New Years Eve

[Eve]

Eve’s pace naturally slowed as Daphne spoke her hesitations, giving them her full attention. But her eyes widened at the whisper placed softly in her ear, and for that she paused entirely, keen to give the moment room to breathe. She could not claim to know what passed beneath the marble of Daphne’s expression. She was always so tightly contained as to be impenetrable, though Eve was never really sure if it was herself she kept in, or the world she kept out. Either way it did not ever feel like a choice so much as a necessity, and it was one of the reasons Eve had always felt affection.

She shifted, her hands subtly offered palm up for Daphne to take for support if she wished to. With her Eve never crossed the boundary of touch without permission, instinctively respectful, but her compassion was the sort of unceasing warmth which would never refrain from making the offer either. Not relentlessly, not pushily, but with the unspoken assurance of I am always here.

Minty had never talked about children, and Eve knew she had never married, so she could offer no other information – nothing that might either ease Daphne’s fears, or gently let her hopes down. Clearly Eve had had no inkling of the possibility though, even when Daphne had mentioned she was here concerning the details of her adoption. She could not fathom why Araminta would have ever kept something like that secret.

“You would not have come all this way if it were an answer you could live with never knowing,” she said quietly, certainly. Not to push, but to support what she suspected fear simply made unclear in the moment. Eve would not interfere, nor press the decision should Daphne decide she simply could not face it. If that were the case, the secret would remain utterly safe – Eve would never speak it to another soul. But neither did she wish for the opportunity to pass her friend by.

“Do you see the woman over there? In the blue dress? That is Araminta.”

[Grace]

A few people asked for refills on their champagne or other drinks, but things were winding down. Grace had seen Eve go by with another woman she didn't recognize.  They both seemed on a mission of sorts.  The other woman felt nervous  Grace hadn't wanted to be rude or interrupt them even if she felt the desire to run and help this stranger deal with what she was feeling. Eve looked like she had it in hand, and Grace would be here awhile if she was wanted in that capacity.

Amongst the mirth of the party goers, she felt the general relief and frustrations of the serving staff were all tired and ready to go home. In times of turmoil, there was something exceedingly calming about that. It felt decidedly normal. Grace felt relieved and was glad she decided to take this shift. Within the normal emotions, one person stood out from the rest. Grace found her quickly. Not only did her gift make it easier, but the woman, one of the servers in a uniform just like hers, had a slumped posture.

Grace moved towards her. She hadn't wanted to interrupt Eve and her friend out of politeness.  Avoiding one that was needed comfort was hard, and avoiding a second was nearly impossible. Grace recognized the woman. They had worked together several times and got along well. "Macy," she said approaching the woman. "Is everything okay?"

As she did, she braced herself and took Macy by the hand. It always hit suddenly when she did this, but with the anticipation of it, Grace handled it well. Macy's anger and grief flowed into Grace, but with practice, she had learned to keep these off of her face. The two emotions vied for control within Macy. Grace recognized this particular pattern.  Someone she cared about had done something to hurt her - likely a boyfriend. Grace knew that Macy had one, but she doubted that was the case anymore.

Macy shook her head. She was barely holding together - likely because she was at work. "Let's go this way - talk." Grace kept her hand and led her into a more private area. Eve and her friend had gone this way, but they were deeper into the building now. Grace and Macy took a seat in the hall, Grace keeping hold of Macy's hand. "Tell me what's wrong."

Macy composed herself and Grace let this happen. She could have pushed Macy to be calmer, but it was better when people did this on their own. She would do so later - giving her a slight push to reach an acceptance of what she felt, but for now Grace needed to listen and feel. Macy told her story. Last week she and her boyfriend had broken up. For a long time, Macy had felt that the relationship was stagnating. They ended things when she found out he had been cheating on her. It had hurt, but she was doing okay until tonight.  Her ex had been here tonight with his new girlfriend. That had been enough to reopen a wound that hadn't fully healed yet. Grace knew what she needed. She just needed someone to know how upset she was. Someone to listen without judgement and to empathize. Still the anger and grief swirled like a vortex within her. That was stopping acceptance. As long as both were trying to gain control, she couldn't process them.

Grace took Macy's hand into both of hers, keeping the anger and grief she felt out of her voice.  That was the hardest part about dealing with rough emotions. Macy had started to cry, and Grace felt like she wanted to as well.  She felt everything her friend felt, but that's why she understood it so well. "That has to be difficult," she said, her voice calm despite the torrent inside. "It's okay to feel angry and sad. You're allowed to hurt. He knew you were going to be working here tonight?" she nodded. Grace scoffed a bit, letting the anger take control. She pushed Macy's anger lightly, giving it an edge. "What an ass." Macy smiled at that. A little humor could go a long way. "It will be okay. Don't hold things in. Let yourself be angry. Let yourself be sad and cry. You'll find someone who loves you for the amazing person you are."

