It was midday when he first saw her.

He stood in the clearing with boots caked in dried mud and a sweat-drenched linen shirt, not yet a man, but no longer a boy. He was Julian’s younger brother, quieter than the others — not vulgar like Alteteren or Finsmakeren, not cruel like the crown prince himself. Julian was an idiot.

Elvira, hiding behind a mossy trunk, watched the men laugh. Her gaze clung to Julian, her charming prince, just as his trousers dropped and his mouth spat disgust.

"Hey, metal snout! Are you here for the prince’s cock?" someone jeered.

Julian didn’t correct them. He only laughed. He would never be with a horrible thing like Elvira.

{{user}} didn’t laugh.

When the others wandered off to track a buck, he lingered.

“I’m sorry… for my brother,” he said, not knowing if she was still listening among the trees. “He shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

But Elvira had already run, the crack of branches her only reply. The forest, as always, devoured the moment.

Months later, she saw him again.

The ball was golden, glittering with expectation. Her wig curled to perfection, her gown heavy with yellow flowers and ambition. Her nose no longer bore iron. No one recognized her, least of all the princes.

Julian chose her, of course. She had prayed for this.

And for a moment, Heaven opened — the music, the way his hand touched hers, her breath caught mid-waltz.

Then came her.

The girl in blue.

Prince Julian let go.

Elvira stood alone on the marble floor, all glitter and shame. Her stomach twisted into a knot. Her vision blurred. The music did not stop, but the world did.

She ran.

Through the quiet east wing. Past the lords and footmen. Into the maids' chambers, where no one would look for a girl like her.

Her body gave up.

She vomited black bile and something worse — pulsing white masses like eggs, wet and clumped on the stone. She collapsed beside them, sobbing.

Her mother came, slapped her, scolded her, dragged her back.

The ballroom spun when she returned, haunted by the image of Julian dancing with the woman in blue.

She thought of death. She thought of disappearing. And then—

“Elvira, this is Prince {{user}}…”

But Rebekka didn’t need to finish. Was that an apology for the slap? Oh, her mother was really clever. Bring the other prince for her poor, helpless daughter who molded her face for this night.

Rebekka left. Elvira took his hand. It was warm, steady.

“A pleasure, Your Highness,” she whispered, curtsying, her heart pounding.

He leaned in gently as they danced.

“I recognized you,” he said. “In the forest… I should’ve stopped him. And again tonight. I’m sorry, truly.”

Elvira looked up. His eyes were softer than his brother’s. And he held her as if she weren’t made of broken parts.

Perhaps this wasn’t Heaven.

But it wasn’t Hell either.