Chapter 79: Ten Kisses and a Ribbon Ring
From Seraphina's Perspective
The late afternoon sun poured gold over Langford's eastern wing, dappling her pale walls and the silk throw at the foot of her bed with delicate warmth. The windows were cracked open just enough to let the breeze flirt with the curtains, stirring faint scents of lavender and warm soil.
Seraphina was curled up in the chaise, legs tucked beneath her, book open but long forgotten. She had been waiting for Eva—not that she'd say so out loud. The girl had sent her a cryptic message earlier: "Coming over. Don't peek at my hands."
When the knock came—three soft taps followed by a pause—her heart fluttered. She had told herself she wouldn't get too excited. But her pulse betrayed her.
She opened the door, and there stood Eva Ainsley, dressed in sky-blue with a velvet-wrapped box clutched tightly in both hands. Her hair was pinned up with one of Vivienne's sapphire barrettes, slightly askew, and her cheeks carried the flush of both anticipation and nerves.
"I brought you something," Eva said in a voice both shy and serious.
"You didn't have to, my starlight," Seraphina replied, crouching to her level.
"But I wanted to," Eva whispered. She stepped inside and tiptoed to the bed, placing the box like a sacred relic atop the ivory duvet. Her hands hovered for a moment before clasping behind her back.
"Please open it now. It's early but… I wanted you to have it before your birthday."
Seraphina sat beside the box, heart fluttering. Slowly, deliberately, she untied the ribbon. The satin gave way, the lid lifted, and she froze.
The silk-lined interior gleamed with impossible beauty.
A ring: twisted gold like a ribbon wound with eternity, its band etched with microscopic stars, the centerpiece a Changbai peridot hugged between a sun and moon so intricately wrought, their rays seemed to shimmer in conversation. Diamonds—and one hidden pink diamond—nestled in the twist, like a secret only lovers would understand.
Earrings: mismatched, deliberately so. One was a radiant sun—gold blazing with ruby and peridot light. The other, a moon—silver cradling black diamond shadows. Eva had chosen peridots as the heart of both, glowing softly like twin embers made of light and longing.
A necklace: a suspended circle like the night sky itself, scattered with silver stars and a soft emerald halo. In the center, a gleaming peridot, and behind it, a hidden clasp to receive the ring, as if the cosmos could close in on itself.
And the bracelet—oh, the bracelet—sun and moon spiraled together at its center, fingers nearly touching. In between, a black diamond—small, ancient, waiting to grow. Star-shaped gold links shimmered in the chain, each alternating with diamonds.
"Eva," Seraphina whispered, stunned. "Where… where did you get these?"
Eva, suddenly sheepish, stepped forward, her cheeks burning. "Uhm… do you like them?"
"They're…" Seraphina faltered, still trying to breathe.
"I'm sorry," Eva rushed. "It's my first time drawing something like that. I wanted you to have something only you could wear—something pretty. But if it's not beautiful, I'm sorry—"
Her voice cracked. She rubbed her hands together, eyes starting to brim.
"I should've asked Mère—aunt Vivi—to help more," she sniffled. "She helped a lot! She helped make it real! But… maybe if I wasn't so stubborn… I didn't mean to make something ugly…"
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
"Eva—"
But she didn't hear. She hiccupped once, twice, and then the panic bloomed.
"I just—wanted—to make—you—smile," she sobbed, little gasps between the words.
Seraphina acted before her mind could catch up. She swept Eva into her arms and sat down, settling the trembling girl into her lap like she belonged there—which, of course, she did.
Eva clung to her like a drowning sailor to shore.
"Ina," she whispered, voice shaking.
"I'm here," Seraphina murmured, kissing her temple. Then her cheek. Her jawline. Her nose.
Then softly—so softly—her lips.
Once. Twice. Thrice. A fourth kiss near the corner of her mouth.
"I'm sorry for replying late," Seraphina said, brushing the tears from her lashes. "I didn't know what to say at first. I've never seen anything more beautiful. Not just because of how it looks, Eva, but because you made it. For me. It's the most precious thing anyone's ever given me."
Eva let out a stifled hiccup.
"Please, my moonbeam," Seraphina whispered, "don't cry. Or else…"
She leaned close again. "I'll never kiss your lips again."
Eva sat up straight, eyes wide. "No!"
Her lip wobbled. "Kiss me more. You're ten now… So… ten kisses. On the lips. Right now. Or I'll cry again."
Seraphina laughed despite herself, brushing her thumb across Eva's cheek. "Ten butterfly kisses it is."