Grace pushed calm with a delicate hand. By getting her to focus on one first, she was able to delicately separate the anger and grief. Now that they weren't fighting for control, Macy would process them. Macy thanked her and wrapped Grace in a hug. Grace returned it, making sure one hand touched the skin or her neck near the shirt collar. She wanted to monitor and make sure Macy was actually beginning to work through things. She held on, and would until Macy decided to let go.

[Daphne Du Cadeau]

There she was.

Araminta.

The woman in the blue dress stood near the heart of the room, beneath the glow of soft track lighting that made her hair shimmer like honey spun through pale silk. She was surrounded, yet separate: a quiet center of gravity. Guests passed through her orbit like petals caught in slow wind, drawn by ease, by instinct. She smiled with her whole face, relaxed in a way that only people without old wounds ever managed to be. She held herself loosely, with no armor at all. She looked like someone who had never needed to survive anything. Daphne slowed her steps.

That first glimpse twisted something in her small and sharp. Not disappointment alone. Displacement. As if whatever fragile image of a mother she’d held unknowingly had just shattered without ceremony. There was no resemblance. No echo in the jawline, the eyes, the hair. No reflection in the way Araminta stood, or smiled, or held the space around her with warmth instead of caution. Daphne, all fine edges and elegant silence, felt suddenly like a marble statue gliding through candlelight. She had spent her life smoothing the edges of pain, disciplining her posture, learning to survive every room as a weapon rather than a welcome.

And this woman… looked like she belonged. Still, Daphne approached. She always had the discipline to approach. She stepped within polite conversational range and waited, her presence as poised as the curve of her gown. No invitation was asked for.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” she said, her voice smooth, low, pitched to fold gently into the space without announcing itself.

It was a politeness, of course. A formal dance-step offered because she knew it was expected of her. Eve’s presence beside her was quiet and steady, but Daphne’s posture remained solitary. Still and unshaken.

Araminta turned at the sound of her voice, a gentle surprise lighting her features as she registered the newcomer. She was just as warm up close. Light spilled across her collarbones where the blue satin dipped, catching in the soft waves of her gold-streaked hair. Her smile was instant and easy, and it spread like dawn.

“Oh, not at all,” Araminta said, glancing fondly to Eve as she greeted her in the same breath, a familiarity in her tone that Daphne could feel more than hear.

She waited until the social nicety resolved, then offered her own thread of gratitude. “Your party was quite festive,” she said simply, tone clipped but not cold. A peace offering, folded into etiquette.

Araminta laughed lightly. “Thank you! I don’t believe we’ve met before. I’m Araminta Rosewood.”

Daphne inclined her head, no smile, but perfectly polite. Her reply came with exact clarity, her accent drawn clean across each syllable: “Daphne Du Cadeau de Volthström.”

There. She felt the change immediately.

The smile froze, if only for half a breath. Surprise bloomed behind Araminta’s eyes like a lantern lit too quickly, followed by a flicker of uncertainty, curiosity, and beneath it something else. Something soft and sour. The kind of feeling people got when they were trying very hard to remember something they didn’t want to.

Araminta’s gaze shifted to Eve for just a second. She recovered with grace, but not speed. Her energy wobbled like a top near the end of its spin.

“A pleasure to meet you, Daphne,” she said. “Are you a friend of Eve’s?”

“Yes,” Daphne said without hesitation, though her eyes never left Araminta. “We go far back.” She lifted her chin slightly, calm but deliberate. “I’m sorry for intruding on your party, but I had a question to ask you.”

There was a gravity in her now that didn’t belong in social conversation. A shift in tone that weighed against the music and laughter surrounding them. But Araminta, to her credit, didn’t flinch. Her openness, like the blue silk she wore, held fast.

Daphne leaned in slightly. “Why did Tobias Volthström sell this building to you?”

She saw Araminta’s eyes flicking sharper, the air around her suddenly tense in the way champagne is just before it foams over the rim. The pleasantness didn’t vanish, but it cracked. Her expression faltered for a moment, and there it was.

Worry. Not fear. Not guilt. But something caught in her that made her hands shift too quickly and her thoughts start to stammer beneath the surface.

Daphne’s voice came softer. “You need not be nervous.” It was not said cruelly. But it was said without escape.

She felt Eve’s awareness shift beside her. Subtle. The way someone who knew her would recognize what she was doing, but chose not to stop it. Not yet.

Araminta’s eyes widened just enough to register the pressure. Her mouth parted slightly as if to answer then closed again. Her hand pulled gently back, but not in alarm. More like someone stepping back from heat they didn’t expect to feel.

“This isn’t really the time to talk about… ancient history,” she said finally, her tone still warm but now measured.

Daphne studied her. Felt the tangle of things beneath the surface: old confusion, half-truths, doors shut quietly and long ago. Araminta turned her smile back up, but Daphne could feel the difference now. It was a practiced smile. A hostess smile. The kind that meant someone had been caught off guard and was trying to manage the story before it unraveled.

“If you’re free tomorrow,” she said, “why don’t you come back? You and Eve both. We can talk properly then.”