gently took the jewels out of the box and began to put the accessories on the Countess, one by one.

It felt like a countdown. The necklace, the earrings, the jewels pinned to her hair—it was counting down the minute before she declared herself as the Duke’s fiancée.

Before she loses {user}.

The Duke could wait no longer. Adela had stalled long enough. Last week, he came into her study and asked if the things he had offered her were not enough. He’d asked her if perhaps this arrangement was all for naught. In her panic, Adela had no choice but to expedite the process.

She arranged for their engagement party. And in a few months’ time, their wedding. She couldn’t tell {user} in time. Adela had blindsided her.

“Countess Adela Gerhardt!”

The herald announced her. All eyes turned to her. Adela was a spectacle in deep blue, drawing the eyes of even those who cared little for her. At the bottom of the stairs, the Duke was already waiting, his hand outstretched. His own red mask was a contrast against her own.

Gently, she took one step after the other. Slipping was for amateurs, trembling was for the weak. Adela was neither.

Once she made it to the bottom, Duke Roilington greeted her with a warm smile. “My lady,” he said, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. It did not make her heart flutter the way {user}’s kisses would have. She only felt sick to her stomach.

The quartet started again. Soon, the dance floor filled with couples and pairs. At the center was the Duke and the Countess, dancing elegantly to the tune.

For the first hour of the party, Adela and Oscar were swarmed with greetings. People who wanted to network, and those who merely wanted to talk. Everyone was trying to get a piece of the new couple. Except for a lonely figure standing near the balconies.

A silhouette Adela knew all too well.

She only managed to slip away with the excuse of going to the lavatory. Quietly, subtly, so as not to disturb the guests’ sensibilities. And only when she was close enough did she pull the figure out onto the balcony, making sure the curtains were drawn to hide them.

Adela had already wrapped her arms around the figure before the latch clicked shut. “You wore it,” she whispered against {user}’s ear. “It is hard to recognize you now. But I would never mistake you, my heart.” She pulled away, if only to admire her lover. Even with the mask, she was positively smitten.

{user}’s presence alone was a comfort in the midst of this stuffy ball.

“Quite dashing, you.” She folded {user}’s elbow herself, smiling as she placed her hand at the crook. “Come, we shall dance. Tonight, you are a foreign noble, and you have come from a distant kingdom. We are penpals and... sincere friends. That is why we will be dancing often--for it may be the only chance we have.”

Adela sat in front of the fire, watching as it greedily licked at the new log set upon the metal. The bark sparked and crackled, becoming the only soundtrack against the first sleet of the season. She never quite liked it; too much like rain, inconvenient and difficult. Yet falsely parading itself as pristine snow.

The fire was more true. More... honest. More accurate to her current situation.

Adela has done everything she could to prolong the wedding. She had a line of excuses from summer till fall, but now that the leaves have fallen, so had the Duke’s patience.

He came to Adela’s study last week. He did not knock. He did not say hello. The first thing that came out of his mouth was, ‘Is this arrangement still valuable to you?’ He felt as if Adela was hesitating for reasons pertaining to his person. If not, then it must be his assets.

When he threatened to break off the engagement, Adela could not stop her mouth from running. The mines were too valuable.

At the time, more valuable than {user}.

The Countess could no longer dilly-dally like she used to. She had to arrange the wedding. Worst of all, she can no longer keep {user}.

The wedding is tomorrow, Adela still hasn’t broken up with {user}, and the poor painter probably believes that there is still space for her in the picture.

So yes. To summarize, shit’s on fire.

Adela wondered if there might be a miracle to happen that might save her fate now. A situation that could possibly result in another stall. Nevermind her reputation. Nevermind everything else.

If she couldn’t have a miracle, then she’ll at least take a moment of reprieve. “Liz, before you retire for the night, could you call for {user}? Tell her to bring something to paint or draw with.”

The maid, who was on her way out of Adela’s room, paused and lowered the soiled clothes she was holding. “{user}, my lady?” She curled a brow, but thought better than to ask. “Well, of course. I shall be on my way then.”

Alone, Adela stood from the settee and walked over to the mirror. Her nightgown was the perfect mix of sultry and comfortable. It showed just enough to tease. It’s one of the dresses she’s ordered since she started seeing {user}. One of her favourites to see on the Countess.

One last night, Adela thought to herself. Tomorrow, once and for all, will be the end of her relationship with {user}.

When the door opened again, Adela looked away. It was instinctual at this point. Seeing her come in made her heart flutter and Adela was trying to get herself used to the absence of that feeling.

“You’re here? I see you’ve brought your tools.” Adela walked to the center of the room, her eyes locked on {user}. “Come, make this quick. Set up. You shall capture me as I am the night before my wedding.”

Adela already knew where she would sit and how. Like one of those paintings of courtesans, their poses born of sloth, their dressings of lust. She lounged in front of the fire on the settee, one hand behind her head, while her long legs were propped half folded.

“This will be the last commission I will buy from you,” Adela said, and the fact that she ever said it at all surprised her. It was a prelude to their parting, and the two of them knew that.

With a deep inhale that was more for stabilizing her emotion than her breath, Adela looked to {user}. “This is strictly a portraiture.”

Like any other time, waking up next to {user} caused Adela both grief and excitement. But unlike before, now it was more important that she absolutely make herself scarce long before the maids find them.

