Blood Trials

"What a time to be alive," Dominique cheered, slamming the bedroom door open. Ridley groaned then burrowed deeper under the covers. "Come, come, dearest," the eldritch sang, "there is shopping to be shopped, makeup to be made up, and a gorgeous dress out there, somewhere, with your name on it!" The plump woman giggled like a giddy little girl before throwing herself next to Ridley. "I've taken the liberty of reaching out to the scintillating of this pitiful hellscape's establishments, which wasn't much," she vexed under her breath, "and mapped a succinct itinerary, for your organisation-loving convenience."

"I really only have myself to blame for this," Ridley groaned into her pillow.

It is always sadistic to watch the lady of the house make a mockery of you. The fun sort of sadistic, at that, Onuris smirked.

I, myself, have come to enjoy Lady Dominique's sanctimonious behaviour. All the while I have noticed that she truly means well, Ms Axel.

"You four are supposed to help me be the Source not a live-action doll for your entertainment. No offense, Dominique."

"Quite the contrary, dearest," Dominique replied more collectedly. "These womanly moments with you are few and scarce. I take great care in my services as your stylist; the same care, I imagine, a lovely little sprite takes in her playing things." Ridley sighed then rolled onto her back. "Dearest, I know I come across too..." she hummed as she turned to her niece "... joie de vivre for your sensibilities. It is simply, I never had a daughter. It is perhaps the single regret in my life. And, well... I've come to see you as my own."

Ridley took Dominique's hand in her own, running her thumb over the smooth, cool knuckles. Dominique rolled into Ridley's shoulder in reply. "If it's any consolation," the Source whispered, "I wish you were my mother."

"Oh, dearest, my mascara," the eldritch cried and fanned her face. Ridley wrapped an arm around Dominique, pulling her close. "I wish Clarisse and Adrienne could have met you. They were light of your brother's life, and honestly, they brought a warmth to our family that I think you have been greatly deprived of here."

Ridley sighed then threw her head back. "I suddenly realise what it's like for people to talk to me," she commented. Dominique gave a hearty chuckle at that. "Okay. I'm going to mentally prepare myself for this girly stuff, then I'll meet you and Esmeralda downstairs."

"The redblood? What does she have to do with anything?"

"Elle est ma mama," Ridley answered. "We never did anything like this together and, after all this, I might not see her again. I know this's something she's always wanted to do and-"

"She is nothing to you."

Ridley sat straight and narrowed her eyes on her aunt, whose full lips parted at the cold mug. The Source quiet made the eldritch recoil away from the bed. "Dominique, she's more my mother than Renee ever was."

"Don't you dare say that!" Ridley folded her arms. "My battle angel, I know you and my sister met under hostile circumstances, to say the very least, but surely, somewhere in that ever-beating pure-blooded heart of yours you hold her higher than the blood mongrel who replaced you with a babe-heir?"

"Did I stutter?"

"My sister was your family."

"Why can't Esmeralda be too?"

"She's a mongrel in the eyes of goldbloods, dearest. Mine, especially."

"There was a time I would have been labelled a mongrel, you realise? I was born a blackblood non-ampyra. Whatever I am now, doesn't change that at my core, I'm just as mixed as Esmeralda. More than that, no matter how long I kept her at bay, Esmeralda loved Ryan and I equally."

"Yes, and now she has a son. And sons triumph daughters." Without waiting for Ridley to rebuttal, Dominique took to the door. "I'll see you momentarily, dearest. Hurry now."

Dominique shut the door behind but not without hearing the deflated sigh of her niece. The goldblood shook out her shoulders then modelled through the passage of the former fort her people once tried to take down. The dark wooden features of centuries past were well-maintained albeit snuffed by the modern lighting that overwhelmed the candle chandeliers and sconces. That didn't change her mind on the matter.

On the grand staircase, where her stiletto pumps echoed on the carperting, Dominique was plotting. She laced her fingers while meandering the first floor. She shrieked when she saw Morgan trotting up to Dane from outside the manor. The wolf stood on his hind legs, nestling into the Danish student. Behind the wolfen adolescent, Esmeralda came pushing the stroller with a fussy Rowan. Dangling from her arm was her handbag, as well as the cloth grocery bag.

Esmerald set the stroller - and Rowan, by extension - aside and dug into her shopping. "Thank you for watching him," Esmeralda began to the hunter. "With Ridley running around with the Badrs, it's hard to find someone who knows how to take care of a... mixedblood." Dane shrugged. "Looks like he's taken a shine to you."

Dane scoffed. "When we first met, he attacked me," he pointed out. He combed through Morgan's gruff while the wolfen continued licking his wrist. "Sayeed had to sedate him with a horse tranq." Morgan settled then sniffed around Dane. "I'm just glad to help Ridley in some way."

"I don't think either of you realise just how much you help each other. It's small things between you two, I noticed," Esmeralda chuckled. "But anyway, I bought some mince from the pet shop for him. Ankh says their diet changes with their morphing. That explains why she raided Clarke's chocolate stash he thinks nobody knows about."

"When Ankh does it, it's cool. When Ryan and I did it--"

"You were eight and it was passed your bedtime," Esmeralda cut in. Morgan's sniffing trailed over to Dominique and the goldblood cringed and curdled away from him. Esmeralda's eyes followed Morgan right to her. "Lady du Luq, you're up late. Usually, you and Tomás are early birds."

Dominique stepped passed Morgan who scampered back to Dane. "Yes, well, my lovely niece and I are having a girls' day out," she stated, more focused on Morgan playing near her. The gasp she heard from Esmeralda redirected her attention. She smirked to herself then straightened to face the redblood. "There is much to tend to before this matric farewell promenade and so little time, so we've taken a day in the investigation. My dearest is just splitting at the seams for it all. No surprise when she spent her life in this heartless hellscape, where you pressed her into an unfeeling mold and emphasized violence and death over bonding and family."

"That's not true," Dane argued. "Esmeralda's not like that at all."

The Mesopotamian-French woman raised her hands in mock surrender. "Her words, not mine," she countered. "Why else would she not want to call this place home?" She looked back to Esmeralda. "Hm?" Morgan looked up to Dane, blinking quizzically at him. Dane took him to the kitchen. "Face it, little girl, you have chased her away, to the point of no return. That replacement infant was merely the nail in your coffin. If my niece were to invite you along, it would be to give you some consolation prize on your lousy parenting. Perhaps you'll do better with the new babe."

