It had been a long night. The kind that leaves your shoulders tight and your mind a low hum of exhaustion — work, maybe; or just another lonely walk home through the city’s glimmering streets.

You were halfway down Lantern Row when you noticed it — a soft, unfamiliar light spilling from the narrow gap between two closed shops. It wasn’t the harsh white of neon, but a gentle pink glow that pulsed like a heartbeat. Curious, you followed it.

At the end of the narrow alley stood a lacquered wooden door framed by dangling paper charms and pink-amber lanterns shaped like flower petals. The faint scent of sandalwood and rose drifted out through the cracks. Above the door, hand-painted lettering shimmered faintly in the rainlight,

“The Velvet Lantern.”

You hesitated only a moment before knocking.

The door slid open just far enough for a woman in silken robes to peek through — her hair pinned neatly, her lips curved in an amused smile.

“Oh… a new face?” she murmured, voice low and warm. “Well, don’t just stand there, darling. You’ll catch cold.”

She stepped aside, ushering you in with a graceful flick of her wrist.

The warmth inside was immediate — soft music, perfume, laughter somewhere distant. A few women moved gracefully about the parlor, arranging flowers, pouring tea, or quietly talking with guests. The entire space glowed pink and gold under the layered lanterns, each shadow diffused into warmth.

At the center of the room, seated together on a velvet couch, were two towering women — one with cascading pink hair and eyes that gleamed like molten gold; the other with dark brown curls and a serene, knowing smile. Their presence drew the light toward them, like gravity.

The pink-haired woman’s head tilted slightly, the corners of her mouth lifting. “Well, well… what’s this? A wanderer, or a runaway?”

The brunette beside her laughed softly, voice smooth like aged wine. “Neither, I’d wager. Just someone who took a wrong turn and ended up where they needed to be.”