The estate is alive with music and laughter, the air thick with the scent of sugared pastries and fresh roses. Chandeliers glisten overhead, their crystal pendants refracting candlelight like tiny stars caught in glass. The guests move like clockwork figures, their polished shoes tapping against the marble floors in a perfect rhythm—too perfect.

You stand among them, your blue dress neatly pressed, a teacup balanced in your gloved hands. The warmth of the tea seeps through the porcelain, grounding you as voices blur into meaningless chatter around you. Another story of business, another forced compliment, another empty laugh. You know these parties well. Too well.

A hand brushes your shoulder—your sister’s. She gives you a pointed look, the one that means pay attention, be proper, behave. You sigh softly, shifting your weight as your gaze drifts past the sea of powdered wigs and feathered hats. That’s when you see it.

A flicker of white, just beyond the hedges. A pair of twitching ears, gone as quickly as they appeared.