The old bedroom was quieter than she remembered. Dust clung to the corners of the windowpanes, and the late afternoon sun stretched long shadows across the wooden floor. Delphia stood at the center of it all, surrounded by the remnants of a girl who—technically—was her. But not really.
Zypher moved through the room behind her, careful with the trinkets he lifted from shelves and tucked into boxes. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, and he handled each item like it might bite him.
Delphia blinked down at a worn music box in her hand. Its gold trim was chipped, the little ballerina inside frozen mid-pirouette. "I didn't know she liked music," she murmured while packing it away.
"She had a lot of things she liked," Zypher replied without looking up. "You've barely scratched the surface."
That was exactly what unsettled her.
The Delphia who had lived here—the one the book had described in acid-tongued footnotes and villainess tropes—had collected pressed flowers, hoarded unsent letters, and tucked away scraps of ribbon from gifts long forgotten. Each discovery felt like opening a drawer in someone else's diary.
"I always thought… I mean, the novel made it seem like she was all cruelty and cold shoulders," Delphia admitted. "But this…" She held up a childishly hand-painted brooch. "This is something a person who loved things made. Someone who hoped. Someone soft."
Zypher gave her a sidelong glance, softening. "The girl who lived here was starved of kindness. She turned brittle trying to survive. But she wasn't hollow."
Delphia didn't respond right away. Her gaze moved across the half-packed room—her room, and not. This had once been the battleground of a girl the world only saw through the lens of a skewed story.
And now that same world expected her—the new her—to write a better ending.
"I keep forgetting this body came with a life," she whispered, more to herself than to him. "One that I wasn't meant to rewrite. Just… carry forward."
Zypher stepped closer. "Then carry what matters."
She nodded at him, acknowledging his words before turning back to the wardrobe and packing more of the smaller items. Making sure to pack them in a way so that they wouldn't break.
Zypher's voice cut through the quiet. "Is this… a plush rabbit?"
Delphia looked up, turning to see him holding a small, weathered toy by the ears. One of its button eyes was missing, and its seams had loosened with age, but its soft fur—faded to a dull cream—was still intact in places.
He was holding it like it might detonate.
Delphia blinked. "Where did you even find that?"
"In the false bottom of your wardrobe." He squinted at it, then glanced at her. "Was it a decoy? A trap? Does it contain a concealed blade?"
Despite herself, Delphia let out a laugh. "Not every secret weapon is sharp, you know."
Zypher grinned, pleased by the sound. "This one looks like it could suffocate someone in their sleep. I'm naming him Sir Drowsalot."
She rolled her eyes, taking the rabbit from him carefully. Its matted fur was familiar in a way that made her chest ache—but not for her own memories. "I think this was hers. The old Delphia's. She must've hidden it after she was told she was too old for such things."
Zypher's expression turned thoughtful as he watched her brush dust off the rabbit's ears. "Even then… she still kept it. Tucked it away like a secret kindness."
Delphia nodded slowly, then placed it gently into the half-filled box beside her.
It was strange, how grief could sneak in sideways. Not for the loss of someone else—but for the pieces of that person she'd never known, never had the chance to.
Zypher moved to her side, close but not crowding. "You know… I like that you laugh like this now."
"Like what?"
"Like you're not afraid of it being taken away."
Delphia glanced up at him, caught off guard—and said nothing. But the weight in her chest shifted just slightly, as though some locked window had creaked open inside her.
A knock at the door jolted them both.
"Delphia?" Came Seraphina's voice, muffled but bright. "May I come in? I brought something."
Zypher straightened, one brow lifting. "Should I hide Sir Drowsalot?"
Delphia smirked. "You might want to, before he becomes a political scandal."
They both glanced toward the door, where Seraphina's voice had just echoed again—gentle, but unmistakably present.
Delphia exhaled through her nose, the warmth of the moment draining into something more muted. Not unpleasant, just… quieter.
"She always has perfect timing," she murmured.
Zypher tilted his head, amused. "To arrive exactly when things get too honest?"
"Or too soft," Delphia said, not looking at him. "It's like she can sense when I'm about to lose myself in something… and she pulls me back."
Zypher watched her, then carefully said, "Do you want to be pulled back?"
That made her pause.