The blue-eyed aunt saw her victory in Esmeralda shrivelling on the spot. Esmeralda turned to Rowan's fussing, picking him up. The baby squirmed in her hold before breaking out in cries. Esmeralda sighed then unearthed his bottle from his stroller. Swiftly the baby was pacified. Dominique hummed her delight then twirled before looking to Dane set the metallic bowl of mince on the floor for Morgan.

She gave another twirl and spun to face the stairs where Ridley was descending. "What's going on?"

The Source felt the woe Esmeralda felt and the fading gleam from Dominique, replaced with budding excitement. Dane gave Morgan a final pet then returned to find Ridley on approach. He took in the plain black denim dungaree she wore over a dark purple blouse. Dane then looked back to Esmeralda swaddling Rowan and Dominique leaning her weight on one leg. "Er, Morgan's going to stay with me for a while," he stated. "Markus knows some things about therianthropes and he's cool with them."

"Is there something Sinclair doesn't know?"

"He is well into his two thousands, Ridley."

The Source tuned in to the quiet between her stepmother with her half-brother and her aunt. "What did Dominique do?"

"Nothing, dearest. Why must you always expect the worst in me?"

"Because we're too much alike," Ridley answered. "Always plotting a move." Dominique clicked her tongue. "Fine," the huntress caved with an eye roll then turned to Dane. "We're going dress shopping," she stated. Esmeralda's lips parted at that. "Any preferences?"

"Wha-what?"

"What do you want me to wear?"

"Um, a dress? Is this a trick question?"

"You're the one's going to have to look at me all night, Sorensen. Personally, there's more logic in having you choose for me than me choosing for myself because I won't see what I'm wearing unless I pass a mirror." Dane's eyes were owl-shaped and all over Ridley. "Not forgetting you always struck me as the matchy-matchy type."

"Wait, what? When did I give you that impression?"

"Every Halloween you and Ryan dressed up."

"Wow," Dane chuckled. "Ouch, I think? You make it very hard to discern when you're complimenting or insulting."

"I'm not as mean as I could be, and I really wish people appreciated that more."

Dane leered at her, earning a small smirk from Ridley. "You're mean for sport, Ridley Axel," he commented. He combed through her hair, admiring her dark eyes. "I don't know, where something practical."

"That covers anything from Kevlar to a Plague doctor mask."

Dane shrugged and shook his head at her. The contort on his face, paired with his hand on the back of his neck made the smirk on Ridley's face grow to a grin. "I-I don't know what you want me to say. Wear something that says Ridley. Something that matches your personality."

"Macabre, sarcastic and jaded?"

"I was thinking more, um..." Dane sniggered awkwardly. Turning red, he looked toward Morgan - licking his bowl clean - and cleared his throat. The crimson in his cheeks made the tremor in his bottom lip more pronounced. His toned fingers were fumbling with the hem of his shirt. He swallowed hard, seeing Esmeralda's situational grin. "I-I just... um, like, er--" Ridley puckered her lips, watching Dane do a meek double take towards her. Shoulders raised, Dane dared to go on: "you're subtle, sleek and mildly vituperative."

"And we will find something accordingly," Dominique sang. "In place of vituperative, might I suggest 'tailored', 'refined' and 'chic'?"

Ridley turned from Dominique to Esmeralda and her dyed deep red hair. "I was hoping you would come with us." Dominique looked to Esmeralda smugly. Esmeralda glanced at the French aristocrat, to see her flick her shapely black eyebrows.

Rowan's hand rested against Esmeralda's that held the bottle. Esmeralda looked down at her son then shimmied him in her one-armed hold. Rowan's dark eyes didn't look away from his mother. Esmeralda looked back at Ridley, shaking her head shamefaced. "I'm sorry, Ridley, I--" Ridley's lips parted with her wry nod. "I can't leave Rowan and..."

Dominique purred as she sashayed to Ridley's side. "Oh, come now, dearest," she sang apologetically. "We can make the most of our day together, no?" Dominique towed Ridley towards the doors, leaving the house. "It will be marvelous with just you and me, like back at home."

The sun was out and the light speckle of clouds weren’t bothering anyone. Although, in direct sunlight, Dominique looked ready to burst into flames. It was hard to tell whether her unnaturally pallid skin or the ashy purple lipstick gave that impression. It could also have been her entirely-hard-to-believe-it-was-naturally-jett-black hair and her glassy eyes. She looked sickly! Perhaps it was because for the first time ever, Ridley saw Dominique driving.

The rental hotrod red Peugeot 207 made from Dunon Academy down the hill. She was a leisurely driver; cruisng through the quaint streets of the hilltop neighbourhood. Once a hunter settlement, Dunon still shelters remnants of the Gold, Black and Red Scourges and the matching Museum of the Three Blood Scourges. Now it’s one of the most fashionable residential neighbourhoods in western Dunon Town. The art aficionados in that area only added to its creative history.

Dominique watched Old Town pass them by, looking specifically for the quaint strip mall. Their car was abandoned in the parking before the line of stores. Ridley held her aunt's hand as they made through the place. The colour scheme was more muted - painted in pastel colours - and neutral to contrast the surrounding wooded area. “I can’t believe I'm doing all this,” Ridley stated breathlessly whilst following her bubbly aunt.

There was a confectionery, a Billabong, a few luxury brands from Dolce & Gabbana and Pandora to local designers like Just Play and a jewellry shop, a Ray-Bans shop and most of all, a Maybelline. The outside was quaint and demure but, both women noticed, the interiors were haute and striking, even from outside. Dominique felt a glimmer of pride from seeing the eagerness on Ridley’s face.

Do my senses deceive me, Ms Axel, or are you... looking forward to this?

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” Dominique cheered before Ridley could reply. “I-I’m sorry, that was too much. I can't wait, dearest!"

Ridley gave a weak smile and Dominique exhaled her contentment that was still splitting at her seams. She almost combusted from Ridley linking her arm with hers. The mess of black hair bounced with them into the Maybelline. The interior wasn’t very large but optimised. The walls were black, a departure from the vintage facade outside, with lines and lines of LEDs and florescence brightening the space along with the white, reflective floors.

The Source skimmed over the lipsticks and mascaras as they made for one of the two makeup artists who had consult workspace. A tall Indian woman whose eyeshadow was equally as blue as Dominique’s eyes. “Ladies, what can I do for you today?”

“Well, we need your help. This’s my niece.” She cleared her throat then continued. “She’s never owed a single cosmetic in her life. It's blaspheme, really. Could you help us put together a palette? And a brush collection.”

