Chapter 104: Mirrors of the Heart
Time passed slowly when you were a child. Long afternoons felt like years. Velvet shadows curled across the marble floors, and summers stretched into amber - glazed eternities. For Evangeline Claire Maxwell Lioré — now Evangeline Claire Ainsley, reborn genius, secret heiress, and precocious darling — it was in those lingering years that affection rooted deep, unnoticed but irreversible.
And always, at the center of that bloom, was Seraphina Yue Langford.
By the time Eva turned six, her attachment to Seraphina had matured into something almost ceremonial. No longer the clingy, impulsive adoration of a toddler, her love had acquired shape and rhythm, like a melody refined through countless rehearsals. It was in the small rituals — some obvious, some subtle — that this affection revealed itself. She chose navy ribbons because Seraphina had worn them once. She made her tutors end lessons early so she could "take tea with Ina." She picked Latin sonnets and translated them laboriously, desperate to seem impressive.
The Langford estate had become Eva's second universe. Its grand halls and quiet study rooms echoed with piano scales, violin etudes, and poetry read aloud to no one in particular — until Seraphina entered, and suddenly everything made sense.
It was late morning when Eva took to the piano.
The living room was sunlit, modern, lined with shelves of books and a pair of Bang & Olufsen speakers playing Vivaldi softly in the background. She climbed onto the velvet stool barefoot, smoothing out the ruffle of her dress before placing her hands on the keys. She didn't warm up — she didn't need to. Her fingers already knew what to do.
The notes poured out, delicate and clean, the chords of a song she'd composed herself. She'd titled it Sonatina per Ina, written in blue ink across a sheet of manuscript paper she had begged Seraphina to help her laminate. It was wistful and light, full of trills and pauses, written to sound like a memory. Seraphina sat across the room, curled up in a chair with her legs tucked under her, listening with her chin resting on her palm.
When the last chord faded, Seraphina clapped quietly.
"You've gotten better again," she said softly.
Eva lit up, flushed with delight. "I practiced just for you."
"You always say that."
"It's always true."
Seraphina rolled her eyes fondly and beckoned her over. "Come here."
Eva leapt off the stool and crossed the room. She climbed into Seraphina's lap uninvited, arms looping around her neck.
"You like the new piece?" she asked.
"I love it," Seraphina whispered, brushing a curl from her forehead. "It sounds like — something you'd dream."
Later that afternoon, the violin came out.
The Langfords had soundproofed one of the upstairs rooms for Seraphina's cello rehearsals, but lately it was Eva who claimed the space more often. The room was sleek and modern, its glass panels shaded by motorized blinds, with a black acoustic panel ceiling and state - of - the - art recording equipment. Eva stood by the window, instrument tucked beneath her chin.
She began to play. No warm-up again. Just a series of yearning, tremulous notes that climbed into the quiet like vines up a wall. She played barefoot — always barefoot — and closed her eyes while bowing, her entire body curling into the music.
Seraphina leaned against the doorframe, listening.
After the final trill faded, Eva lowered her bow and looked up.
"Did you like it?"
"You've started playing with your eyes closed," Seraphina observed.
"Because I see better that way."
Seraphina tilted her head. "See what?"
"You."
*****
Eva's days were filled with melodies and verses. Sometimes, in between subjects during homeschool, she would scribble poems into the margins of her science textbook. Her handwriting — curly and meticulous — was almost as dramatic as the L•••• she insisted on using.
That evening, under the dim glow of the library lamp, she presented Seraphina with a folded piece of parchment. The corners were creased, like she'd been carrying it all day.
"Read it aloud," she whispered.
Seraphina unfolded it and read:
"Rubri oculi, lacrimae sine verbo,
in illis speculis amor meus latet."
"Red eyes, wordless tears,
in those mirrors my love hides."
Seraphina looked up, her expression softening. "This is beautiful, Eva."
"It's about you," Eva said. "Your eyes are like mirrors."
Seraphina laughed gently, pulling her into an embrace. "You're quite the poet."
Eva nestled against her shoulder. "Only for you."
The next afternoon, they sat beneath the old oak tree that loomed on the edge of the Langford garden, its roots tangled in moss and memory. The sun filtered through the branches in flickering gold.
Seraphina's auburn hair caught the light, glowing like molten copper. Eva stared.
"You shine like the sun," she murmured.
Seraphina laughed, brushing a leaf from her knee. "And you? What do you shine like?"
Eva thought for a moment. "Like someone who loves the sun."
