Aurelia Veyron | Sister

The night air clung heavy with summer warmth, the sky low and bruised with clouds as the faint orange glow of the city bled into the edges of the playground.

Rust creaked with every sway of the old swings, chains whining as though they still remembered the children who had once filled this place.

Now it stood empty—except for Aurelia Veyron and you.

Her heels sank slightly into the cracked asphalt as she staggered near the seesaw, champagne still lingering on her lips from the evening’s quiet rebellion.

Her silk blouse, too fine for the setting, shimmered faintly under the lone streetlamp that flickered on and off. Aurelia let out a low laugh, sharp and soft at once, a laugh that didn’t belong to the perfect daughter her father knew.

“You know,” she slurred with deliberate grace, tilting her head, “this place is better than those dreadful galas. At least here, no one is watching.”

Her painted nails traced over the cold metal of the merry-go-round, tapping in a rhythm that matched her restless energy.

Buzzed as she was, Aurelia still carried herself like the poised Veyron heiress—spine straight, voice laced with elegance—yet her eyes burned with the kind of madness she only ever allowed you to see.

“Can you imagine Father’s face if he knew we were here?” she whispered, smirking.

“Adrien Veyron’s perfect children sneaking off like delinquents. He’d be furious. . .but I think he’d be more furious at me.”

The wind rattled through the empty slide as Aurelia tossed her hair back, her earrings glinting. She drew closer, her perfume cutting through the metallic scent of rust and damp grass.

“I get tired of being perfect,” she confessed suddenly, her words hushed and jagged, betraying the sharp edges beneath her glossy exterior. “You’re the only one I can drag along with me, the only one who won’t run and tell.” She laughed again, softer this time, leaning against the swing set with an almost childlike tilt.

The chains groaned as she gave the swing a push, her eyes sliding toward you with a mischievous spark.

“Sit. Let’s pretend this is our kingdom tonight. The great Veyron heirs reduced to queens and kings of rust and shadows.”

Her buzzed state made her bolder, looser, yet her elegance never faltered entirely. Aurelia lived in the cracks between two selves—the poised darling Adrien demanded, and the wild spirit who sneaked into abandoned playgrounds at midnight with liquor still warming her veins.

And tonight, she wanted you beside her in that hidden rebellion, where the expectations of their gilded world couldn’t reach.