Chapter 157: The Shape of Forever
Eva had begun to count time not in hours or minutes, but in the way Seraphina looked at her when she thought no one else was watching.
There were soft moments like that everywhere now — glimpses stretched between glances and touches, between shared silences and words that never needed saying. Eva had grown used to the way time bent around Seraphina. It no longer ticked forward in seconds. It curved, it looped, it curled like a cat beside the fire. Time with Seraphina didn't feel like time at all. It felt like breath.
And still, Eva remained seven. Small and watchful and fiercely bright. She knew her age, but it hardly mattered. Her soul had always felt older, like something born from a story already half - written, waiting for Seraphina to step into the other half.
Today, the halls of Maison de Corcelle were hushed with rain. The windows — tall, pale, and latticed — steamed faintly with the chill of May pressing against the glass. Outside, the gardens shimmered in silver, their blossoms trembling as if listening for something distant and lovely. Inside, Eva sat curled on the tufted chaise in the drawing room, legs tucked beneath her, reading aloud in L•••• from a small leather - bound book she'd unearthed from the library.
Seraphina sat nearby in an armchair, a blanket draped across her lap and a sketchbook open before her. She drew lazily — nothing finished, just wandering lines and half-formed thoughts. The occasional turn of her head toward Eva was all the girl needed to keep reading. Seraphina's attention was her applause, her praise, her sustenance.
Eva faltered on a phrase.
Seraphina looked up. "Again?"
Eva nodded, biting her lip. "This part — it's a little faded."
Seraphina rose, walked over, and bent beside her. "Let me see."
Their heads touched as Seraphina leaned in to examine the script. Her hair smelled of white tea and cedarwood. Eva's heart fluttered wildly.
"Oh," Seraphina murmured, tracing a finger beneath the line. "'Ut amorem.' 'As love.' Try it again."
Eva repeated it softly. "Ut amorem."
"Beautiful," Seraphina whispered.
Eva leaned into her side without thinking, needing the contact. "Do you think L•••• is a romantic language?"
"I think it's a language of secrets," Seraphina replied, brushing Eva's hair gently from her face. "Of prayers. Of truths too deep to say aloud."
Eva turned her face into Seraphina's sleeve. "Then I'm glad I know it."
There was a pause. Rain sighed softly on the windows.
"Will you teach me something?" Seraphina asked. Eva's head lifted, startled.
"You want me to teach you?"
Seraphina smiled. "Of course. Isn't that how this works? You teach me about love in L••••, and I'll teach you something else."
Eva looked delighted. She sat up straighter. "Okay. Let's start with a word."
She thought for a moment, then carefully wrote in the margin of her book.
"Tener."
"What does that mean?" Seraphina asked.
"Delicate," Eva replied. "Or tender. Like how you look when I say I love you."
Seraphina stilled, then laughed softly. "I think you're better at this than most adults."
Eva's smile turned shy, but her voice remained steady. "I don't want to forget how to say these things. In any language. It's important."
Seraphina took her hand. "Then I'll remember with you."
They sat like that for a while, wrapped in the quiet rhythm of the storm. Later, Evelyn passed through the room, pausing at the doorway with a fond, unreadable expression. She didn't interrupt. She simply watched for a few heartbeats, then moved on, her heels soft against the marble.
That night, Eva couldn't sleep.
She padded down the long hallway barefoot, her blanket trailing behind her like a cape. She didn't knock on Seraphina's door — she didn't need to. The door opened before she reached it.
"I felt you coming," Seraphina said softly.
"I had a bad dream," Eva whispered. "But I don't remember it."
Seraphina held out her arms. "Then we'll make new ones."
Eva climbed into her bed. It was a queen - sized four - poster, taller than she was used to, but Seraphina lifted her with practiced ease, then tucked the blanket around her like a cocoon.
"Why do dreams disappear?" Eva asked.
"Because sometimes your soul wants to protect you from remembering."
"But what if the dream had something important in it?"
"Then it'll find its way back."
Eva lay her head on Seraphina's shoulder and closed her eyes. "Will you be in all my dreams?"
"If you want me to be."
"I always want you."
A stillness followed — thicker than silence, sweeter than peace. In that stillness, Eva reached up and kissed Seraphina's cheek, softly, reverently, like a child kissing the edge of something sacred.
"Do you love me?" she asked — not because she doubted, but because she loved how Seraphina answered.
"With all that I am," Seraphina replied.
Eva gripped the sleeve of her nightgown. "Then don't change. Not even when I do."
Seraphina smiled faintly in the dark. "Little moonbeam, love changes. But the kind we have? It doesn't end. It just… stretches."
"Like time?"
"Yes. Like time."
They fell asleep that way, the storm fading into a hush across the sky.
Days passed. Then weeks.
Eva began keeping a box beneath her bed — a velvet - lined chest where she tucked away things that reminded her of Seraphina: a lock of auburn hair tied with a ribbon, a dried camellia from the garden, a tiny bottle of her perfume, and the napkin on which Seraphina had once written the word sempiternus — eternal.
Briony found Eva sorting through it one afternoon.
"What's this?" she asked.
"My heart," Eva replied, without hesitation. "In pieces."
Briony laughed. "Isn't that a little dramatic?"
Eva shook her head. "Not if you mean it."
Briony sat curled beside her. "You're serious about her."
Eva gave her a look. "Of course."
"I mean… you're still a kid. You'll grow. Things will change."
Eva frowned. "Why does everyone say that? That it'll change. That I'll forget. I won't."
Briony hesitated. "I didn't mean it like that."
Eva glanced down at the contents of her box. "I think you did. And that's okay. But don't expect me to stop just because it's strange to you."
There was a pause. Then Briony leaned forward and ruffled Eva's hair.
"You're stubborn."
"I'm loyal."
They understood each other a little better after that.
On the evening of the summer solstice, the estate hosted another gathering — not as grand as the banquet, but graceful nonetheless. Eva wore a pale blue dress with a high collar and tiny pearl buttons. Her hair was pinned back with silver combs, and she looked like a memory given form.
Seraphina met her at the stairs, dressed in midnight blue, her eyes unreadable.
"You look like moonlight," Seraphina said.
Eva reached for her hand. "You always look like midnight. But the kind that makes people dream."
They stood at the edge of the ballroom for a long while, simply watching. There were people talking and laughing and sipping champagne, but Eva paid them no mind. She leaned into Seraphina and whispered in F•••••, "Je n'aime que toi." (I only love you)
Seraphina whispered back, "Toujours?" (Always)
Eva nodded solemnly. "Toujours." (Always)
It was in the quiet hours after the solstice dance — long after guests had gone and the estate had settled into sleep — that Seraphina found Eva in the music room again. She was alone, seated at the piano, her fingers ghosting over the keys without pressing down.
"I'm trying to find a new melody," Eva said without looking up.
"For what?"
"A song that doesn't end."
Seraphina came to sit beside her. "Then don't finish it. Let it change every time you play it."
Eva looked up at her, eyes wide. "Like love?"
Seraphina kissed the crown of her head. "Exactly."
Eva played a single note. Then another. The melody was soft, uncertain. It meandered — curious and tender, like a path not yet walked.
Seraphina didn't speak. She simply listened.
And when Eva reached the final note — the one she chose not to play — she looked up and smiled.
"This one's for you."