“Have a seat,” the makeup artist ordered lightly. Ridley pursed her lips as she slid onto the long white chair. “So,” she went on, clapping her hands. “First, we’ll colour-match you, find the right foundation, eyeshadows, blushes, bronzers; everything relating to makeup.” The Source nodded but was pursing her lips. “My name’s Keshni.” Ridley shook her hand after changing hands on her phone.

“There’s actually a few specifications,” the Mesopotamian voiced. The Source's lips parted from her confusion. “Obviously, a huntress," she went on, pointing to the exposed Gradus. "Nothing glittery or glossy and maybe something to prevent the makeup from smudging or melting off from the moisture from the perspiration?”

“Not a problem,” Keshni answered, reaching behind her station. She set an empty steel makeup coffer on the table. “I’ll just be minute, preparing.”

Ridley nodded then turned to her aunt. “H-how do you know all this?”

Dominique shrugged. “Tomás spends his time watching YouTube videos to accommodate your lifestyle. I watch YouTube videos to accommodate the woman.” Ridley looked down sheepishly, feeling Dominique brush her hair out of her face. “I doubt he’d know any of this unless he came across it by accident.” Ridley sniggered leaned into Dominique coiling her hair. "I am sorry that would-be gothel turned you down dearest, but I think that says a lot about what she feels for you, in comparison to her heir."

"He's a baby. He needs attention and..." Ridley hunched forward, clutching her holstered gun. Her hair fell forward and shielded a part of her face. "Rowan's her priority, now," she mumbled. Dominique inclined her chin with a smirk. "Please don't gloat," Ridley added without looking up.

"I'm not."

"Dominique, I can feel you," Ridley countered. "Everything you feel, I can tell you're feeling." Dominique pulled her lips aside then turned away.

Keshni returned and the fun began! She tested foundations on the back of Ridley’s wrist. Once she found the right one, Keshni went to work to spread it over the Source’s face. There were also tips on how to apply the foundation, and which brush and brush strokes to use; not far off from Dominique’s advice. It was nice to relive that time; a better time.

The times Dominique tried to get Ridley to wear makeup to work. One time, she almost managed! It wasn't until Ridley saw the super red lipstick that matched her chef's jacket that the Source put her foot down and went to work, nude-faced. It was a good thing too; that day was a heatwave and in a castle that didn't have television, Ridley's face would have melted.

The serene walks through Nice. The passing of the picturesque Old Town. A maze of narrow alleyways and cobblestone streets, but has a lively ambience reminiscent of Italy. Popularly known as ′Babazouk’, the Vieille Ville begins at the western end of the Colline du Chateau - or Castle Hill - and is bounded by spacious boulevards, including the Jardin Albert I, Place Masséna, and Promenade du Paillon.

The southern end of the Old Town borders the Ponchettes market stalls at the Cours Saleya, where fishmongers and grocers sell fresh products. That smell, to uninitiated noses, was atrocious! The Old Town district looks identical to what it did three centuries ago, with beautiful traditional French buildings, which are a must-see for tourists that love history and architecture.

Among the most memorable things in Nice - for Ridley - was the famous Marché aux Fleurs, a traditional Provençal flower market with outdoor stalls featuring colorful striped awnings. There were bright lights hanging above the awnings that allowed nocturnal tourists to enjoy them just as much as daytime tourists. The nighttime blood stalls that Ridley and Tomás frequented were also worthwhile.

She blinked profusely from Keshni running the narrow eyeliner brush. The movement was smooth, but it was close to her eye, which was off-putting. Keshni stepped back to take in her work. She continued. Her uniform was a black top with Maybelline printed on it, with black pants. The Source's gold-ringed black eyes glanced to her ancient aunt who was smiling from ear to ear. There was a gratification, of sort, that swelled in Ridley.

As they went on, Keshni gave tutorials and little hints and added the colours to the collection. When she finished, she held up a mirror, showing Ridley how glowing she really was underneath the hunter. She put the palette together; from eyeshadow and lipsticks to bronzer and blush. Also with the coffer, was a complete collection of makeup brushes. Keshni rang them up and watch Ridley all but cling to Dominique.

“You have an awesome aunt,” Keshni commented as she handed over the shopping bag. Dominique's grin faulted and she went rigid then cautiously tuned towards Ridley. She was just beaming. “Come back soon.”

“Thank you, Dominique.”

“Thank you, dearest.” The curvy woman had a spring in her step while they wandered the strip mall. "And you were disheartened by that mangy excuse of a woman ruining your fun. Isn't this more fun?"

"I really would've like her to come with."

"Pish posh!" The goldblood hummed to herself and twiddled a lock of her black hair over her fingers. "Tante knows best. And that plouc is better off ruining that poor baby's life. It's best she believes she's chased you away, and that's why you will be returning to France."

The Source creased her eyebrows then folded her arms upon halting. Her aunt paused momentarily after that too. The pale blue eyes were lathered by her expectation. "That's not why I'm not staying," Ridley pointed out. Dominique looked away, letting the sunlight on her eyes make them glassy. "Why do you suddenly feel astonished? Ohmygod, what did you do?"

Dominique did a dramatic turn on her heel. "You always think the worst of me, dearest," she purred. She laid a fainting hand on her forehead. "I know I'm prone to pushing my agenda, but to outright accuse me of capitalising on your wishes to manipulate that god-awful woman-child to stay away..."

“Dominique,” Ridley exclaimed. “Out of all the meddling crap you could have--”

“Honestly, dearest, if she was so quick to believe me, don’t you think that says a lot about what she thinks of you?”

"I think you can’t mix bullshit and sugar and call it a cupcake. You knew how much I wanted her to come."

"I cannot fathom why you would ever want that-"

"You pompous, scathing, harridan," Ridley hexed. Dominique gasped. "This wasn’t just for Esmeralda. It was for me too. I wanted to bond with my mama. The fact that you - of all people, who preaches the importance of family - you can't see how important Esmeralda is to me and this side of my family, says a lot."

"Because family is blood. I am your blood, she is-"

"Right now, Dominique, you're a biological inconvenience."

Ridley whipped around and stormed off, leaving Dominique on the town streets. The goldblood, glued to the spot, watched the soured Source make towards Main Street. Dunon was deep-set for its day. Mad & Milky - the milkshake joint with crazy falvours was packed and had blaring music sounding out of its doors and the flower shop on the corner was jam-packed with arrangements with fresh signs for discounts on farewell bouquets. Across the street, the public library was still, with Mr du Toit, the grey librarian, sipping his coffee. Ridley bolted across the street, taking deep breaths. She gasped.