She pulled out her leather - bound notebook, flipping past pages filled with sketches, L•••• phrases, and clumsily drawn hearts. Then she began to write:
"Auburna coma, in sole micans,
lux in corde meo renascentur."
"Auburn hair, shining in the sun,
a light in my heart is reborn."
Seraphina reached out and tucked a stray curl behind Eva's ear.
"You're my little light."
Eva leaned into the touch, cheeks warm.
*****
As the autumn air began to chill, Eva's verses turned introspective. She didn't fully understand why, only that when she looked at Seraphina lately, her chest hurt in a way that wasn't painful — but wasn't quite comfortable either.
One evening, she walked into Seraphina's room barefoot, holding a fresh piece of paper. She didn't say anything at first. She simply climbed into Seraphina's lap, straddling her knees like she always did when she wanted undivided attention.
"Ina," she said solemnly. "I wrote a sad one."
"Let's hear it," Seraphina said.
Eva unfolded the paper with dramatic flair and read:
"In oculis tuis morior,
rubor in pallore, dulcis mors amoris."
"In your eyes I die,
redness in pallor, the sweet death of love."
Seraphina blinked. "That's… intense."
Eva looked proud. "It's about how your eyes kill me, but in a nice way."
"You're quite dramatic, my dear."
"I know." She pouted. "But it's true. Your eyes are so captivating."
Seraphina pulled her close. "You're my little romantic."
Eva sighed deeply and wrapped her arms around Seraphina's waist. "And you're my forever Ina."
*****
Their bond deepened as the weeks passed. The outside world blurred — tutors came and went, lessons rotated between history and composition, science and dance — but Eva's focus remained fixed on the girl who sat beside her in the garden, who braided her hair during reading lessons, who always reached for her hand before crossing the long marble hallway.
Sometimes, Eva would climb into Seraphina's lap and demand kisses — on the cheek, on the forehead, on her hands. Other times, she simply whispered, "Do you love me?"
And Seraphina always replied, "Of course I do."
Eva would murmur back, "I love you more," and then promptly burst into tears if Seraphina so much as disagreed.
One rainy morning, while sipping hot chocolate in the sunroom, Eva declared, "I'm going to marry you."
Seraphina laughed. "You can't marry me."
"Why not?"
"You're six."
"I'll wait."
Music became Eva's language. On some days, when the sky outside darkened too early and the air was heavy with coming rain, she'd sit alone in the sound room with her violin, composing minor - key elegies that made even Vivienne pause in the hallway.
On other days, she played for Seraphina alone.
As twilight fell one Sunday evening, Eva stood in the living room and began to play a haunting melody on her violin. The fireplace glowed, casting amber shadows against the white walls. After the last note lingered in the air, she lowered the bow and began to sing softly in L••••:
"Solum Ina caelum movet,
Amor eius lucet sicut sol.
Nulla dea comparari potest,
Ina mea, cor meum, vita mea."
"Only Ina moves the heavens,
Her love shines like the sun.
No goddess can compare,
My Ina, my heart, my life."
Seraphina watched her, spellbound. "Your voice… it's enchanting."
Eva blushed. "It's for you."
Seraphina looked at her, a mix of amusement and affection in her eyes. "You're quite dramatic, my dear."
Eva pouted. "But it's true. Your eyes are so captivating."
Seraphina laughed, pulling her into a hug. "You're my little romantic."
Eva sighed contentedly, wrapping her arms around Seraphina's waist.
Their bond deepened with each passing day. Eva's affection for Seraphina became more pronounced, her actions more deliberate.
She would often climb onto Seraphina's lap, straddling her as she wrapped her arms around her neck.
"Ina," she would whisper, "do you love me?"
"Of course, Eva," Seraphina would reply, kissing her forehead.
Eva would nuzzle into her, murmuring, "I love you more."
Their moments together were filled with warmth and tenderness, a sanctuary from the world outside.
Eva's introspection grew alongside her artistic talents. She began to understand the depth of her feelings, even if she couldn't fully articulate them.
She found solace in her compositions, each note and word a reflection of her inner world.
Seraphina remained her muse, her anchor, the constant in her ever - expanding universe.
Later that night, they curled up on the couch beneath a thick knitted blanket, their bodies warm and drowsy from cocoa and music. The world outside was hushed and rain - touched, the only sound the soft crackling of the fire.
Seraphina tucked Eva closer, brushing a curl from her brow.
"Thank you for today," she whispered.
Eva yawned and nestled in. "Always, Ina."