The wind blew gently through Riella's hair as she rummaged through her purse, searching for her hair tie. Her fingers, as slim and graceful as those of a character from a fairytale, paused as she tucked a stubborn strand behind her ear, revealing eyes of a peculiar color—green with a hint of blue, like the poodle-shaped puddles after a spring rain or the stubborn blades of grass that never seemed to leave your garden.
Her rosy lips matched the red dress that hugged her curves and stopped just above her knees. The fabric danced around her thighs in the breeze, delicate and bold at once. At last, her fingers found the golden-beaded tie. With a sigh of triumph, she secured her long, dark hair—hair darker than midnight—into a ponytail that bounced to the base of her spine.
"Riella," a soft voice called from behind.
"Yes, Mom," she replied, her voice light as she turned to the source.
Standing tall with round brown eyes and dull blonde hair, the woman before her looked nothing like her. Her nose was small and round—like a button—but her presence radiated warmth. She was Angela, the only mother Riella had ever known. Found at Angela's doorstep as a baby, Riella had been raised by the widow, who often said she was a "good luck child" from the heavens, sent to fill the silence of a home that had once known loss.
Angela smiled. "Can you help with the dishes while I set the table?"
"Of course, Mom. Can I help with the pie, too?" Riella asked, licking her lips in anticipation.
Angela chuckled. "You and that apple pie. Yes, you can help."
After finishing the dishes, Riella took her seat at the dining table, her humming a soft melody that mingled with the sweet aroma of food. She lifted the cover of the serving dish dramatically, pretending to be hit in the face by the scent. Just as she was about to dig in—
A loud knock echoed from the front door.
Riella's gaze darted from Angela to the door. "I'll get it," she said with a groan, her eyes still locked on the food.
She hurried over and flung it open.
A girl her height stood smiling at her—holding a basket of blueberries. Her green eyes sparkled under the sun, and her lips, as soft and peachy as fruit in bloom, curled into a grin.
"Mmm… I knew you'd try to enjoy this without me," she teased.
"Amelia!" Riella gasped, throwing her arms around her best friend.
The two had been inseparable for as long as anyone could remember. People often called them soul sisters and whispered odd theories about them being actual siblings separated at birth. But they looked nothing alike, except for the slight green in their eyes.
"I thought you wanted to kill me," Amelia said, gasping for air through Riella's tight hug.
"Sorry!" Riella released her. "Come in. And thank you." She took the blueberry basket from her.
"Hello, Angela," Amelia greeted politely.
"Hello, dear. Come have a seat," Angela welcomed, her voice warm.
Riella eagerly asked about Amelia's trip to the Empire of Xander. "I wish I could go just once," she sighed dreamily.
"I'll tell you all about it after we eat," Amelia promised, digging into the pie.
They ate heartily, savoring every bite. When their plates were clean and their stomachs full, they went for a walk. The market came alive with sounds—laughter, footsteps, voices. Children giggled nearby, and vendors called out their wares.
"What are we looking for?" Riella asked curiously.
"Someone," Amelia said, biting her lower lip. Then suddenly—"Found him!"
She grabbed Riella's arm and pulled her through the crowd.
"John!" Amelia shouted, waving.
A tall young man turned. His curly brown hair gleamed under the sun, and his dark eyes lit up. It was John—the town's best carpenter and their childhood friend.
"Where have you both been?" he said, arms outstretched.
While hugging male friends wasn't exactly proper, the girls didn't care. John was family—the protective big brother they never had.
"Sorry, John," Amelia said. "We won't be staying long, but we missed you."
"You don't miss us that much, big boy John," Riella teased with a smirk.
"Oh please, Queen Riella, don't start," he replied with mock seriousness.
She had called him that since childhood when he'd been a short, quiet boy who avoided violence and loved books. She used to tell him, "You'll be a big boy one day," and every week he'd ask, "Am I big yet?" And she'd nod. "Yes. You're a big boy now."
Despite being the same age—both 21—she always treated him like her younger brother. And he never minded.
"Didn't know we were having a family reunion," a voice interrupted. Chris—the one Riella loathed.
"Ah, Riella, how have you been, my love?" he said, grabbing her wrist.
"Don't touch her!" Amelia snapped, pulling Riella away.
Chris turned, eyes narrowing. He licked his lips with a look that sent shivers down their spines. He pushed Amelia hard, making her fall to the ground.
John rushed to her side.
Before he could speak, Riella stepped forward and slapped Chris across the face.
The sound cracked through the market. People turned. Chris clutched his cheek, laughing darkly.
Riella stared him down.
"Don't you ever lay a finger on my friends again."