Liv stood at the center of the banquet hall.
The music had stilled mid-note. Dancers froze in half-turns, their gowns suspended like petals in a breeze. Forks paused mid-air, conversations clipped mid-sentence. Her heels clicked against the marble floor—sharp, deliberate, echoing like a countdown.
She felt every gaze on her. Eyes pierced from every angle—curious, judgmental, awestruck. But she didn't flinch.
Her skin felt like armor. Her breath was steady. For the first time, she wasn't shrinking beneath scrutiny. She welcomed it.
*Let them look.*
She scanned the ballroom, chin lifted, shoulders squared. The chandeliers above shimmered like constellations, but none outshone the quiet fire in her chest.
She was no longer just part of the rebellion.
She was its center.
Before the doors had opened, before the silence of the ballroom bent to her presence, Liv had been in the bathroom—alone, preparing to come and crash the banquet.
She had just finished straightening her hair, tugging the golden strands backward with deliberate strokes. The comb pulsed with warmth, its glow intensifying with each pass. Steam curled from the sink, fogging the mirror in soft spirals.
Then—without warning—it slipped from her fingers.
She gasped. "What in God's name is happening now?"
But the comb didn't fall.
It hovered—suspended in the air like a feather caught in a breathless breeze.
Liv's eyes widened. Her pupils dilated. Her breath hitched, shallow and fast.
The comb began to vibrate, humming with unseen energy. The air around her thickened, charged with static. Her skin prickled. The tiles beneath her feet felt suddenly distant, as if she were floating.
Then it exploded.
But there was no sound.
Just a burst of light—blinding, pure, and silent. Liv flinched, squeezing her eyes shut against the brilliance.
When she opened them, the stars had vanished.
In their place, three fairies hovered before her, wings flapping in slow, rhythmic motion. The small bathroom glowed with an ethereal light, casting golden reflections across the tiled walls. The scent of jasmine and ozone filled the air.
Liv's heart pounded. Her fingers trembled. But she didn't feel fear.
She felt recognition.
Her jaw dropped. "Is this for real?"
A part of her clung to logic, to the idea that she must be dreaming. But the warmth blooming in her chest said otherwise.
The fairy who looked older stepped forward. Her wings were pink, speckled with tiny star-like dots. Her voice was melodic, firm, and strangely familiar.
"Miss Liviara Barath," she said. "You are the last of the line. The crown is yours by blood and by fate."
Liv blinked. "I'm sorry—have you confused me with someone else?"
The second fairy fluttered beside her, wings purple with white constellations. Her voice was softer, more poetic.
"The stars whispered your name. We heard. We came."
The third, smallest fairy zipped forward, her bright wings shimmering with green leaf-like patches. Her voice was quick, bubbly, and full of delight.
"You're not dreaming! This is real—and it's awesome!"
They spoke in unison, voices harmonizing like a chord:
"We are all here at your service, Your Majesty."
At that moment, gracefully, they lowered their heads and frosted into the air—leaving trails of sparkling mist behind them.
Liv stood frozen. Her heart thudded against her ribs like a drum. *Your Majesty?*
She whispered, "This is getting out of control."
Seth, the eldest, smiled gently. "I assure you, it's not. You are the last blood of the Barath. That makes you our queen."
Liv locked eyes with her. "You're definitely not human. How can that be?"
Seth's grin widened. "You have no idea, do you? If the spell activated on its own, it means your desire is strong enough to summon us. We're here to help fulfill it."
Liv's thoughts raced. *A spell? A crown? A rebellion?* Her world was unraveling and reforming all at once.
"So," Seth continued, "are you going to listen to who you are—or fulfill your desire first? We can always talk later."
Liv hesitated. Her pulse roared in her ears. But beneath the chaos, a quiet certainty stirred.
She straightened her back. "Help me get to the banquet."
Seth nodded. "As you wish, Your Majesty."
"You all know what to do," Seth said, her voice crisp with command.
The three fairies scattered like sparks from a flame—each darting in a different direction, wings shimmering with urgency.
Seth hovered near Liv's face, her wings humming softly. She snapped her fingers, and a floating palette of makeup appeared in her left hand—brushes, powders, and glowing vials suspended in midair like stars in orbit.
"Your Majesty," she said gently, "may I?"
Liv nodded, her voice barely a whisper. "Of course."
She closed her eyes.
A soft breeze kissed her cheeks. It wasn't just the brush—it was as if the air itself was sculpting her face, tracing her features with reverence. She felt lifted, weightless, as though her body had been caught in a warm current.
Then—an unexpected jolt.
Her eyes flew open. "Whoa—"
"Sorry!" Pith chirped, zipping past her shoulder. "Don't worry, Your Majesty. I should've warned you. The floating sensation is part of the enchantment."
Liv glanced down. Her left foot was already slipping into a heel—sleek, golden, and impossibly elegant.
"I suppose you should let me dress her in a gown," Bether said, her voice calm and melodic.
Above Liv, a golden gown hovered—its fabric rippling like liquid sunlight, embroidered with constellations that shimmered as it moved.
"Hurry," Seth urged, floating backward to give space.
Bether raised both hands. She didn't touch the gown. She didn't need to.
With a graceful snap of her fingers, the gown descended, wrapping itself around Liv's body like a whisper. The fabric adjusted itself, hugging her form with perfect precision, as if it had known her shape all along.
Liv gasped softly. The gown was warm against her skin, alive with subtle energy. She felt regal. Transformed.
In less than five minutes, the fairies had turned her into something more than herself.
Not just a rebel.
Not just a girl.
A queen.
"Your Majesty," Seth said, her voice low and reverent, "we have one final step to complete your preparation."
Liv turned toward her, heart still fluttering from the gown's embrace. The three fairies floated into formation—hovering in a perfect triangle, wings pulsing in rhythm. Their eyes glimmered with something ancient. Something sacred.
What now? Liv wondered, but dared not speak aloud. The air had shifted again—thicker, charged with ritual.
The fairies reached for one another, their hands clasping in midair. A soft hum began to rise, vibrating through the tiled walls and into Liv's bones.
Seth spoke first, her voice clear and commanding:
"We, the power of three—"
Bether followed, her tone melodic and echoing:
"Witches of the old blood—"
Pith chimed in, bright and fierce:
"Guardians of the Barath line—"
Then, in perfect harmony, they declared:
"We crown Queen Liviara Barath."
A golden box on the counter trembled. Its lid lifted slowly, as if responding to the invocation.
From within, a half-mask rose—hovering, glowing, alive.
"Let the banquet burn." Liv declared.