"Like an angel!"
"There! Well said, Miss Mary!"
"Like a fairy!"
"Exactly!"
Artemisia and the girl seemed to conspire, speaking in delighted unison as they showered her with praise. Evangeline watched the noisy scene with rare gentleness, as if listening to birdsong drifting from somewhere in the garden.
Her face remained the same—haughty and distant—but Gabriel thought he glimpsed a flicker of warmth beneath the cold. Perhaps he simply wanted to see it.
The way she tried on the dress and patiently listened to a child's chatter, almost like any ordinary aristocrat, was strangely reminiscent of the *real* Evangeline Rohanson. The real one—not the creature constructed from rumors and fears.
Lady Rohanson seemed to be gradually growing accustomed to her human form. Or, more accurately, she was becoming more and more "Evangeline Rohanson." Or perhaps Gabriel was falling deeper under her influence, and that was why he perceived everything this way.
Noticing that he had drifted into thought, Artemisia intervened impatiently, demanding a final verdict.
"Come now, sir. Do you understand what you're supposed to say?"
What *did* he feel? All the comparisons the two of them had thrown around boiled down to images of everything beautiful in the world. Fairy. Angel. Gabriel longed to find words that wouldn't repeat them. And then a familiar phrase surfaced in his memory, latching onto the word "angel" that Mary had offered.
*"Angel of Light."*
Those words, scrawled on a white note retrieved from the ashes of Donau, still stood before his eyes clearer than many others. He couldn't have described Evangeline Rohanson better. "Angel" had already been said. Only one thing remained to be added.
"Lady Rohanson is like the brightest star."
*Light.* In the most literal sense. He said "the brightest star," but that wasn't enough—he wanted to add something else.
Evangeline Rohanson was a star, shining with a strange, otherworldly radiance. Was there anything more dazzling among those who emerged from the sun?
"We're leaving now. Have a nice time."
Artemisia, smirking at something of her own, led the others away and departed the room. The door opened briefly, then closed again, severing the outside world. Only Gabriel and Evangeline remained in silence.
"Would you honor me with a dance?"
This time, Gabriel extended his hand. He didn't know why Evangeline needed this dance at all, but for him, it was a blessing. He could continue holding her hand.
The warmth of his body was palpable, almost overwhelming, and a naive thought flickered through the back of his mind: if he held her hand long enough, perhaps the cold that had settled within her would at least recede a little.
"One dance is hardly sufficient."
She had asked him to be her partner because she feared making a mistake, having never danced before. But Evangeline couldn't help but memorize the movements. She was excellent at remembering everything that interested her—or that she deemed necessary.
Although how difficult it was to fall within the circle of what she considered interesting or necessary. One need only recall Michel, who had been sobbing into his pillow because Lady Rohanson didn't recognize him.
"I will accompany you for as long as necessary."
So if Evangeline asked him to dance, it was only to sink deeper into the role of "Evangeline Rohanson."
Why had the Light chosen this particular form? It was hard to imagine the patience required of a being that looked down upon humans—the need to pretend to be one of them, to accept their gestures, their rhythm, their breathing.
Gabriel placed his hand at her waist and assumed his starting position. He strangely enjoyed the sensation of her leaning against him, trusting him with her weight, even if only for a moment.
There was no music. But if it had played now, it would undoubtedly have been a funeral march—a requiem for Gabriel himself.
While Evangeline was trying on the dress, the sun had already set, and darkness began to stir behind the thick curtains. Daisy, noticing the approaching dusk, drew them closed.
With the curtains sealed, the room grew even darker. Evangeline alone shone in the deepening gloom. She seemed to draw in all the light around her, deepening the shadows while intensifying her own radiance.
Gabriel felt like a dark ring orbiting this star. Deprived of his own light, he couldn't tear his gaze away—and only circled around her, doomed to remain nearby, unable to truly approach or leave.
"It seems... the moment I see you, everything becomes exactly like this."
And he was not the only one.
Those who, trembling with fear and terror, had once crossed the threshold of the garden Evangeline had cultivated no longer thought of escape. The maids she had singled out. The children she had saved. Michelle. Even Artemisia. All of them, having turned away from the former sun that had once illuminated their paths, now looked in the same direction and saw the same light.
"My beliefs. My philosophy. My ideals."
Everything that had been built since birth, everything that had seemed unshakable, suddenly lost its weight and crumbled—as if it had been made of sand.
"You burst into my world and destroyed it, and now you're rebuilding it exactly as you please. From the very foundation."
Such was her influence. It felt as though all the road signs, all the markers by which he had lived, had been rearranged by someone else's hand—and the old routes no longer mattered.
If not for her, Gabriel would never have paid attention to a being beyond reason and faith. If not for her, Daisy wouldn't have returned to the Rohanson mansion. If not for her, Artemisia wouldn't have abandoned the principles she'd upheld for years and started sewing dresses for maids that didn't suit her tastes and expectations.
She did not persuade or command.
She simply *was*.
And this was enough for the world to begin changing.
"That sounds like a confession."
Evangeline spoke with an expression of extreme awkwardness on her face.
It wasn't a confession in the way one usually expects. There was no warmth in it, none of that soft, reassuring feeling that wafts like a spring breeze. Even Gabriel himself couldn't quite name what it was.
Was it fear? Terror? Or something even more vague? Being around Evangeline made one feel uneasy, as if gazing upon something utterly alien to human nature. His heart pounded as though he were facing a danger he could neither understand nor explain.
When Evangeline dropped her mask of ordinary aristocrat and allowed her haughty, jaded nature to shine through, it was frightening. And yet—it was impossible to look away.
