Tamsin replied in a broken, shy whisper, voice cracking with embarrassment.
"I–I didn't mean… that," Tamsin stammered, cheeks still burning. "I was saying it's bad manners to walk into someone's room without knocking first."
I turned to her, a small stack of dresses and blouses draped over my arms, amusement curling inside me at how effortlessly she flustered. My experience with her had taught me exactly how easy it was to send that soft pink flush racing across her face.
"Come on… Hold this for me."
I dumped the pile into her waiting arms without ceremony. She caught it with a small, resigned huff. Then I reached back into the closet and pulled out a plain corset—simple, unadorned, just the right size to test how it would hug my waist. Tamsin exhaled slowly, shoulders dropping in quiet surrender. There was no turning back now.
I tried on a few alternatives too; the ball gowns and elaborate corseted pieces were far too large, swallowing my frame like borrowed adult dreams. Tamsin watched with a growing smile, convinced—wrongly—that I would soon give up. She didn't know how stubborn I could be when something sparked inside me.
"So what are you trying on now?"
Her tone wasn't teasing, exactly—just caught up in the moment, curiosity winning over caution. I stood there in a strange, mismatched combination: a too-loose blouse half-tucked into a skirt that didn't quite fit, the corset still unlaced in my hands, hair falling messily around my shoulders.
The room had become a glorious disaster—clothes spilled across the bed, draped over chairs, pooled on the floor like colorful waves. But I couldn't ignore her question; it pulled me right back to her.
"Ohhh please. I'm not going to give up. And if you tease me one more time, I'm going to tell all of your secrets to that guy who teases you on the roads."
I pointed at her for dramatic emphasis, finger jabbing the air—then froze. Shit. The words had tumbled out too easily, laced with knowledge that belonged to my previous life, not this one. My mouth hung open, brain scrambling. What should I say? How do I fix this?
"Hw… How do you know him?"
Tamsin's face ignited crimson, fists curling tight against her chest like a shield. Her voice cracked—small, shocked, vulnerable. I stood there like stone, heart slamming against my ribs. What have I done? Can't I be careful with my words just once? Think. Think.
I crossed my arms, forcing confidence into my posture while inside I screamed like a frightened child. Think. Think of something—anything.
"Ahm… You heard me, hmm…" I bit my lip hard, words drying up. Then, in a desperate rush: "I actually knew nothing. I completely made it up…"
I narrowed my eyes, leaning into mad, teasing mischief to salvage the moment, voice dipping into a playful lilt.
"But~ you have proven my theory."
Tamsin's entire face blazed scarlet. She took a quick step back, hands flying up to cover her burning cheeks as though she could hide the evidence. I stepped forward immediately, closing the gap again, testing her limits with deliberate slowness.
"So there is a guy who teases you on your way home."
I dropped my voice lower, serious now, arms crossing casually behind my back as I leaned in closer. She forgot how to blink—eyes wide, frozen, breath caught somewhere between panic and embarrassment.
"Tell me—should I call the royal police and have him thrown behind bars?"
"No! No no no no—"
Tamsin stammered the words in a frantic rush, fighting through layers of fluster to get them out. My smile returned, softer this time, but for a different reason entirely. I already knew the truth she hadn't yet admitted to herself: she would fall for him. Hard. They would run away together one day, stealing a life outside these walls. How cute. How adorably inevitable.
I leaned in even closer, my face inches from hers, voice a teasing whisper.
"And why? Do you like him?" I paused, letting the question hang. "Do you wish he showed up every day?"
She couldn't take it anymore. With a small, desperate sound, Tamsin pushed me back—not hard, just enough to break the spell. A light shove, hands trembling against my shoulders, but it carried the clear message: line crossed.
"No, I don't like him. He annoys me so much. He tells me he loves me and then proceeds to disappear for weeks—sometimes months…"
The words poured out faster now, tumbling over each other in a breathless torrent. My teasing had cracked the dam wide open. Tamsin didn't even seem to realize she was speaking aloud—her voice rising, details spilling freely as though she'd been holding them in for ages.