She was walking through a squeaky-clean corridor, lined with cells that housed therianthrope children. Logan among them. Ridley rested her hands on the bars of his cell. The sedatives pumping in him we potent but he was waking up. Beside him was Tsakani. Logan tugged the hyenian closer, fighting the compound's cold temperatures. Ridley continued down the corridor, passing a set of conjoined twins being wheeled out of their room. The doctor cast the sheet over their lifeless forms.

The Source hugged herself, wandering the place. By God, the atrocities of one man's ambition, Earnest bellowed.

This coming from the man who lived through the reign of Hitler, Ninsun pointed out.

On your right, Onuris ordered. Ridley followed, taking the corner. There, stood Viggo and Margrethe. I knew I felt something here. That's why I brought us here. Ridley stepped passed a limping foxen who had a doctor on either side of her primal form towing her. They're getting closer and closer to perfecting this serum, young one. We must act quickly.

"You don't understand," Margrethe jeered, holding up a syringe with the serum in it. The liquid was clear but had a faint grey tinge to it. "In a strong enough dosage, it could be lethal!" Viggo looked up and down the corridor then pulled Margrethe into a cleaning supplies' closet. Ridley followed them inside. "The second configuration is dominantly werebeast strains. Without the first configuration, injecting anyone with this would kill them. But look," the hematologist pressed holding up her trust tablet.

Viggo skimmed over the scans then showed his awe. He turned on Margrethe, who nodded. "Is it viable?"

"'Viable'," Margrethe laughed. "They've already prepared tranquilizer darts with it. If Subject Supreme-01 is really a hunter, getting more of her blood won't be easy. This gives us a sporting chance. Now that we have a more diverse werebeast donor pool, we can create multiple combinations in half the time. Capturing the Source became easier."

"Don't underestimate her. She's a hunter. A damn good one," Viggo cautioned. "She's back in Dunon, and that's where my son is. From what I gather, they're close. No harm is to come to either one of them."

"What other intel did your men gather on the town?"

"Nothing you don't already know."

"Then let me ask you this: why not just turn Subject Supreme-01 into a werebeast?" Viggo didn't waver. Not even when Margrethe began playing with his braids. "How much easier would the transmutation be if, instead of three configurations, there were only two? We have the means to restrain her."

"You know why, Dr Jakobson."

"Your son will learn to live with a werebeast ally."

"He would also learn to live with a hatred for me."

Margrethe hummed seductively then bumped her hip into Viggo's side. "We need more men like you. Men who want to be part of their children's lives without being asked."

"Keep me updated with your progress, doctor."

"Of course, Mr Wolfensøn," Margrethe purred. "Dinner tonight?"

"Don't be ludicrous," Viggo jeered, leaving a disappointed Margrethe in the closet. "Have a good afternoon." Margrethe stood agape at Viggo leaving her in the cleaning closet.

Ridley blinked, to find herself on the corner of Sanguin Street; so named from the Last Siege of Dunon, where the length of the street was flooded with gold, red and black blood during the Black Scourge. She sighed then laced her hands behind her head. "Ankh, please tell me Sayeed's made progress on that cure." Nothing. Ridley furrowed her eyebrows but didn't waver on her walk through the town. She detoured through the back streets, taking the long way back.

Passed the barber shop and the public high school, was the cemetery. The Dunon Town Non-Denomination Cemetery had a huge stone arch over the main gate. Beyond that was the ornate wrought iron fencing of Hunters' Hectare. Eight centuries worth of Dunon's hunters were buried there. And hunter funerals were not a dignified, mournful affair. Instead, they were straightforward and almost business-like.

Hunters weren't buried in coffins. They were laid in unpolished, unvarnished, pinewood boxes. A religious leader - or even the executive hunter - would say a send-off prayer and that was it. No flowers, no speeches. Hunter funerals were unfeeling about time too; a hunter dying at night had to buried before sunrise. As for dying during the day, the hunter had to be buried before sunset.

Buried side by side, as unfriendly as they were to each other, were Richard Axel and Jakob Sorensen. Dane had recently been there; apart from Clarke, he was the only one who knew Jakob had a soft spot for brandy. Beside him, Richard's barren grave showcased the love the living had for him. Clarke detested his father, after the years Richard spent driving a wedge between his three sons, who wound up killing each other. Esmeralda couldn't stand him either.

Ridley passed their final resting places, and passed the other rows of other fallen hunters. Hunters Hectare bordered another hunter burial site; the rogues. Hunters who betrayed their own, the hunter creed, or who otherwise went against what defending the peace entailed. It was murky ground since The Hunt Association had an extraordinarily off-point moral compass.

A few famous rogues were buried among those ranks: Nazis; blood purists, who believe that interbreeding with other bloods is wrong; the Onyx Society, a historical cult, famed for sacrificing goldblood infants with physical deformities during the colonial era; even the Court of Dracula, who were exclusively goldblood hunters who worshiped Lucifer and Dracula and who acquired their status as hunters, solely to exterminate non-ampyra along with ampyra who had non-ampyra offspring. This was based off the belief that Lucifer had created Dracula as the first ampyra and that vampirism was only meant to be for goldbloods.

As fascinating as Dunon's history was in terms of ampyra versus non-ampyra, especially with that knowledge quite literally buried underfoot, Ridley passed all of that. The rogues were buried a different way. Their graves were dug, and their bodies were just flung in as punishment for their life choices. Usually there was at least one witness to authenticate that the rogue was buried that way. However, since Clarke was the executive hunter of Dunon Town, a priest gave Ryan her final rites. As Ridley's trudge came to an end, she relived the rising cascading over the headstone that read:

Ryan Aimée Axel

Rogue

07. 11. 2003 - 30. 11. 2021

Ridley sat on the grass with her legs cross, at the foot of the grave, just staring. So, this is the damned twin, Ninsun began. This is less pleasant than I anticipated. Ridley ran her hand over the grass, tickling her fingers. Ridley felt a hand on her shoulder. When her own went to touch it, she only felt her own shoulder. I express my condolences to you, child.

I feel this burning pain from that night, Onuris began. By the gods, this is not a pain I would wish on anyone! Ridley could feel the past Sources gather around her. All four of them, even the very first one who never speaks.

"They weaponised the serum, and they plan to use it here."

I still stand by my opinion. Leave this to the lesser bloods; it's their mess, Ninsun voiced.

I hate to say it, Ms Axel, but I concur with Ninsun. Ridley's shoulders slumped and she hunched forward. As a huntress, life has only brought you pain. Look where you are! You have lost your sister; your aunt Aimée; your brother, Timothee; your grandfather; your mentor; your mother. How many more graves must be filled before you crack? I warned you that the life of the Source is a solitary one.