There was something hypnotic about it, like a forbidden sight you should turn from but can't bring yourself to close your eyes against. If you were to name this feeling, the closest word would be "curiosity." Like peering through the narrow crack of a half-open door, when your mind knows you shouldn't—but your body refuses to obey.
Perhaps that was why Gabriel had deceived the temple, choosing her time and again. Not because he believed her, and not because he loved her in the usual sense. But because he couldn't stop looking.
"Do you love me?"
So instead of correcting her, Gabriel simply observed her reaction. He had decided that the word "sympathy" would be gentler and safer for her than an outright admission of curiosity. That it would be more appropriate.
But it seemed he was wrong.
He had touched a taboo.
The mask, barely graced by the hint of a smile, froze like ice and instantly vanished without a trace. All expression drained from her face, leaving a void. It was as if he had been transported back to the very first moment of their meeting.
That moment when nothing had happened between them. The barely nascent feeling crumbled and evaporated, leaving behind only a cold, sharp shard.
Evangeline Rohanson was a star in the sky. As long as she remained there, the world could exist without regard for consequences. But were she to fall and touch the ground, her light would become unbearable. The world would collapse, unable to withstand it.
And only now did Gabriel realize something else. A shooting star also distorts. It loses its shape, breaks, deforms—ceasing to be what it was.
It was a vision born of a base, almost unconscious desire to pull her down.
*Make her closer.*
*Make her clearer.*
*Make her human.*
"Without even knowing who I am?"
Evangeline looked at him, and it was as if blood itself were shimmering in her eyes—thick and alive, not reflecting light but drawing it in.
And at that moment, something happened.
The candle flames flickered. His vision felt trapped in a dark curtain, as if both eyes had vanished for a moment, falling into emptiness—and then light flared again, harsh and merciless.
The world flickered, as if someone had torn out his eyes: for a moment it was completely dark, then suddenly light returned, and space swung open, as if the room had been pulled apart from the inside. A candle-like tear of wax dripped from the ceiling.
The world, flooded with light, turned out to be completely different.
The walls and furniture were covered in fibrous, pulsating flesh. Its surface breathed, proving that everything here was alive. Eyes hung from the ceiling—too many of them—growing from cracks and bulging from corners. Each blinked in its own rhythm, as if the room were trying to see in all directions at once.
As they whirled in the dance, something beneath their feet softly cracked, spreading into a wet mass. Gabriel felt nausea rise. He bit his lip to keep from giving himself away.
In this world, drenched in red mud, only Evangeline Rohanson remained flawless and snow-white.
There was nowhere to look but at her. But her irises were crimson, and Gabriel couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze. It seemed to him that her eyes were the heart of this place. A heart that whispered directly into his ear.
*You, Sir Gabriel, need only stay by my side.*
The voice, free from reproach, sounded subtle and sweet. Its soft echo resembled the seductive whisper of a silver-tongued demon—or a calm call, as if someone were confidently guiding Gabriel along the only true path.
It was his punishment for overstepping his bounds. Evangeline, as if sensing his unusual tension, gave a barely perceptible shrug.
The past was repeating itself. Everything was almost the same as before, in the Rohanson mansion during the card game, when Gabriel had allowed himself to go too far and received a silent warning.
Was she as merciless now as she had been then? Afraid to meet her gaze, he took a detour and looked at the mirror.
There was no trace of filth in the reflected world. The sight of the clean, ordinary room brought him relief. Perhaps *that* was the truth. Clinging to this thought, Gabriel continued staring into the mirror. And the moment he saw himself reflected there, dancing, his jaw clenched. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth.
**_There was no Evangeline Rohanson in the mirror._**
If the reflection was telling the truth, then she, too, did not exist in this world.
His vision flickered again. The room, having regained its usual colors—as if having shown everything it deemed necessary—was drowned in an oppressive, crushing silence.
"Perhaps that's enough for today?"
A look of deep regret crossed her face, as if she were watching an ant slowly drowning in thick syrup with no chance of escape.
As if on a silent signal, the breath he had been holding finally escaped. Gabriel inhaled. Evangeline exuded the sweet scent of a fading flower—subtle and unsettling. The moment she pulled away slightly, the scent vanished, as if it had never been there.
Having stepped back to the required distance, Evangeline lifted the hem of her dress with deliberate, almost theatrical grace, and bowed slightly. When she straightened, her face had become serene—calm to the point of coldness.
"You know, I quite like you."
Evangeline smiled softly, her eyes narrowing slightly. It was the very smile that Jim Nopedi, had he lived, would have sold his soul without hesitation to capture.
Evangeline seemed to be checking that her mask was properly in place. She glanced at the mirror. Gabriel instinctively glanced there too.
Evangeline Rohanson stood in the reflection—impassive, without a shadow of doubt or hesitation.
---
Citing fatigue after dancing, Evangeline gently hinted that it was time for Gabriel to leave. There was no longer any reason to linger at the Rohanson mansion, and they said their farewells, leaving behind a heavy feeling. This time, Evangeline didn't even offer him a hand in parting.
For some reason, it felt like walking through a swamp. Every step felt impossibly heavy. He walked, turning back again and again toward the Rohanson mansion. But all the windows were tightly curtained, preventing him from seeing anything within.
"Are you leaving already?"
He had lingered too long and encountered Kanna in the garden. She was holding the cat he had seen at the shelter.
The same cat that had recently fawned over him, full of playfulness, now didn't even glance in his direction. But cats are notoriously fickle, and Gabriel quickly dismissed the thought.
"Miss Kanna, it's been some time."
He straightened, bowed properly, and smiled just enough.