Her hand hovered over the box, brushing lightly against the rabbit's ear. She thought of the girl who'd hidden it, and the one who now held it. Of stories that had been twisted before she ever stepped into them.
"I don't know," she admitted. "Sometimes I forget this isn't my story to begin with. Then something like this shows up and it feels like I'm trespassing."
Zypher's voice was soft, but certain. "Maybe you were. But you've made it yours, haven't you?"
Delphia turned to look at him, the words lodging somewhere just behind her ribs.
A second knock—more polite this time.
"I'll just open it," came Seraphina's voice, all sunny indifference. The door began to creak open.
Zypher's gaze flicked to Delphia's. "Last chance to claim the rabbit was mine."
Delphia smothered a smile, stepping back as the door swung open.
The door opened with a practiced gentleness, and Seraphina stepped inside, radiating effortless poise. Not a hair out of place. Her pale gloves remained on, as if she hadn't decided whether the room—or the people in it—deserved her full attention yet.
"Well," she said, eyes sweeping across the half-packed room. "I see the process is going smoothly. Or at least… colorfully."
Her gaze landed, pointedly, on the stuffed rabbit in Zypher's hands. Something flickered behind her smile—amusement, perhaps. Or quiet triumph.
Zypher, ever polite, nodded to her. "Lady Seraphina."
"Lord Zypher," she returned, her tone measured and perfectly pleasant. "Always helpful, aren't you?"
"I do what I can," he said simply, returning to his task.
Seraphina stepped further into the room, trailing a gloved hand along the back of a nearby chair. "It's a bit strange, isn't it? Seeing this room stripped bare. I still remember when it was redone for your coming-of-age season—do you? Mother was insistent on the wallpaper. Said it had to be 'a shade that would catch the light just right against your complexion.'"
Delphia gave a light shrug. "I suppose she was always particular about appearances."
"Mmm," Seraphina hummed, then reached toward one of the open boxes and delicately plucked up a small brooch—a carved opal surrounded by sapphires. "You're taking this with you?"
"It was mine to begin with."
"Of course," she said lightly, turning the brooch in her fingers before placing it back. "I suppose sentiment can make the smallest things feel worth carrying."
There was something unspoken in her tone—something that lingered between implication and dismissal.
Zypher glanced up briefly, watching her, but said nothing.
Seraphina shifted her attention to the window, arms folded loosely. "It's a peculiar thing, isn't it? Leaving a place you've always known for something… uncertain. New households, new roles, new titles." Her gaze flicked back to Delphia. "But then, you always did have a flair for reinvention."
Delphia met her eyes evenly. "I prefer to think of it as growth."
"Ah." A delicate smile. "That sounds far nobler, doesn't it?"
Zypher stood slowly, placing a finished box aside with a quiet thud. "If there's anything else you need help with, Delphie…"
She looked at him gratefully. "Just some few more things."
"I'll go speak with the driver then," he said, giving a subtle glance toward Seraphina before excusing himself from the room.
As his footsteps faded, Seraphina's posture shifted ever so slightly—her smile lingering, but sharper now. "He's rather devoted, isn't he?"
Delphia didn't answer.
Seraphina turned toward her again. "I wonder—do you ever think about how different things might've been? If you'd been a little more careful with what you showed the world?"
Delphia's voice was calm. "Or perhaps I finally stopped caring what the world chose to see."
There was a beat of silence between them—tight, but not hostile. Just long enough for a dozen old memories to resurface and dissolve again.
Seraphina exhaled slowly, brushing imaginary dust from her cuff. "Well. I won't keep you. I'm sure there's still much to prepare. I only wanted to… offer a few final words."
Delphia raised a brow. "How generous of you."
"Marriage has a way of magnifying every flaw," Seraphina said with a half-smile. "But then again, you always were good at turning flaws into something charming. I do hope you keep that skill sharp."
Delphia only tilted her head. "I intend to."
Seraphina paused at the door, glancing over her shoulder with one last flash of something unreadable in her eyes—curiosity, envy, or perhaps the faintest thread of regret. "Farewell, Del."
Delphia didn't look away. "Goodbye, Seraphina."
And then she was gone.
Delphia let out a slow breath once the door finally clicked shut behind Seraphina. The air felt lighter without her in the room, as if the scent of polished civility and subtle venom had been swept away with her silk skirts.