You would... how you say... shoot two birds with one stone. Safeguard the Bloodline and preserve yourself. I had a family too once. A wife, a daughter, a few cats and during a time of war. I did not want to say goodbye to them. Ninsun promised their safety if I took up the mantle. Of course, I did. They lived. They believed I was dead, but they lived. Ridley shook her head lightly in reply. Ninsun struck a deal with the Arab forces to leave my family in peace.

"This is not helping your argument at all, Onuris."

Ms Axel, I implore you. Please let this matter go. God alone knows what will happen if that serum touches the Bloodline. If it touches you. I hate to ask you to abandon your loved ones. Given the circumstances, I feel you risk too much now. We mustn't forget that all vampires are bound to you. Whatever happens to your life essence, happens to them. If you die, so does all vampirekind. At its core, the Source to vampires is a psionic link. Such as the one you share with Ankh.

"You're asking me to run away, when now more than ever I have to fight? I'm a hunter!"

I most profound apologies, Ms Axel, but you are no longer such a thing.

You are first and foremost, the vessel of the Bloodline.

Ridley squared her shoulders then stood up. "Ankh was right. I shouldn't listen to any of you. By definition, you're all dead."

Tomás set a pitcher of fruit juice on the table and sighed. He, once again, glanced at the wall clock and its incessive ticking. The sun had long set, and the moon students were out and about doing last minute farewell shopping and such. Beyond the dining hall was the parlor, where Mariska oversaw Morgan making Rowan giggle endlessly. The wolf-child was prancing about with a ball between him and Rowan Clarke Axel Junior. Esmeralda came in from the kitchen, beaming at them, while Sebastian handed a cloth to wipe off her hands.

"You never told me about moments like this with the twins," Esmeralda directed to Clarke, glowering in the corner.

"They didn't have moments like this," Clarke stated bitterly. "By the time they were his age, Barbara and Richard were showing them how to play with knives."

"Disappointed, but not surprised, Dominique sang.

"That explains Richard's god complex, God rest his soul," Mariska jeered. "Offense, son." Clarke waved her off.

"You are all quite at ease with yourselves," Tomás hissed. "My sister is out there! Alone. God, tante, what were you thinking, leaving her to the streets?"

"Excuse me, but did you miss the part where she played with knives since she was a baby," Sebastian began. "Old friend, you forget Ridley took on an army of Edwyn's armoured men singlehandedly."

"Yes, but on the brink of death."

"What," Esmeralda and Clarke bellowed together. "When?"

"Now, I'm the one who's not surprised," Mariska stated. "Sounds an awful lot like Ridley to get into a fight where the odds are against her, and still come out on top."

"Why did you leave her," Tomás roared.

"I told you, papillon, I didn't. She left."

"Why?"

"Difference of opinion. You know how she is."

Tomás shook his head then looked to the clock in the parlor. He sighed then shrugged out his shoulders. "I'm going to look for her. Viggo might have gotten to her."

"He wishes," Ridley spat.

She and Dane were in step from the manor's foyer and towards the parlor. "I found her sleeping by Ryan's grave," Dane stated. "Considering she spent a better part of winter break there, it just seemed like the logical place to look. A tidbit worth remembering, next time she goes AWOL." Morgan yapped as he came charging at Dane. "Hey, buddy," he chuckled.

Tomás breathed his relief then tried to gather her in his arms. Ridley rammed her palm into his diaphragm. Tomás doubled over , grunting. Sebastian knelt by his side but there was nothing he could do with Tomás' wind knocked out. "Esmeralda," the Source cried then wrapped her arms around her. Esmeralda gasped, stunned, then looked to Clarke and Mariska for support. Ridley eased her shoulders. "I wanted you to come with me, today, because you're my mama."

"W-wha-what," the redblood hunter breathed.

"Renee will always be my mother, but you will always be my mama, nothing will ever change that. I didn't want you to come out of pity. I wanted you to come because... b-because," she stammered. The wide in Esmeralda's green eyes and her jaw on the ground made the entire room fall silent expectantly. "You know what I mean."

"I-I don't think I do," Esmeralda taunted.

"I mean," Ridley mumbled. She inhaled shakily then bounced her weight between her feet. Ridley's gold-ringed eyes turned aside to Mariska and Dane watching in unvoiced astonishment. Ridley breathed heavily then turned her eyes back as she went on, "you, Esmeralda, erm... you're not on my kill list and, I-I," she stammered. Ridley huffed then slumped her shoulders. "We practice a mutual altruism for each other."

"Wow, that was painful to watch," Esmeralda commented. Ridley folded her arms. "I love you too, Ridley." The redblood combed stray strands out of the Source's face. "I love you so much." The Source burrowed into her chest. "My beautiful, brave, strong girl," Esmeralda sobbed. "I will always love you, Ridley Dominique Axel."

This relationship certainly won't be affected in the foreseeable future, Ninsun began.

"Shut up," Ridley jeered softly, gritting her teeth. She relaxed then looked over Esmeralda's shoulder at Rowan crawling towards Clarke. "We're going to go dress shopping tomorrow. Please come with us."

"We are," Dominique asked.

"We are," Ridley confirmed. "And you will behave." Dominique nodded her terror.

Esmeralda tugged Ridley into another hug and the Source squeezed her back, in response. Clarke - with Rowan in his arms - joined them. Rowan grabbed at Ridley's loose hair and yanked it. A burst of white fire shot from the wicks of the candles on the chandeliers. Instinctively, Dane and Mariska pointed their guns at it. Ridley waved her hand and the flames extinguished. She flicked the chubby little fingers until Rowan let go.

"Urg," Ridley groaned. "Siblings are all the contraception I'll ever need." Esmeralda and Clarke chuckled with her before adjourning for dinner.

The Peugeot drove up Esthétique Avenue - a road comprised of bricks - from the hillside, going south towards the heart of the central business district. All along the streets, little groups of people walking, talking, or just standing, perhaps waiting - for someone - or for an Uber. The pedestrian traffic is thick and heavy, workers are coming back from work, from their lunch break.

Over there, near the square, there is almost a congestion, the crowd is thickest here. There’s a busy bus stop by the best fashion retailers in town - which wasn't as impressive as it sounded. The public high school, St. Anne's High, as well Dunon Academy grade twelves who were around were only there for hair and nail appointments. None of them were made enough to be shopping for something to wear, this close to their farewell! All the good ensembles were undoubtedly sold by now. There are several restaurants located in this area, as are a number of street vendors.