"Then he appears again out of nowhere, no explanation at all. I bet he's with another girl who's way prettier than me. If he truly loved me, then why is he—"
Her hands flew in sharp, emphatic gestures—fingers jabbing the air, palms slicing downward, painting the picture of a man who desperately needed to apologize immediately or face consequences. The fury in her movements was almost comical, fierce and protective of her own wounded heart.
Then realization struck like cold water. She froze mid-sentence, eyes widening as her hands flew to her mouth, covering it in horror.
"I'm so sorry, Miss Lucia."
The apology came out small and mortified, voice dropping to a whisper as embarrassment flooded her face anew.
Before she could spiral further into shame, I reached out, gently grasping her shoulders. I guided her to sit on the edge of the bed beside me, then settled down next to her, close enough that our arms brushed.
"It's fine," I said softly, meeting her eyes with steady reassurance. "Tell me the whole story. Is he handsome? Do you like him?"
I rested my chin on my hand, elbow propped on my knee, settling in like a confidante ready to listen for hours. I already knew the story from my previous life, of course—but I had to pretend ignorance, wide-eyed and attentive. Besides, hearing it again felt different now, sweeter somehow. As a girl, I could offer the kind of space she might never have given herself before. Maybe she'd open up more this time.
"Well… He is handsome," Tamsin began, voice soft and halting, each word weighed down by hesitation. "He is tall and has a beard now. He always looks clean…"
Beard? The detail caught me off guard. In my previous life I had never met him in person—never even heard a physical description. This was new. My curiosity sharpened.
"Beard? How old is he?"
The question slipped out, laced with genuine concern and a flicker of doubt. Tamsin looked down at her lap, fingers twitching nervously against the fabric of her skirt, cheeks blooming fresh pink.
"I actually don't know…" she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "He is a little older than me, that's for sure."
I paused, stunned into silence for a heartbeat. Her—of all people, sweet, careful, trusting Tamsin—clueless about something so basic? The picture forming in my mind grew murkier: tall, bearded, older, vanishing for weeks or months without explanation. He sounded like trouble wrapped in charm.
"He is tall, has a beard, and probably older…" I echoed slowly, letting the words hang. Then I straightened, injecting mock outrage into my tone. "I should definitely call the royal police!"
"No no no—he isn't what you think," Tamsin rushed on, voice rising in earnest defense. "He is a really kind-hearted person and he doesn't do dirty stuff. He just… doesn't live here…"
Every word poured out like a shield, fierce and tender at once. She spoke of him as though she had mapped every corner of his soul—hesitation gone, replaced by the quiet certainty of someone already half in love. I listened, arms still crossed, genuine concern tightening in my chest. But the worst part—the part that twisted like a knife—was knowing I had once encouraged this very path. In my previous life, I had been the one to urge her to run away with him.
Tamsin's mother would die in a few short years; some events were carved too deep to change. Her father was a brute—an abusive drunk who bled his wife and daughter dry, squandering their wages on liquor while offering nothing but bruises in return. When her mother passed, I had told Tamsin to flee—pack what little she had and disappear with this man. At the time it felt like mercy. Now doubt gnawed at me. Was he truly good for her? Or had I pushed her toward another cage?
I often let her stay the night at the mansion when the hour grew too late and the roads too dark. I had spoken to my parents about her safety; they listened, quietly making sure she had a room, a warm bed, a place to breathe when home turned suffocating. They cared in their restrained, aristocratic way.
Oh—how could I have forgotten? Tamsin's first love had been me.
Perhaps that was why the "guy" hadn't convinced her sooner; her heart had lingered elsewhere for a while. But eventually he had landed true, slipping past the barriers she hadn't even known she'd built. I would still investigate him. Thoroughly. No chances taken—not with her.
It was strange, though—achingly strange—that she had once loved me. And I… what had happened afterward was… No. Stop. I forced the thoughts down hard. Things would not repeat. I would not let them repeat. This time would be different. I would make sure of it.