Moments later, Zypher returned.
"She's gone then?" He asked, arching a brow as he glanced around the room like checking for lingering traces. Delphia turned toward him with a faint, amused sigh. "Regretfully, yes. You just missed her trying to get a rise out of me one last time."
Zypher chuckled, setting his gloves back on the table. "A shame. I do so love watching Seraphina expertly dance around an insult without ever getting her hem dirty."
"She almost slipped once or twice," Delphia said dryly. "I could see it in her eyes—she was itching to say something unfiltered."
He nodded, mock solemn. "And yet, she held the line. Remarkable restraint, really. She only implied you were a reinvented brooch collector with questionable taste in life choices."
Delphia gave a soft laugh despite herself. "You're not wrong."
"I do admire her commitment," he added, picking up the music box again. "You'd think she was auditioning for the role of 'gracious, concerned sister' in some play. Almost convincing, if you ignore the subtle undercurrent of poison."
Delphia smirked, folding the last silk handkerchief into a box. "If this is her version of a farewell gift, I think I prefer the music box."
Zypher mock-gasped. "But what about her sage wisdom on marriage magnifying flaws? That was priceless."
"Truly," Delphia said, deadpan. "I'll cherish it always."
They exchanged a glance then—dry amusement softening into something quieter, more familiar. The tension Seraphina had left behind dissolved fully between them, leaving only the warmth of shared humor.
Zypher tapped the box lid shut. "Well, if nothing else, you've clearly grown. The old you might have thrown something."
Delphia smiled faintly. "The old me might've let her see it hit."
Zypher grinned. "Progress."
He shook his head, the mirth in his expression softening into something gentler. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "It must feel strange, leaving this place behind." Delphia's fingers stilled on the fabric of the quilt she grabbed. "It does," she admitted. But not in the way others would assume.
"It's not the place itself," she murmured, looking around the room that had once felt so suffocating. "It's the fact that… I never imagined this moment happening."
Zypher tilted his head, watching her.
"This," she gestured between them, her voice quieter now, "marrying you, moving to the Magic Tower, becoming someone… more. It was never in the cards for me before." Her fingers brushed the fabric of the quilt, and a distant look flickered in her eyes. "In my past life, I spent so much time just trying to survive. And here…" She hesitated, exhaling slowly. "I thought I was fated to die before I had a chance to live."
Zypher's brows furrowed slightly, his gaze unreadable.
Then, he reached out, taking both of her hands in his. "You were never just surviving, Delphie," he murmured, voice steady, grounding. "You fought. You changed your story. And now…" He laced his fingers with hers. "You get to decide what happens next."
Her throat tightened, a warmth spreading through her chest. Delphia glanced toward the small leather-bound journal and locket at the far end of her desk—one she had read cover to cover, one that belonged to the original Delphia.
"I've been thinking about her," she admitted softly. Zypher tilted his head slightly, waiting.
"The real Delphia," she clarified. "The one who wrote in that journal. The one who lived here before me." She let out a quiet breath, folding the quilt neatly. "I think… I should honor her. In some way."
Zypher's eyes searched hers, his grip tightening slightly around her hands. "You've already changed everything. You don't owe her anything." His own past emotions surfacing regarding the original Delphia.
Delphia shook her head. "I know that. But it's not about owing her. It's about… recognizing her." She pursed her lips, choosing her words carefully. "I don't think she was ever prepared for this life.Not really. She was raised to believe she was untouchable, but she wasn't given the tools to navigate this world properly. She made mistakes, no doubt, but part of me wonders if she wanted to change but didn't know how."
Zypher studied her carefully. "You think she regretted the path she was on?"
"Yes, definitely," Delphia said, more certain than before. "I think she was trapped. She didn't know how to escape her role, and no one ever taught her how. She was just expected to be something—whether it was the perfect noble daughter or the scheming villainess. She was never taught how to be… herself."
Zypher's gaze softened.
"She wrote about feeling isolated," Delphia continued. "How she had no one to truly turn to. No one who saw her for anything other than a name. She wasn't just arrogant; She was lost. I understand that in this world many recognize one as an adult when they come of age, but where I'm from, you were considered an adult when your brain stopped growing, which doesn't happen until you're in your mid-twenties; She was still a kid mentally."