There is nothing setting the Peugeot apart. Nothing proclaiming it as special, peculiar, or marked. It is just one car among several driving up or down this particular stretch of Esthétique Avenue, at this time, on this day. Nobody but an elite few new that the Source, herself, was in that car. How mind-boggling must it have been to know the supreme creature responsible for all of ampyrakind was doing something so unbelievably trivial as dress shopping?

Past the small to medium sized businesses was Second Avenue. To the left over the other side of Second Avenue and well away from the main road, beyond a lush green area, was the square, encircled by more small businesses. Among them was a fabric shop. Ridley remembered how Dane would run through the aisles, like a chipper toddler whenever Esmeralda came shopping for the silk ribbons for the annual Spring Tea.

One time, he, Ryan and Ridley were on the second floor, scanning over the types of lace and he was just awed by a seamstress there. It reminded him so much of his mother, who worked as a designer at a bridal boutique in Østerbro. He used to tell Ryan about his summers there; learning to sew, embroider. It became a useful skill when the Guardian Unit needed stitches and were too macho to go to the infirmary.

Alongside the fabric shop was where Dominique parked her quaint little red number. Esmeralda was in the back, shaking a stuffed bunny in front of Rowan. His toothless smile was met with a little giggle whenever the ears fluffed him in the face. Esmeralda handed him the white bunny to unearth his seat from the backseat. Ridley watched Rowan cooing with the bunny in his flimsy hold. His eyes were equally as green as Esmeralda and just as wide when they turned to her.

He blinked at her. "I'll still throw an anvil at you." Rowan gave a toothless grin. She picked him out of his carrier and from Esmeralda. "Maybe not an anvil. A shot-put ball, at worst." Rowan had his bunny in one hand and his free hand grabbed at Ridley. Hers grabbed his when he went for her hair. "Don't push it, drool-dispenser."

Rowan leaned his forehead into her cheek. He started grinding his gums on her. "Aw," Esmeralda sang, taking out her phone. "Say 'cheese'!" Ridley scowled with Rowan's spit dripping down her face. "That is just special. I'm framing this!" Dominique gagged then dabbed Ridley with a handkerchief that had Tomás du Luq embroidered on the bottom. "Babies look good on you, Rid." Ridley seethed then side-eyed Rowan. "Just don't have any until you're older, please."

"Yes, yes, procreation products are precious," Dominique snapped. "We are crunched for time, dearest. It's enough we had to re-schedule the hair appointment. Please spare me the agony of re-scheduling your sit-in at the jewellers and that shoe place on Beauregarde Street. That place isn't so bad, I realise. They have a gorgeous pair of Yves Saint-Laurent's with your name on. At the very least, you'll walk this promenade in a pair of Louboutin's."

"I said 'no' to heels; they're impractical," Ridley stated whilst holding the door open.

"With me on your side, I'm sure you can handle it."

Inside Reimenonq was cool from the air-conditioning. It was part of the many lines of Italian baroque architecture on that street. There - underneath the black awning that had the boutique’s name in white cursive - where they went in. The dated facade only added to the beauty of the striking window display. Gorgeous ball gowns, a glittery evening gown and an ornate gown with a huge flower detail on the shoulder.

Ridley shrivelled with every step through the place; at the quirky and girly items on the racks and on display. Dominique was skipping in her ballet pumps, across the pristine white floors. Esmeralda and her intensely scrunched eyebrows scanned over the very specific fashion sense the store catered to. She glanced to Ridley forcing herself to be occupied with waving the floppy bunny in front of Rowan.

Rowan's little laughs were like puffs on their ears but his excited squirms had Ridley humoured too. Esmeralda poked him in the ribs, smiling. "You know," she began suspiciously slowly. Ridley arched an eyebrow at her, knowing that tone anywhere, "there's nothing edgy, mystique or leather here. If anything, this looks exactly like where Dominique would shop."

"Not in this century, thank you very much," Dominique countered. "Knees, elbows and shoulders out all at once? I know curvy women are in, but I am no woman of the night, little girl. By extension, you wouldn't catch me dead in a flapper dress."

"I'm sure Coco enjoyed that."

"She almost had a stroke when I voiced as much," Dominique replied jokingly.

Ridley shook her head, smirking, as her aunt went over to speak with a consultant. Rowan's curious eyes looked up the walkway towards a line of glittered gowns. He swooned over the effects the floor and wall. Ridley went pale when Dominique and the consultant, Hélie, wove them through the store. Ridley took in a series of women’s formal suits that were exactly like a man’s counterpart, save for the fit and the occasional finish. A bright red two piece suit had rhinestones on both lapels. The dark blue one next to it had a belt over the jacket.

There was a whole section dedicated to lingerie that rivaled that of Victoria’s Secret. Stringy, lacy undergarments in an array of colours. There were also shoe racks with stunning originals that had the brand’s name printed in the sole. Reimenonq was clearly a force to be reckoned with. They were also stocking up on autumn wear now.

Dominique clapped her hands chipperly then glanced over her shoulder at Ridley. "Come now, dearest, my entire selection has been set aside. I think you'll be impressed with the great deal of restraint I showed upon choosing. And, yes, I took care to take practicality into account. Most have pockets and a few have well-constructed places for hiding knives and guns."

"How many of these options are pink?"

"Just one," Dominique answered vividly chuffed with herself. "Hélie, do take care of my niece. Her..." the goldblood cringed, looking to Esmeralda "... glorified governess... and I are all but splitting at the seams!"

"I'm regretting my life choices, right now," Ridley murmured as she handed Rowan to Esmeralda.

"Wait 'til you get to a hundred and eighty," Esmeralda commented.

Hélie, a tall blonde-haired, blue-eyed model-like woman, led Ridley towards the changing rooms. The feel was more of a ladies' high tea lounge; cream-coloured furniture, soft pink walls and plush white rugs. In one, Dominique's long line of choices were all lined up. Ridley sighed at her options. "Not a fan of pastels," Hélie inquired.

"Not a fan of colours." The longer she skimmed over items, the more she recoiled. "Or glitter, or pearls, or lace, or big gowns, or gowns with ribbons, or gowns with trains." Hélie pursed her lips at the Source, not sure what to do. "It's okay. This 'our thing', I guess," she sighed, looking in the rococo-framed mirror.

The black leather, studded corset top, the black jeans, the karambit knife in the garter over her thigh, the gun holstered on either hip, the wedged sneakers that also had matching silver studs; it was direct clash to Dominique's options. Ridley inhaled sharply then steeled herself, and Hélie, to indulge Dominique's fantasy. This was a far cry from Dominique's stiletto-walking lessons.

