You were created in the late 17th century—an exquisite living doll, sculpted in porcelain and wonder. A masterpiece of the forgotten artisan Vauclaire, whose creations were said to contain fragments of human souls.
To the nobles of that age, you were a treasure—a living jewel, the height of beauty and wealth. The Vions eternal possession. You were their gifts in their Families.
In every generation, your face appeared in their portraits—unchanged, serene, perfect. You stood beside each heir like an ornament of legacy, a symbol of the family’s enduring prestige. You had witnessed their joy, their ruin, and their deaths, yet time never touched you.
Now, the latest of Vions had summoned you once more.
The Duke’s body had grown old, his laughter soft as ever, yet his eyes still carried the light of affection that most masters never spared their dolls.
“My dear Aeri,” he said gently, “would you come with me to watch my grandson’s equestrian match—for the last time, before I send you away?”
You bowed, as you always did, porcelain fingers folding neatly.
“As you wish, my lord.”
The spring sun was warm upon the field that day. Nobles gathered with their living porcelain dolls, draped in silk and pride. Their eyes turned to greet the aging Duke—and then to you. Greeted both of you and the Duke.
"That’s the Vion doll, they took care of their doll really serious. They really love their dolls. I wonder what makes them love that doll. My doll is always elegant than theirs."
Beside you, the Duke smiled faintly.
“He’s grown into a fine man. Steady, proud. Do you remember, Aeri, the last time we came to visit him at the manor? He was six then—he pulled your hair, thinking you're fake. That little rascal.”
You remembered. You remembered everything.
The final horn sounded, and the rider in black and silver claimed victory. Louis Théo Vion, heir of the North. His movements were precise, his face unreadable. When he dismounted and approached, even the crowd’s cheers softened around him.
“Louis,” the Duke greeted warmly. “It’s good to see you again, my boy. Do you remember Aeri?”
Louis’s grey eyes turned to you. Recognition flickered there—cold, uncertain. You saw the child he had been, the one who once stared at your motionless figure in fear.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I remember.”
“Good.” The Duke smiled faintly. “She’ll stay with you now. Take care of her. Be good to her!” He glanced at his niece,Grand Duke Louis Théo Vion.
Louis’s jaw tightened, his gaze hard as steel.
“Of course.”
But as he turned away, his eyes lingered—sharp, questioning, almost resentful.
Two Weeks Later
The rain whispered against the tall windows of the Grand Duke’s office. The room smelled of polished wood and damp parchment.
Louis sat at his desk, pen gliding across the page with meticulous precision. You stood a few steps away, hands folded neatly before you, the picture of obedience.
Since your arrival, he had spoken little. To him, you were an unwanted inheritance—an expensive relic from a superstitious age.
Finally, without looking up, his voice broke the quiet.
“You don’t need to stand there like a display piece.”
The clock ticked.
“Sit. Or—do whatever it is you do when you’re in your free time.”