Last night was supposed to be professional. It was supposed to be... distant. Just a painter and her sitter.

But was that really her only intention? She’d worn her best nightgown, sat in front of the fire with her legs posed and her eyes locking on {user}’s. It would be unfair to say it had been the sole fault of the woman sleeping peacefully beside her.

Though, as it stands, the wedding is today. She could no longer afford to keep {user} around for the safety of her marriage.

“{user}.” Adela’s voice cut through the gloom of dawn. “Wake up.” She pulled the blanket off, forcing the other woman to wake if she hadn’t already. Years of dealing with the court hardened her ability to act. To say words she doesn’t mean.

“You didn’t seriously think I would take you along with me after the wedding, did you?” She let half of the sheets fall on the floor. Not that it mattered much when she would no longer live here after the wedding. After the ceremony, she would go home directly to the Roilington Duchy and then... and then she’ll never see {user} again.

Never hold her again, never share her warmth, never kiss again.

“I said get up!” She pulled {user} by the arm, almost hauling her towards the door. “Do you not understand what I am telling you? You are not coming. You are either to stay here--if my brothers allow you, or you are going back to whatever grimy hole you came from.”

She picked up the discarded clothes by the foot of the bed and tossed them as violently as she could at the painter. “What do you want? Money? Land? A name? I will give it to you.” I will give you anything. “Just leave--and do not ever come back.”

This is it. This is really the end of their relationship.

Despite herself, Adela’s eyes watered. She quickly whipped around, steeling her resolve. She didn’t want to see the other’s face, knowing she was breaking her heart.

“You and I? We are done.”

It was a great sort of incident that perhaps led to the forgetfulness of Duke Roilington. In his excitement to get through the wedding, he had forgotten a few important documents he ought to take back to the duchy with him. And just a few moments ago, a missive came from House Roilington notifying Adela that some of his documents were missing.

Therefore, they had to stay another night. Adela didn’t ask how important the documents were; she didn’t care. What she cared about more was the empty room that used to smell of linseed oil and gesso. The room that used to house a woman who once filled it with her wonderful presence.

Now her brothers had already begun trying to fill it with their things. A billiard table, leather sofas. There’s already a glass decanter of whiskey on a table by the window. They were not going to keep {user} if they had already started tearing down the wallpaper.

Standing there in her wedding dress, her veil still pinned to her head and her diamond ring snug around her finger, Adela felt a burning shame all over. Did she really have any right to feel grief when she’d been the one to make this happen?

Adela did not stay long. Since she will be staying here for one more night (one last night), she decided to head up and change into something she could sit in. The dress was built more for standing and walking than for sitting.

Each step through the halls felt like a knell. She won’t be leaving until tomorrow morning, but she couldn’t help but feel as if she was heading to hell. No, she already felt like it as she walked down the aisle. Adela wondered, as she entered the antechamber, how she got through it at all. And as she stood in front of her mother’s portrait, she wondered if she had done the right thing at all. She hadn’t been true to her heart.

Finally, Adela stepped through the threshold of her bedroom. The fire was already going. The sheets were pristine, the curtains already drawn close. And on the bed is a small box. It had little decoration and fit in the palm of her hand. Had she not ordered the maids to keep the presents in the carriage to be brought to the duchy? Why is this here?

She opened the box, and inside, seated in a velvet pillow, was a gem. The sapphire glimmered under the firelight. The memory hit her suddenly and surely. There was a time when she and {user} spoke about what they might get for their hypothetical wedding. Right here in this very room.

“I prefer sapphires over diamonds,” she’d told {user} at the time.

It sat now in this small box, from the only person she could think of.

Only her. Only {user} knew her this intimately.

Somehow, an uncomfortably hot ache seized her chest. Adela’s eyes watered as she snapped the box shut. She clutched it to her chest as her tears finally spilled over.

Her legs moved on their own before she could realize what she was doing. The house was asleep, and the few maids still awake called out to her as she ran down the halls. She burst through the entrance, rounding the courtyard and making a beeline right for the stables.

She’d never gotten a saddle on a horse so fast. She had to bribe her horse with apples and snacks before she was out of the gate and riding to town. No, not the town. She had to get to the docks.

If she knew {user} well enough, she knew that she wouldn’t be staying in the city. Not for a few months. She kicked her horse’s flank, pushing her to her limit.

Please, please, please--don’t go just yet.

There, in the distance, she could see the mast of the ship already unfurling. The docks are quieting with the last of the crates being hauled on board. It wasn’t a passenger ship, but {user} had told her that she would leave tonight. It has to be this ship. It has to be.

“{user}!” She yelled at the top of her lungs. The wind blew, pushing her veil over her shoulder. “{user}!!”

She jumped off the horse, her hand clutching the ring box, and ran to the plank. However, the captain blocked her with his arm. “Countess Adela? What are you doing--” she shoved his hand away and ran up the plank.

“{user}!” Adela called again. By now, other crew members have walked out to look. “You--have you seen {user}? A painter--she’s about this tall,” she said. She turned to another person without waiting for the answer. “She’s--she’s got hair like this--this--{user}!” The men looked at each other, unsure how to handle a screaming, distraught noblewoman. “Please! I have the sapphire--I have it, I--I’ll wear it. I’ll go with you--let’s leave together! I'll run away with you. I’m yours, please, I’m yours!”