Sighing her engorged defeat, Ridley huddled bunches of fabric and followed Hélie back towards the showroom. Rowan was sitting on Esmeralda's lap, wriggling about with his bunny's ear being munch on by gums. Dominique squealed upon seeing Ridley, and started clapping erratically. Ridley huffed from the deep green fabric getting caught under her wedges. The showroom's lighting only made the gold embroidery stand out.

Upon seeing the drooped scowl on her niece's face, the Mesopotamian sighed. "I take it this one is not tickling you." Ridley shook her head. "I thought you'd like it because it's dark. Anyhow, let's see that navy number. I think you'll appreciate it more."

"You mean the navy dress that is head-to-toe sheer?"

"Touché," Dominique commented nonchalantly. "How about the black one?"

Ridley rolled her eyes then followed Hélie back to dress into the only black dress among the endless rainbow cluster in her dressing room. It was a halter neck, A-line, and it came with a pair of opera gloves, also in black. Ridley hummed mildly satisfied, taking in her reflection. Hélie too had a mild smirk on her face. It was a contrast to Reimenonq's main room, where aunt, brother and mother sat expectantly.

The inside had white polished flooring paired with the light grey walls and black skirting. A single white couch with black cushions was across from the various mirrors scattered throughout the room. On one side of each couch was a glass table with champagne in ice buckets and crystal flutes awaiting each party. Conjoined to Reimenonq was its sister; the bridal boutique which also had pressed ceilings in rococo style.

"No, no. Definitely no."

"What's wrong with this," Ridley huffed to her aunt. "This's perfect."

"Dearest, it's more plain this one," Dominique ridiculed, pointing a thumb towards her fellow couch-sitter. Esmeralda merely gave an eye roll. "The only reason I picked it was to show you that you need to get out of your comfort zone. You are too set in your ways, and I'll be damned before I let you live out your life in leather, and all black and those monstrosity noose shoes."

"You mean sneakers?"

"I mean you're a plain old thing."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, Ridley, she has a point." Rowan cooed with Esmeralda lightly shaking the bunny in front of him. "You should be experimenting. You’re too good; you’ve never set a hair out of line. It's so bad, I'm almost willing to turn a blind eye if I ever caught you doing recreational drugs."

"I dropped out of high school, ran away from home, deserted my duties as a hunter, and got dozens of people killed over the course of eight months - including my twin sister - and I've never stepped out of line?"

"I'm so tempted to say that I liked it better when you were anti-social."

"I was never anti-social. I just have a strong aversion to people and the bullshit that entails."

"Go try on another dress, please."

"Ooh, ooh! The grey one with the pearls. That will extenuate those weak curves," Dominique cheered. "No! Silk with the floor-length sleeves! I'm too excited to choose."

Ridley pursed her lips and trudged away with Hélie right behind her. The Source came out in the grey dress with equal disdain as the floor-length sleeved gown that came after it. It was bad after that; Hélie all but dragged her out in that one that had creamy lace and pink roses on it. Esmeralda sucked in a pained seethe when she saw Ridley in it! The one-shoulder coral dress and the gold satin with embroidery also weren't getting any votes.

Ridley combed her sleek straight hair out of her face in the dressing room. Her reflection in the rococo mirror highlighted the Gradus over both arms, along with her scars. Scars from before she became the Source, along with scars from after becoming the Source. The three scars on each arm that looked like the scars from the smallpox vaccine, but in truth came from machina sanguinem. The stab wounds that scarred, the gunshot scars.

They were swiftly covered from Dominique's only pink option; a two piece that showed off her hardened core, like the corset she came in with. The plunging neckline also revealed the stabbed scar awfully close to her heart, where Sayeed got her over winter break. It was fine; it was the layered skirt she found fault with. The tissue-like feel was working on her nerves. The tone of voice that registered on her face was telling to Esmeralda and Dominique.

"I give up," the Source sighed. "My patience for all this has been diminished. I'll settle for a leather jumpsuit and a duster coat."

"Not on God's green earth," Dominique snapped calmly as she stood up. "There is an entire bridal boutique right beyond that archway, yet to be explored. And now we know; we need something to elongate that torso, to show off those birthing hips, and highlight those chest udders."

"A wedding dress," Ridley vexed. She turned to Esmeralda, bouncing an irritable Rowan on her lap. "Where did you and Ryan usually go?"

"That little place in the square where that bakery we got Clarke's birthday cake from is now." Dominique grabbed Hélie by the wrist and dragged her towards the wedding section. "Honey," Esmeralda began as she started unbuttoning her blouse, "don't you think it would help if you gave us-- er, Dominique, some guidelines? Like a silhouette, for example."

"Have you met Dominique?"

Esmeralda angle Rowan on her breast without looking away from her daughter. "Eccentric, mildly gaslighting, but she does have your best interest at heart. Don't tell her I said." Ridley shifted to face away from Esmeralda's breastfeeding, even with Rowan's blanket cast over him.

Ridley ran her hands over her arms, hugging herself. "This's ridiculous. I thought dress-shopping was just going through things that you kind of like. Say Yes to the Dress under-dramatises how infuriating this is." Esmeralda clicked her tongue at her son then looked back up. "This really would be easy if Sorensen was here."

"You know, most girls treat their promenade like their wedding and..."

"Because they're delusional and hormonal. Farewells and weddings are just overblown parties, direct from the unreasonable and preconceived notion that originated in childhood. And marriage is a hoax. Two people putting in effort into something where they don't earn any tangible output, over the course of years, or until one party dies; it's legalised slavery. No offense."

"Offended. Very offended. You need to read the Bible, or something."

"But the point is...?"

"The point is, the groom doesn't go dress shopping with the bride. Think of how satisfying it would be for Dane to see you, not knowing what to..." Esmeralda's jaw hit the ground, looking passed her "... expect." Ridley followed her gaze to Dominique and Hélie. "Um, I don't know how I feel about this."

"Good things will happen to you, if you choose not to be a miserable cow," Dominique said singsong. "Go, go, dearest. Please, please, please do the long-sleeved Pnina Tornai first."

"I can't believe I'm letting you put me in another white ball gown. The last time I wore one, people died. God rest your soul, Aimée," Ridley derided and got up.

I died that night too, Ms Axel. Ridley rolled her eyes. So to speak.

Hélie was a trooper about her clients; being completely professional about the entire ordeal. The Pnina Tornai gown Hélie helped her into was a huge ball gown with solid sleeves. The attraction of the gown was the bulbous satin bow that was tied at the back. Ridley sighed taking in her reflection. The bow's tails formed a train too.

