The velvety voice preceded her.
Her real footsteps followed soon after—crisp and graceful—crossing the small expanse of floor until she stood beneath the archway. With a serene nod to the woman in the paintings—who smiled and bowed her head once more—before gently closing the door behind her.
Then she stepped forward.
With poise like poetry, she lowered herself beside Lucien.
And for the first time, he truly saw her.
His breath caught in his throat.
Wow...
It was all he could manage.
Her hair—Bordeaux red, swept into a neat bun—shimmered with a luster so radiant it seemed as if red diamonds had been ground into polish. A few rebellious strands flowed freely, dancing in the air like silk caught in a lazy breeze.
Her eyes were emerald green, glowing with maternal warmth—so vivid, so impossibly kind, he felt his chest tighten. Her nose had the clean lines of classical sculpture. Her lips, small and softly puffed, shimmered in a natural red hue that reminded him of—not blood, but a rose blooming under moonlight.
And somehow, impossibly… all of it came together perfectly.
Not human beauty. Not even divine.
Ethereal.
Lucien stared—wide-eyed, speechless. His pupils dilated, caught between disbelief and reverence.
Then—
A firm but familiar hand clapped him on the back.
Only just now realizing how pretty your mom is, huh? came a teasing voice from behind.
Lucien jolted and turned.
Another woman stood there—leaner, older, but unmistakably related. Her features echoed the beauty beside him, though worn differently. Like a portrait painted in charcoal beside one done in gold leaf.
High cheekbones cast elegant shadows across her cheeks. Her brown eyes were sunken, rimmed with weary dark circles that spoke of long nights and longer burdens—but still, they held a light, a flicker of youthful mischief. Her lips glistened faintly with cheap, sticky lip gloss, and her smile tilted with playful grace.
She wore a white, frilly dress—not new, but clean. Practical. A self-sewn purse hung diagonally across her thin shoulder, its threads a little frayed but clearly loved.
She leaned in and nudged Lucien's shoulder with the casual intimacy of an older sister or a childhood friend who knew him too well.
Don't stare too hard. You'll go blind,she said with a wink.
Lucien could only blink.
Two women. Two worlds of beauty. One carved of dreams, the other of quiet endurance.
And for the first time since waking into this strange, strange world…
He felt like he was home.
Lucien, my boy," Seraphine said with affection, pulling his head gently to her bosom while caressing his hair. "Don't worry. Everything will be fine, I promise.
The other woman scrunched her face playfully, then leaned in to hug him from behind. Her whisper was a feather in his ear.
Don't worry. You'll remember.
Lucien closed his eyes solemnly, savoring the warmth of her chest and the comfort it gave him—the moment, the strange peace. He inhaled and smelled an essence like cinnamon and redwood mixed with a touch of lavender. He grinned a little.
She really likes her lavender, huh?
The hug broke. Lucien, a little disappointed, blinked as Seraphine stood.
Ma wh—
Stop," she interrupted gently. "I'm your mom. So call me that.
Lucien lowered his head, took a deep breath, then finally said the word that felt foreign :
Mom... what happened?
A big smile blossomed on Seraphine's face—a smile so radiant it flooded his heart with warmth. His breath caught again.
He knew, then and there, that he'd do anything to preserve that smile.
Come on. Hurry," she said. "We can talk over some quality food.
She opened the door with practiced grace. The other woman smirked, leaned in, and whispered:
Let's be quick. You don't want to keep your mother waiting, do you?
Lucien stood and took a step, but paused.
Oh—Ma, please let me change,he said, gesturing to the bundle of special clothes.
She rolled her eyes and smirked.
I once bathed you with my own hands, she said, making a playful gesture. "Trust me, I know every contour and spot of your body very thoroughly. And now you're sending me out of your room?"
She feigned heartbreak, lowering her head dramatically.
Ah, kids… they grow up so fast.
Lucien blushed beet-red. He tried to speak but only managed jumbled nonsense.
The woman clapped her hands as if struck by inspiration.
How about I dress you?
She narrowed her eyes, mischief practically crackling.
You know… for nostalgic purposes.
Lucien couldn't take it anymore. Embarrassed beyond reason, he gently shoved her out of the room and shut the door.
From the other side, her velvety voice sang:
Please don't make us wait too long, dear. Your mother and I are hungry.
Her footsteps creaked along the floorboards, fading gradually.
Lucien, chest still heaving, leaned against the door… then smiled small and genuine.
What a lively woman…
He let the thought trail off, then pulled off his current clothes and began changing into the ones his mother had chosen for him:
A black high-collared jacket, silver trim glinting along the shoulders. Matching slacks, perfectly pressed. A pale blue silk cravat, still vibrant, like a sliver of sky.
Too bad he didn't have a mirror to check his appearance.
Amirror… the word hung oddly in his mind.
He paused, briefly pondering it—one of those strange, trivial thoughts that came to him now and then. It happened often: a word would slip from his mouth, familiar yet foreign.
He didn't know what a mirror looked like. But somewhere deep within, he knew what it was for.
To see oneself. To reflect. To confirm that you exist.
That was enough.
He pushed the thought aside.
The lantern above cast its soft ember light, and the colors of his garments came alive under its glow.
Lucien passed the kitchen. The door was slightly ajar. He peeked in. Empty.
He closed it gently.
And walked forward into whatever came next.
Lucien walked straight ahead, the floorboards creaking beneath his feet and echoing in the empty hallway.
He reached the raven-hued door of the sitting room and opened it. He saw his mom and the other woman sitting at a round table, bathed in a golden halo from the sun's rays—light that did not shatter into a million hues like the stained glass did.
Then a heavy bell tolled from the distance.
Lucien stopped.
And wondered:
What is that sound?