She traced the embroidery on the quilt, lost in thought. "I'm here because of her. Even if she didn't mean to, she gave me a second chance." Delphia exhaled, steadying herself. "I don't want to just erase her. I want to carry her forward." A silence settled between them—not heavy, but understanding.
Zypher reached out, brushing a loose strand of rose-gold hair behind her ear. "Then honor her in your own way," he said simply. "Make sure she's remembered for more than just her downfall."
Delphia's chest tightened. For so long, she had separated herself from the Delphia of this world. Treated her past like it belonged to someone else. But maybe it wasn't just Delphia's past anymore. Maybe it was hers too. And maybe…
That wasn't such a bad thing.
*
As dusk crept in through the tall windows, casting long golden shadows across the room, the last box was finally closed. The hush that followed wasn't awkward—just full. Full of words unspoken, emotions settling like dust in the air.
Zypher stretched, then stood, brushing off his coat with a sigh. "I should head back before it gets too late. There's still much to prepare on my end."
Delphia nodded, though something in her expression lingered—quiet, thoughtful. She followed him through the dim corridors of Vosswell Manor, their footsteps soft against the marble floors. The air held that peculiar stillness that always comes before a farewell.
When they stepped outside, the sky had turned a deep lilac, stars just beginning to wink into view. The carriage waited at the edge of the drive, the driver already in place, horses stamping quietly in the cooling air.
Delphia walked alongside him down the steps, her arms loosely folded in front of her. "Strange," she murmured, "how quickly things come to an end. And yet… it still doesn't feel real."
Zypher glanced at her, a smile tugging at his mouth. "That's how all endings are, I suppose. Quiet until you're already living the next beginning."
They came to a slow stop beside the carriage. Neither moved to open the door.
Delphia tilted her head, studying him beneath the low light of the lanterns. "Can I ask you something?"
His brows rose slightly, curious. "Always."
"That night at the Faremont Celebration," she began softly, "why did you come find me?"
Zypher's lips parted—just faintly—as if the memory pulled him in faster than he expected. He looked down, then up again, the corner of his mouth twitching faintly. "Because something was wrong."
She blinked. "Wrong?"
"Not in a bad way," he clarified, chuckling. "But… different. I remember watching you speak with Alaric and Calista. And I remember thinking—'that's not the Delphia I knew.'"
His tone grew quieter.
"The Delphia I remembered clung to Alaric's every word. She would've seethed at Calista's presence. But that night… you barely looked at either of them. You dismissed them with such… grace. Cold, but deliberate. Like none of it mattered anymore."
Delphia smiled faintly, gaze lowering. "Because it didn't."
"I know that now," he said. "But back then, it shook me. And then—when I finally came over to speak with you… you looked me in the eye, really looked at me. You weren't fawning or feigning politeness. You gave me your full attention as you spoke to me."
She laughed quietly. "I remember that. You looked intrigued."
"I was," he admitted. "Not because of what we were discussing—but because I didn't think you even remembered me. You never did before."
Delphia's expression softened.
Zypher leaned a little closer, his voice quieter now. "And then you asked me to dance. Me."
"I thought you might say no." She grinned sheepishly.
"I nearly did," he admitted with a bashful grin of his own. "Because it felt like a trick. Like I'd wake up and realize I'd misread everything. But you weren't pretending. That night… you shined."
There was a pause, filled only by the distant rustle of wind in the trees.
"I think that was the moment I knew," he added. "That you weren't the same girl I once knew. And I wanted—needed—to know who you had become."
Delphia's throat tightened, her eyes glimmering in the lamplight.
"I'm still becoming her," she whispered. "But I'm glad you saw her first."
Zypher reached for her hand, lifting it slowly to press a gentle kiss to her knuckles. "I'll see you at the altar, Delphie."
"And I'll be there, Zy." She said, her voice steady.
He stepped up into the carriage, but his gaze lingered on her through the open window until the driver gave the soft signal and the wheels began to roll. Delphia watched him go, his silhouette fading slowly into the night.
Only once the carriage disappeared beyond the hedged curve of the estate did she turn back toward the manor—toward what was left behind, and toward everything that still waited ahead.