For once, Dominique and Esmeralda were beaming proudly at her, despite her curt frown. "There are so many layers to this, my arm would get sore if I tried to reach for a knife."

"Those sleeves would also restrict your movement if you're attacked," Esmeralda voiced. "But you look amazing."

"You do look incroyable, mon papillon," the Mesopotamian-French woman occurred with a nod. Ridley turned to the mirror behind her, seeing Rowan squirm lightly in Esmeralda's hold. "Perhaps a bit too bridal, no? Let's try the cream and gold dress. The off-the-shoulder one," Dominique cheered.

"I'm not sure I want show off my Gradus," Ridley began. "... o-or my scars," she murmured timidly.

The two watched her hug herself, hiding most of her hunter tattoos as well as the scars on her inner arms. Dominique gave her a wry smirk then she said: "oh, dearest."

Esmeralda swaddled Rowan lightly, also frowning from what she heard. "That's completely up to you. All I'm going to say is that tattoos, and bruises, and scars are a beautiful thing. You were born a blank canvas and now look at you; all this evidence that you've lived, that you've grown, that you've failed and gotten back up." Ridley's self-hug didn't let up. "That's all."

"Yes, yes," Dominique chorused. "You have been worn in by life. Each mark has a story that no-one else has and that makes you dear to us." Ridley shook her head weakly. "My, my, never in millennia would I have guessed that a hunter as proficient, disciplined and noble as you would suffer f-from a-a..." she shook her head with her incredulity awash "... an insecurity! Dearest, you are a du Luq! du Luq women are the most beautiful in the--"

"It's not an insecurity," Ridley cut in. "I-I just..." Still hugging herself, the Source dropped her shoulders, thwarted. Her derailed disposition only lightened in her shaded expression. "I can't believe I'm saying this," she sighed, "but I'm just highly aware of how marked I am. I don't want Dane to see it."

"Ah-ha, you're in love! My sweet girl, Tomás was exactly the same when he met Clarisse. All bashful, and taking great care in how he looked, by the gods, he gave up his scheduled stops to the brothel. I believe the root of the problem lies in one, simple question: what do you expect from all this?"

"I've never felt this way before, I don't like it. When I'm with him, I can barely keep it together. Thinking about him, I get really warm in the chest and--" She hunch slightly, looking at Esmeralda. "I-I don't like it."

Esmeralda handed Rowan to Dominique, making the French woman gasp. She cursed her shock in French, watching Esmeralda squeeze Ridley by the shoulders. Rowan hiccupped in Dominique's outstretched arms of disgust. Ridley looked to the hem of the wedding dress she wore. Esmeralda combed the loose black hair out of the Source's face.

"Rid, you're not a brick. This is what it means to be in love, to be young. My dating skills might have worked in the 1920s, but love doesn't limit itself to time. My first boyfriend, my first husband, Clarke; it's universal. You get to ride the wave and feel it crash. He's going to be all you think about, all the time. It's strong, insatiable bursts an-and constantly wanting to be with him. Then it's going to make your heart break and there're going to be days where you're going to be too weak to move because it hurt so bad."

Ridley went pallid then dropped her arms back to her side with a growing pout on her lips. The crease in her eyebrows turned to Esmeralda meekly. "This sounds like a drug addiction," she ridiculed. Then - without waiting for a response - the Source went on in whispers: "I'm scared, Esmeralda. I don't want to screw it up. Knowing me, I definitely will. Somehow, somewhere, at some point, I'll screw it up."

"I'm going to tell you something nobody your age ever believes, but is the God honest truth: your first love is not your true love."

Ridley nodded abjectly, feeling Esmeralda cup her cheeks before kissing her forehead. Ridley leaned into Esmeralda, pulling her stepmother into a hug. Esmeralda continuously kissed her temple, squeezing firmly. Looking over the redblood's shoulder, she saw Dominique had set Rowan next to her, and she shifted away from him. The goldblood only insured the wriggling infant didn't roll off the couch.

Ridley straightened up and Esmeralda kissed her forehead a second time. Dominique poked Rowan's foot away from her, making his gurgle gleefully. "Not to disrupt this lovely moment," she cut in, "we are on a time crunch, ladies." The Source beamed humbly then looked to her child-averse aunt. "Shall we continue?" Esmeralda picked Rowan up and set him back on her lap. “I think I've found the one, dearest. There, behind you. That lovely, slender-er ball gown.”

Hélie turned to where Dominique pointed, and Ridley's relief was short-lived; converted to dread. "You've got to be sucking my veins," she cursed.

"Dearest," Dominique called, "it's got everything I was looking for, for you. She will make that torso longer and highlight those chest udders. At the very least try her on."

Hélie unhooked the hanger from the rack and Ridley trudged after her back to the dressing room. Esmeralda shifted Rowan to face her chest, petting him to sleep. Dominique sat on the edge of her seat, looking over other gowns. A huge bundle of blush-coloured tulle; red velvet off-the-shoulder, Medieval-styled gown; a monochrome evening gown; the brown mermaid gown; a purple cocktail dress; and a blood-red strapless.

Dominique hummed then turned to Esmeralda and Rowan. "I owe you an apology, little girl. Your guidance and supervision of my niece's well-being deserve more credit than I initially gave you."

The new mother didn't stop rubbing her son's back when she looked to her couch-shareholder. Immediately, the redblood's eyes went passed the goldblood. "That's the dress! That's the dress you were born to wear," Esmeralda exclaimed. She saw the brief, growing glimmer of protest. "Ridley, look at you. Y-you're glowing!"

Dominique also followed Esmeralda's line of sight. She jumped to her feet. "By the gods of Mesopotamia, Ridley of Dunon!" The Source shook her head, dismally crestfallen. "There's a special moment when the right dress is on the right woman. My girl, you look like a lit-up tree of Yule. There's even a spring in your step and a glide in your gait! That little Viggo will be sweeping his jaw off that desiccated manor's mahogany floor."

"Do I really look--"

"Yes," Esmeralda and Dominique cheered together. Ridley turned to the mirror to see herself, not that she didn't see herself in the dressing room's mirror. "Ohmygod, Rid, how are you not seeing this!"

Ridley tilted her head, letting her hair fall aside. Dominique walked up to Ridley, resting her weight on her niece's shoulders. "Scars or no, you are a du Luq beaut. If this boy breaks your heart, he will have Tomás and I to deal with."

Ridley squared her shoulders then contorted in her skin. "I can't believe I'm doing this," she murmured but looked to Hélie. "We'll take it."

*Plouc: an unsophisticated country hick or bumpkin