The door slammed open.
The flickering interface vanished from Esme's vision at once. She lifted her gaze to the figures framed in the doorway, momentarily unsure of what was happening.
Perhaps these were the people Basil had mentioned—those who were supposed to come for her?
But they didn't look official at all. Judging by their attire, they resembled palace maids more than anything else.
They finally moved. Three girls slipped in first, then another four, and then the rest until nearly ten of them crowded into the small, straw-filled room.
Esme blinked once.
What… is this?
Their faces were unfamiliar, but their gazes were sharp, glinting with the petty curiosity and malice only the truly bored could nurture. They fanned out with ease, blocking the exit, hemming her in like wolves wearing sheep's skins.
At their center stood their leader.
She was hard to miss.
Tall for a palace maid, slender with an elegant neck, glossy chestnut curls tied loosely at the loosely at her nape. Her features were pretty yet sharpened by arrogance with almond eyes that had a fox-like tilt, and soft pink lips curved in an unkind smirk. It was the beauty of someone who knew she was admired.
Her name, Esme would later learn, was Marion.
Marion stepped forward, eyes sweeping over Esme as if appraising cheap market fabric.
Esme calmly returned the scrutiny.
If Marion had the refinement of a palace favorite, Esme's appearance was its infuriating opposite.
Unlike many noble girls Marion had seen, she was completely unadorned, yet, somehow still striking. Her skin was pale and smooth with a fresh, dewy softness, as though milk could be pressed from it. Not a trace of fatigue showed despite everything that had happened. Her eyes, framed by naturally long lashes, were bright and clear, giving her a quietly observant, unbothered look. Even her bare lips held a natural peach tint that made her appear composed and gentle despite her cold gaze.
Her loosely tied hair fell in soft, dark waves around her face in an annoyingly effortless way. The kind of casual prettiness that looked accidental yet impossible to imitate.
Marion's eyes twitched.
There was nothing more irritating to a girl who relied on meticulous presentation than someone who looked better as if she'd just woken up.
"So," Marion drawled, "you're Seraphine Wynter?"
Esme stared at her in silence.
She didn't answer or react. She could already sense that none of these people had come with good intentions.
Besides, she didn't need to say anything at all. They had already decided who she was, and why she must be here. The question was nothing more than a cliché formality.
Marion clicked her tongue. "Playing dumb won't help you. Fallen noble or not, we all know your type. You girls always bring things from home. Expensive things. Jewelry. Silver… pocket money."
Several girls behind her exchanged excited whispers.
Esme's lips pulled into a faint frown at their rowdiness. She tilted her head slightly.
"…Who are you?"
It wasn't rude.
It wasn't mocking.
It was said with genuine confusion, so calm and audacious that Marion's smile froze.
Unease rippled through the group.
Marion's eyes narrowed. "You really don't know your place, do you? We're doing you a kindness, honestly. New girls should show sincerity." Her voice sharpened. "Hand over what you brought."
Esme blinked again.
Hand over… what?
If she had known these lifetimes came with delinquent welcome committees, she would've haggled harder with that old man.
"I didn't bring anything," she said simply.
Marion snorted. "Then you won't mind if we check."
Esme lowered her lashes, surprised by their insistence. Then, slowly, she smiled.
"Actually," she said softly, "I do mind."
That did it.
Offense rippled through them like a wave. Marion's expression twisted with disbelief and rage.
"You're quite bold for a criminal's daughter."
"Traitor's granddaughter."
"Acting superior when your family was dragged out like pigs!"
The insults flew at her fast and cruelly.
Esme finally reacted. Her gaze sharpened slightly at those words, but her voice remained level.
"Done?" she asked.
The steady calm of her tone made more than one girl hesitate.
Only Marion chuckled faintly, unfazed by Esme's cold stare. She stepped closer until they were nearly eye to eye.
"Search her."
The girls hesitated, still watching Esme warily. When Marion noticed their reluctance, her irritation flared.
"What are you all standing around for?" she barked. "SEARCH HER. NOW."
They snapped to their senses. The circle tightened around Esme, and hands lunged for her sleeves, waist, and hair.
Esme twisted away from one, shoved another aside, but ten against one was impossible. They pinned her arms just enough to rummage through her belongings.
She didn't panic.
But her teeth clenched when one girl suddenly ripped the small embroidered pouch from her waist.
It was the pouch that woman—her so-called mother—had pressed into her hands with trembling fingers.
Esme didn't recognize any of those people as family, but when the older woman's desperate face flashed through her mind, irritation flared in her chest.
The girl eagerly passed the pouch to Marion.
Marion opened it with the entitled confidence of someone who believed all good things belonged to her.
A few silver coins clinked inside.
Her brows lifted, then she clicked her tongue in disappointment. "Not much. Hmph. But enough to count as a welcome gift."
Giggles rippled through the room after that.
Esme's eye twitched.
So they were nothing more than petty thieves in uniform.
Marion smirked, shaking the pouch lightly. "You should be grateful. If you want to survive here, you need to learn—"
Esme moved.
Her hand shot out, fisted into Marion's glossy curls, and yanked hard.
It was swift, clean, and vicious.
"A—AHHHH!"
Marion shrieked as Esme dragged her backward by the hair, all false elegance shattering in an instant.
Esme stepped in, snatched the pouch from her hand with minimal effort, and ignored the curses Marion spat between screeches.
The other girls froze in collective shock.
Then—
"WHAT ARE YOU ALL STANDING THERE FOR?!" Marion screamed, bent awkwardly under Esme's grip. "GET HER OFF ME!"
That snapped them out of it.
They surged forward—
BANG!!
The door slammed open again, hard enough to rattle the room.
Everyone froze mid-motion.
Esme still had a fistful of Marion's hair.
Marion was caught mid-scream.
The other girls stood in a half-circle like cornered chickens.
Slowly, everyone turned toward the doorway.
A single figure stood there.