She pressed ten soft kisses to Eva's lips, featherlight and sweet. Eva giggled by the sixth one. By the tenth, she was glowing.
"Good," Eva said breathlessly, "you… love… them."
Seraphina nodded. "Especially the poem."
She reached into the box and gently unfolded the creamy parchment tucked beneath the velvet lining. The poem, written in ink that glittered faintly gold, was in flowing Ancient Greek script. Beneath it, in careful English, the translation:
"When the stars are lonely, they whisper your name,
And when the moon forgets to rise, I kiss the sky for you.
You are both. You are all.
I kiss you with poetry and tears,
And I vow—you shall never be alone."
This is the original poem written in parchment:
Ὁ Ὅρκος τῶν ἄστρων (The Oath of the Stars)
Ἥλιος καὶ Σελήνη, πρόσωπα πλησίον,
φῶς καὶ σκιὰ, ὅμως ἕν·
ἐν μέσῳ πέπλος σμαραγδίνου θησαυροῦ,
ἀστέρες ὑφαίνουν τὴν ὑπόσχεσιν.
Σὺ εἶς μου κόσμος, φωνὴ καὶ ἡσυχία,
γέλως ἐκείνη ἥτις τοὺς φόβους καταλύει.
Σὲ φιλῶ μὲ ποίησιν καὶ δάκρυον,
καὶ ὁμνύω—σὲ οὐκ ἐάσω μόνην.
"Sun and Moon, faces near,
Light and shadow, yet one.
Between them a veil of emerald treasure,
Stars weaving the promise.
You are my world, my voice and my quiet,
The laughter that dissolves fear.
I kiss you with poetry and tears,
And I vow—you shall never be alone."
Seraphina's breath caught. Her chest ached in the most delicate way.
"I'll keep this forever," she said softly. "Thank you for translating it."
Eva yawned, rubbing her eyes. "Ina," she mumbled, "I'm sleeping here tonight."
"Did you bring anything?"
Eva blinked. "Oops. I forgot my sleepwear."
Seraphina giggled. "You always forget on purpose. You love stealing my clothes."
"They fit me just right," Eva mumbled, wrapping her arms tightly around Seraphina's waist. "And I love your smell."
She nestled her head beneath Seraphina's chin, mumbling sleepily: "You're mine."
*****
That evening, back in the Ainsley manor, Vivienne curled into Evelyn's side on the lounge, the fireplace casting a soft glow over their wine glasses. The night was still, but the warmth between them crackled like a second hearth.
"She gave it early," Vivienne murmured, scrolling through a photo Seraphina had just sent: Eva fast asleep in her lap, one of the earrings already in her ear.
Evelyn peered over and chuckled. "So like you."
"Me?" Vivienne arched a brow.
Evelyn smirked. "Remember the ribbon ring I made you?"
"Oh, gods. You were eight, I was thirteen. I cried."
"You wore it until we graduated."
"I kept it in a little box wrapped in violet cloth."
"I kissed you after giving it to you," Evelyn said, laughing into her glass. "I begged. I pestered you, Viv. 'One kiss, please. Just one! Pleeeeease on the lips, just once—'"
Vivienne groaned. "You were relentless. You'd trap me against the library shelves and say, 'I won't let you go until you kiss me.'"
"And it always worked," Evelyn said smugly.
"You were such a spoiled little tyrant," Vivienne muttered, though her smile betrayed her fondness. "Always crawling into my bed with excuses. Cold feet. Bad dreams. Missing your Vivi."
Evelyn laughed softly. "You never minded."
"No," Vivienne whispered, eyes shining. "I never did."
They clinked their glasses gently and sipped in silence for a beat.
"Our daughter inherited the wooing gene," Evelyn murmured.
"She eclipsed us," Vivienne said, shaking her head in awe. "Sun, moon, stars, black diamonds. Ancient poetry. Personalized design. And I saw the jeweler's report—it's valued higher than most exhibition sets."
"She made a constellation," Evelyn murmured. "We made mud pies at her age. She made the universe."
They laughed again—soft and giddy—and then the quiet between them grew deeper. Lips found familiar places. Hands sought out warm ones. Their kisses slowed. Deepened.
The fireplace crackled. Clothes slipped away. The room filled with soft sighs and shifting fabric. The dance of bodies well-loved and well-known.
And between them, as they moved in time with each other, was a quiet pride—because their daughter, born from love, had learned to love with the same fire and grace.
She had given her heart to her Ina.
And the stars themselves had bowed.